Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

In my young years back in the early sixties, I thought that life would be one long summer day, where the sun innocently caresses your skin in a million warm kisses. Now that I am older and writing this memoir, my advice to all children in the world is to honor that sun. They should merrily dance within its heated comfort as the grass scratches at their feet and the wind whispers into their ears that right now, in this moment, they are truly alive. For if it should ever be fully taken away from them, perhaps then they may bear fewer regrets and weep less tears over its absence.

Looking back on my childhood now, I think that I had always suspected that something was different about my parents. There were so many signs. So many details about them that just didn’t quite make sense. But I was just a kid… and love covers up a multitude of sins.

At the height of his career, my father, Christopher Dollanganger Sr., worked in public relations for a smaller tech company. His job frequently had him travelling all over the southern region of the United States, and it was not unusual for Daddy’s business trips to have him gone for days at a time. Whenever he came home from one of these long trips, he would return with presents in his arms for each of us, Momma, myself, and my older brother by two years, Christopher Jr.

My mother, Corrine Dollanganger, excelled at being a Southern Belle in everything but the wifely house duties. Oftentimes, my brother and I brought in stains from playing outside that had her throwing out our clothes and buying new ones because she couldn’t get them clean afterward. The majority of our nutrition came from diners and restaurants. And on days when we were supposed to host guests, to Momma’s personal shame, Daddy would attempt to come home early in order to help her clean the house more thoroughly than usual. He roped Christopher and I into vacuuming and scrubbing as well, insisting that “It is the entire family’s job to make sure that everyone is healthy and happy.”

However, as Momma was always adorned and armored in the latest fashions, no one could deny that she was otherwise stunning to behold. And whenever Daddy was to return home after being gone for several days, she would put extra effort into her appearance for him. I remember watching with fascination as Momma sat at her vanity and ever so carefully curled her blonde, shoulder length hair into a short cascade of ringlets, mascaraed her already long eyelashes that surrounded her ocean blue eyes, and caressed lipstick along the line of her lips like a master painter before rubbing them together to darken her pout. She then put on Daddy’s favorite dress that she wore and thereby completed her transformation into a picture of womanly perfection. As she got ready, I attempted to memorize her every technique. I couldn’t wait until the day that I would be mature enough to wear all of these things and become as lovely as she was.

Her general mastery of external beauty and grace was prone to gathering the lustful looks of the men around her and the angry glares of their wives. During one Christmas party at Daddy’s boss’s house, Momma stood in the middle of the room charming his boss and co-workers with her elegance and wit as she regaled them with tales of Daddy’s every success as a husband and father. Daddy stood next to her looking somewhat embarrassed by all of the flattery. Meanwhile, the other women wallpapered themselves along the side of the room in order to gossip about her.

“Was that a store bought pie that she brought?” my five-year-old self overheard one of them say.

The other lady chuckled, “Wouldn’t surprise me if she did. My husband and I have actually been over to their house a couple of times. They’re nice enough, but let’s just say that the man clearly did not marry Corrine for her cooking skills.” She then grimaced.

“Wow! Must be nice to be THAT beautiful, I guess.”

They both shook their heads at her. “To be fair, Christopher isn’t exactly a slouch in the looks department either and the two children take after them as well. They’re like a couple of little porcelain doll versions of their parents”

Hearing that, I looked at Daddy. He stood at six foot two and weighed 180 pounds. His flaxen hair was cut short and parted to the side. Oftentimes, the gel that he placed in it would begin to fade causing a gentle wisp within its movement. Kind cerulean eyes sat on top of a nearly permanent smile that broadcasted his general zeal for fun and laughter. When he caught me staring, he waved at me playfully before turning back to Momma.

“You know, seeing the two of them stand next to each other, is it just me or do they kind of look alike?”

The second woman then took a more serious glance at them. “Oh, yeah. Maybe it’s because they both have blonde hair and blue eyes? Definitely a little odd though.”

A few nights later, Christopher and I greeted Daddy home from work with our usual excitement. In keeping with routine, Daddy responded in kind by picking each of us up in a hug and then complained about how we were both getting too heavy for ups. Suddenly, Momma’s voice bellowed from the kitchen, “Utter piece of shiitake mushroom!” It was followed by an incredibly loud clanging thud that startled both Christopher and myself.

Daddy looked in the direction of the kitchen. “Corrine, are you alright?” he asked in mild amusement. As we approached, a smokiness started to permeate our noses until we got to the kitchen and found Momma with her face in her hands. She shook her head and appeared to be fighting back tears. A large, angry dent was near the bottom of the oven door while a blackened meatloaf sat on the stove top. Daddy stared at her for a moment. Then without saying a word, he opened the utensil drawer, pulled out a knife and fork, and cut himself a piece. As he slowly chewed the loaf, a humorous expression seemed to grow with each chomp before he at last swallowed a noticeably hard lump down his throat. “You know, once you get past the charcoal, it’s not half bad,” he stated jokingly.

Finally, Momma removed her hands from her face. “I… I don’t think that I can do this, Christopher,” she declared sadly.

“What? Break the oven?” he fired back.

She scoffed at his comment in frustration. “Christopher, you and I both know that I wasn’t raised to cook and clean. I try and try to learn how, but I keep messing up. We just end up constantly having to hire help to make up for my failings. The other wives obviously don’t like me. And over half the time, I feel like more of an unbearable burden to you than a wife.”

I watched as Daddy considered her for a moment with a softness to his expression. Even at that age, I knew that something about this face was special, a look in his eyes and a small curve to his mouth that was just for Momma and no one else. Finally, he spoke, “Honestly, I’m just amazed by what a powerful woman I clearly married.” He knocked on the side of the oven as a demonstration. “This thing is supposed to be solid cast iron and yet you seem to have kicked your lovely stiletto shoe nearly clean through it.”

At that, Momma’s sadness cracked into a half-hearted chuckle and a roll of her eyes. “Christopher, be serious right now.”

Daddy took a few steps closer to her. “I’m sorry. I’m just in a really good mood tonight. You see, my boss called me into his office this afternoon… and offered me a promotion. He said, and I quote, ‘Anyone with as lovely of a family as you have must be a pretty straight shooter.’” He then tilted his head at her. “So, I don’t think that you are quite as big of a burden to me as you seem to believe.”

Momma’s face began to light up. “Oh my Gosh. Christopher, really? OH MY GOSH!” She then kissed him.

When they pulled apart, Daddy picked me up. “Now, I think that we should all celebrate my promotion by eating out tonight.” He touched his forehead to mine and my smile widened at the contact. “Because the stove might not survive the night if we let Momma make sides to go with that meatloaf.” I giggled merrily as Momma then smacked him hard on the arm.

That night, Christopher and I laid in bed as Momma read to us. It was part of our nightly routine. Sometimes to change things up, she would read in a different language. Momma was fluent in Spanish, French, and Latin. In fact one time, before taking a business trip down to New Mexico and Texas, Daddy thought that it might add a little zest to his approach if he spoke some Spanish. So, Momma had tutored him for a few weeks before his departure. Eventually, it got to where they would hold casual conversations all around the house. Even to this day, the memory of Daddy constantly having to ask Momma ‘¿Cómo se dice?’ puts a smile on my face.

Though Christopher and I couldn’t understand the words from these foreign languages, the warm and comforting sound of her sing-songy-like voice as she read lulled us to sleep just the same. On the evenings when she pulled out French, Daddy seemed particularly keen to join in on listening. He would walk in and I would catch them exchanging soft smiles as though sharing some private joke with one another. At the end of it, if my brother and I were both completely passed out, my parents would just turn the lights off and let us sleep. If we were even the tiniest bit still awake, then Daddy would scoop up Christopher into his arms. I could hear his comforting voice whispering, “Come on, little man. Let’s take you to bed.” Then I felt Momma pull the comforter up over my shoulder.

“Goodnight, Momma,” I would whisper to her sleepily.

With a soft peck against my scalp, my mother would then always whisper back, “Goodnight, my love.”

On my seventh Christmas Eve, Daddy made it back home after being away from us for five days straight. When he entered through the door, he immediately pulled out presents for Christopher and me. It appeared as though Daddy must have gotten these particular gifts while on the road because they hadn’t even been wrapped in any yuletide paper. Not that it mattered much to us. He first handed my brother a book and declared with a wink, “A classic for my wannabe doctor.” Christopher took it and looked at a copy of Gray’s Anatomy.

We watched as my brother then opened the faux leather cover slowly with a large grin on his face. Christopher could read well above his fourth grade level, but many of the words in this text were still forcing him to have to sound them out. “Me…tuh… car… pus. Fle… xor… di… gi… digi… torum… su… bli… mis.” Ultimately, he gave up and opted to simply admire the anatomical illustrations.

I peered over his shoulder to observe its contents of complicated diagrams. “Golly Christopher, that sure looks like it’s a really boring read. So, I guess that means it must suit you perfectly then,” I taunted. My brother rolled his eyes in annoyance and I laughed. Daddy then revealed a small silver box with a pink engraving of roses along the outside. A white diamond dotted the center of each flower. The beauty of the object made me gasp. He then opened the mirrored lid and I watched as a ballerina began to permanently pirouette to a tinkling version of Tchaikovsky on a stage of pink felt. I squealed at the glamorous gift, took it from his hand, and held it close to my heart. Then, looking at the detailing more closely, I asked excitedly, “Are the diamonds real?”

Daddy immediately shut his eyes in a wince at the question. His chest then trembled in a silent laugh before glancing over at Momma. “She takes after you,” he teased. I swiveled around and observed as Momma placed her hands on her hips in a harrumph type fashion. My father and I then turned back to face each other before he declared with a smirk, “No sweetie, I am VERY SORRY, but the diamonds are not real.”

As an adult, I still have the music box. There are multiple hairline fractures in the mirror top, the pink felt lining is now pink cardstock, and the ballerina twirls on a slightly bent axis. But for so many reasons, it is one of my favorite presents that anyone has ever gifted me in my whole life.

Every year on either Christmas or one of my parent’s birthdays, Momma, with my brother’s assistance, would traditionally move all of the living room furniture off to the side of the room before our father came home. However, that year, I helped move the heavy objects as well because Momma complained about feeling exhausted. Her belly was only just beginning to show our coming little brother or sister.

Before we ate dinner, Daddy would then hold out his hand to Momma and they would use the now empty living space to start twirling and gliding in front of my brother and I. Despite our middle class living, my parents somehow knew the steps to every form of ballroom dance. They were like two swans skating across a lake without a care in the world. Maybe that was what had inspired me to take up dancing at such a young age. By the age of seven, I had learned all of their steps for ballroom and had also been in ballet lessons for about three years.

After a few moments of standing on the sidelines, our parents turned to face us and broke apart. Daddy then reached his hand out to me. “Come on little lady. Let’s dance.” In a delighted giggle, I grabbed his hands and began to playfully Swing Dance with my father. I have fond memories over the years of standing on Daddy’s feet while he swayed and then, as I got both bigger and better, no longer needing the assistance.

While Daddy and I triple stepped, Momma extended her hand out to my brother. “Why don’t we take a spin, Christopher? We really should start teaching you how to dance alongside Cathy.”

“Nah, dancing is just something that dumb girls do,” he replied snidely.

Hearing my brother utter such blasphemy, I looked at Christopher and saw that he was giving me a haughty expression. He then shrugged, “I’m going to become a doctor when I grow up. What do I need to learn things like the Foxtrot for?” Realizing that by ‘dumb girls,’ he was actually referring to me, I stuck my tongue out at him in retribution. Sometimes my older brother could be such a jerk.

Momma and Daddy chuckled at our behavior. Daddy then let go of my hands, walked back over to Momma, and kissed the back of her hand in a gentlemanly manner before then leading her into the quick, quick, slow motions of the Foxtrot. As he did so, he began to speak. “Christopher, my boy, listen to your mother. Because someday… you’re gonna meet a girl who will make you feel utterly stupid.” At that, our mother burst into a joyful chuckle while he led her into a twirl and continued his man to man demonstration. “Despite all of your learning and book smarts, you’ll frequently find yourself at a loss for words, your mouth and throat will feel dry, and you’ll have this ongoing idiotic grin practically glued to your face whenever she is near. And when that happens to you…” He then lowered Momma into a dip and snapped her back up to where their foreheads were nearly touching. “You’re going to want to know how to dance with the lady.”

Watching them stand there, I could see Momma’s sightline bounce between Daddy’s eyes and mouth multiple times. Meanwhile, the smile that Daddy gave her was soft as euphoria seemed to manipulate his lips into forming a large grin. The way that they stared at one another reminded me of Rhett Butler and Scarlette O’Hara from Gone with the Wind, my favorite film. As they gazed into each other's eyes, I thought to myself that I could not wait to have a marriage that was exactly like theirs. They just made love look so pretty.

Then Momma cleared her throat and took a couple of steps away from him before straightening her hair and apron in a flutter. “Why don’t we move on to dinner,” she suggested.

“Sure,” Daddy agreed with a dopey expression still displayed on his face. “Christopher, Cathy, help your mother set the table.”

“Yes, sir,” Christopher nodded before walking to the dining room.

“Yes, Daddy,” I replied before following him.

“Good,” he responded to our obedience. “Because as you know, it is…”

“...the entire family’s job to make sure that everyone is healthy and happy,” Christopher and I finished in boredom as we laid down napkins and silverware. We had had this phrase drilled into us many times by then.

Once we sat down around the now set table, I watched at Momma as she began to carry green beans and stuffing over to the middle of the table. When she then grabbed the roast and laid that plate down, I randomly asked, “Momma, why don’t we ever have any other family come over during the holidays?” Immediately, Daddy’s head shot up in surprise and Momma stopped moving. There was an odd expression of confusion and concern all over her face and it felt as though the oxygen had suddenly evaporated out of that dining room as Momma stood there for a moment. “It’s just that Margie Williams was talking at school about how her whole family was coming over to their house for Christmas, grandparents, cousins, and such. And I… I just wondered why we never do,” I further explained. Something about the atmosphere made me feel like I had somehow done something bad.

Finally, Momma sat down next to Daddy and smoothed out her dress. She barely looked at me as she did so. Daddy stared at her observantly with a strange sadness to his eyes. Suddenly, her head bolted up to face me and a smile plastered itself to her lips. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. You see, our family died a very long time ago.” She then cleared her throat while glancing at each of us. “Now, I hope that you all like what I made for you.”

At that, Daddy reached over and took her hand, “I’m sure that we will.” He and Momma then started eating and that was the end of the conversation.

That night, I had trouble sleeping. It was a common thing for me even at that age. Whenever insomnia kept me awake, I would often deal with it by getting up and practicing basic ballet moves in my room until exhaustion finally won over. To keep the noise down, I stuck to repeating and perfecting the five basic positions of foot forms. In the middle of my personal training, I had to go to the bathroom. And it was on the way there that I noticed that Momma and Daddy were still awake. Daddy was sitting on the couch with Momma on his lap. Their arms folded around each other. It was odd to see them outside of their room at this hour.

At first, I nearly ran up to them in surprised excitement, but something about their demeanor stopped me. The air that came off of them felt secretive. I’m still not entirely sure how I sensed it, with being so young, but I did. Somehow, I just knew that this must have been one of their ‘private adult conversations’ that they talked about having when the kids weren’t around. They hadn’t noticed me yet. So, curiosity getting the better of me, I tiptoed closer until I could overhear what they were saying.

“I overdid it on the gifts for Christopher and Cathy this year,” Daddy explained sheepishly.

“Oh. So, they get presents and I get none?”

He sighed at that and placed his hand on Momma’s stomach. “I promise that I’ll make it up to you next time. I talked to my boss about taking fewer trips and working at the regular office more. At least for a while. With the baby coming, I want to try and be home more.”

Momma chuckled and kissed his cheek, “I was only teasing about the presents. You are SUCH a softie.” She then looked away from him and clicked her tongue. “Speaking of the baby… You know how I scheduled to have that appointment with the doctor this week.” When Daddy nodded in confirmation, she held up two fingers and wiggled them. His mouth gaped open in a stunned expression. “That’s right, Daddy! We’re going to have twins!” Momma declared with a hushed squeal and began kissing him on the mouth in excitement.

When she pulled away, Daddy continued to sit there in shock, processing the news. Finally, he spoke, “And… Did everything show them to be healthy? Did it all appear… normal?”

Momma shrugged. “As far as they can tell, everything seems healthy. But unfortunately, they just can’t tell very much right now.”

Suddenly, Daddy began to tremble. He placed his hand over his eyes in order to hide his face as a whining noise escaped from his mouth. I realized that Daddy was crying, sobbing even. It was my mouth’s turn to hang open. In all of my life, Daddy was always a joyful and comforting presence. He was a gentle giant who seemed to know the answer to everything that the world had to throw at him. And the respect of others appeared to naturally follow him wherever he walked. Never before, and never again afterward, did I witness him shed tears.

Looking upon him, Momma’s face turned serious. “Heaven be damned,” she declared before touching his cheek comfortingly. “Because I married a good man.”

In response, Daddy’s breathing began to calm. He then wiped his eyes and looked up at her, “Wherever God decides for us to go when we die, we’ll be together. I…I made peace with that a long time ago.”

A gentle and slightly saddened smile was on Momma’s countenance as she stood up and held her hand out to him. “Come on. My husband has been gone for nearly a week and I missed him.” I watched as Daddy’s expression shifted until it mirrored her’s. He then took her hand and let her lead him to the bedroom.

Once the door closed, I cautiously tiptoed to it and pressed my ear against the smooth oak surface. My confusion over everything that I had just seen and heard needed answers. At first, there was nothing, only silence. After a handful of minutes, I wondered if perhaps they had simply gone to bed and that maybe I should do the same. Then I started to hear heavy breathing. It sounded like Momma. Daddy’s voice could be softly heard over it saying, “I missed you too.” As Momma got louder, I backed away from the door. I wasn’t entirely sure what was going on, but I somehow felt ashamed for eavesdropping on my parents just the same.

I went back to my own bed, laid down, and thought about everything that I had witnessed. My parents were the most wonderful people I knew. Yet the way that they spoke tonight, it was as though they were unsure as to whether or not they would be able to enter Heaven. It made me wonder. Why would God punish people as loving and caring as Momma and Daddy? And what exactly could be wrong with the babies? About five months later, Momma gave birth to a boy and girl. Both of whom were healthy with tufts of blonde hair and blue eyes.

And about five years later, when I passed the age of twelve, was the night that I would never forget. Daddy had been gone for another trip and was returning home for a couple of days in order to celebrate his birthday with us before having to go back out again. As usual, Momma did her dress and makeup the exact way that she knew he liked best, put together food, and then moved all of the living room furniture. All five of us, Momma, Christopher, myself, and the now four-year-old twins, Carrie and Cory, sat around the table talking while waiting for the sound of Daddy’s green Cadillac to pull into the driveway.

But as five o’clock came and went, Momma, Christopher and I became increasingly nervous. It wasn’t like Daddy to be home much later than four when it meant getting to be with his family. At six, Momma called his office to see if he was there instead, but no one answered. It was after hours. So, all of his co-workers were probably home as well. She then called the hotel that he had been staying at for his current work trip and the front desk confirmed that he had indeed left… several hours ago. Dusk began to cascade along the sky and still no Daddy.

“I’m hungry, Momma,” Carrie complained.

“I’m hungry too, Momma,” Cory parroted.

Since the day they were born, the twins did everything together. Carrie led the way, while Cory followed and copied her.

“I’m sure that your father will be home soon and we’ll get right to eating when he does,” Momma answered their complaints reassuringly as she herself endlessly paced back and forth.

“But Momma, I’m hungry NOW!” Carrie whined as tears began to fall from her cheeks. Cory joined in and both of them began to sob in a near tantrum. Momma looked at the clock. It was nearly an hour past the twins' usual bedtime. She sighed, went to the oven, and pulled out the ham. The meat had severely dried out from being under the warmer for hours too long. A slice was cut and laid out on two plates. Mashed potatoes and peas were then plopped onto them haphazardly. Momma grunted in frustration as some food spilled onto the floor.

“Christopher! Cathy!” she shouted at a much louder volume than was necessary.

Christopher bolted up from his chair and bounded to the kitchen before I even had a chance to stand. “Yeah, Momma?” The dutiful fourteen-year-old was always hyper attentive whenever Momma seemed particularly distressed.

Momma sighed, “Could you and Cathy PLEASE help your brother and sister with their plates by making sure that their ham is cut into small bites, while I clean this mess up and plate your food.”

“Yeah, of course!” he declared before quickly grabbing a platter in each of his hands and setting them down in front of the twins. Almost immediately, the two little blonde-haired gremlins shoveled peas and potatoes into their mouths as though their spoons were snowplows. My nose scrunched at the sight. I hated peas, especially Momma’s. Over the years, she had gotten better with food and the like, but she was never as good as my friend’s moms. While the twins black-holed their food, Christopher and I had to hold them back as we started to cut their ham into pieces before both of them attempted to stuff the entire slice down their throats.

Then, while we were all distracted with our individual tasks, the doorbell rang. I watched Momma messily stumble out of the kitchen in response to the sound. With widened eyes, she was visibly shaking as her healed feet nearly sprinted on their way to the front door. But as Carrie plopped a small ham bite into her mouth, something worried me. Daddy had a key to the house. Why would he need to use the doorbell?

Fumbling and somewhat frantic, Momma tripped on the entrymat and caught herself on the door frame with her hands. There was a mix of aggravation and relief in her demeanor as she opened the door excitedly, but it wasn’t Daddy. Instead, two police officers stood in his place. “Mrs. Dollanganger?” the older one asked. “I’m Officer Jones and this is my partner Officer Stein . May we come in?” For a moment, Momma stood there with her mouth gaped open. Her chest had stopped rising and falling as though the moment had stolen her breath. I finished cutting Carrie’s ham and scolded my little sister to stay put as I got up from my chair and walked toward mom and the officers. I felt Christopher follow behind me.

After a few seconds of just standing there, Momma snapped back into awareness like she had just broken herself from a spell before opening the door wider and letting the policemen in. They nodded to her, stepped through the threshold, and removed their hats respectfully. Momma began to fuss with the front of her dress. Officer Jones fidgeted on the balls of his feet before speaking, “I’m sorry to have to inform you, Mrs. Dollanganger, but your husband was in an accident up near Greenfield Highway.” Momma’s lip started to tremble as the word ‘accident’ escaped the Officer’s mouth. Her fingers gripped at her dress and bunched up the fabric within them. “It seems that as he was crossing the intersection next to the highway’s off ramp, his vehicle was struck in the driver’s side door by a drunk driver who ran the red light. It… killed him almost instantly.”

After Officer Jones apologetically finished stating those final words, Christopher and I watched as Momma dropped all her usual grace and decorum and collapsed into a sobbing mess upon the shag carpet. Goodbye, Daddy.

Chapter Text

For the first few weeks after Daddy had passed, I tried to convince myself that it wasn’t real. He was just on an unusually long business trip. That’s all. What did everyone mean when they offered us their “sincerest condolences?” Even as I eventually sat with Christopher on the stiff hardwood pew with my little black dress matching his suit, I ignored ever approaching the open casket. As long as I didn’t see his glued together lips that would no longer hold a smile or his sunken cheeks that would never again show color, I could continue to pretend within my mind that he was going to be home in a few more days with his usual presents for us. Then, we’d all laugh and dance again before heading to some restaurant.

The twins sat between the two of us and swung their legs playfully while our pastor gospeled at the front podium about what a wonderful member of the community Daddy had been. While it was obvious that things in our lives were strange, the four-year-olds had yet to grasp the full weight of everything around them. I wondered with sadness if they would even remember Daddy once they were fully grown. Momma sat next to Christopher in a dark Dior dress and coordinating fascinator hat. As usual, she was the loveliest thing in the building. Her face was nearly unreadable as she watched the service without shedding a single tear, a perfect statuesque piece of art. The only mannerism that gave away her inner feelings was the heavy, fluttering motions of her chest as it rose and fell. Afterwards, she thanked everyone who attended with her usual grace.

During the two months that followed afterwards, our house was filled with more casseroles than we could ever eat and more flowers than we could ever take care of. It seemed like Momma would throw out armfuls of dead flowers, only to have to bring in another vase of daisies, petunias, or any number of flora that conveyed more happiness with their joyful colored petals than any of us Dollangangers could feel these days. Walking home from school and entering into the depressing living room Eden, it was touching how many had obviously liked my father, but it was hardly a replacement for his absence. Ultimately, these pretty plants were all just objects that would eventually die and need to go in the trash.

The free food was a little more useful than the flowers. The only issue with casseroles is that the ingredients are a mystery buried under some form of crusted layer. Some of them were the most delicious home cooked meals that I had ever tasted in my life, others made my nose curl in disapproval as they contained things like peas as their main ingredient. We also had to keep track of which deep dish entre came from which neighbor.

At first, in her grief-addled distraction, Momma just put the food in the fridge without thinking about it. After finishing a couple of dishes, Christopher and I went through an absolute nightmare of having to walk door to door in order to return the glass food containers. A task made even more treacherous by having the twins in toe who were far more interested in playing around than completing the job before us. By the time we reached the correct house, I had to maintain a firm grasp on each of their small hands, while listening to the tune of them whining about what a meanie I was. Since then, I made absolute certain that every casserole had a label on it before entering the refrigerator. That way, returning them was MUCH easier.

The ultimate nicety of casseroled cuisine was that Christopher or myself could also prepare it ourselves. We just had to throw it in the warming oven. Which was good because once my brother and I were home, Momma left Christopher and I to take care of the twins. She wore her nicest dresses and held the classifieds page in hand with several boxes circled. Sometimes, she didn’t return clear until the sun began to set.

After many days of this and feeling unable to contain my frustration anymore, I caught her by the skirt before she could walk out the door one afternoon. “Momma, where are you going again? Why do you keep needing to leave? We haven’t hardly seen you these last few weeks. And with what’s going on… we could really use you being home,” I complained.

Registering everything that I was telling her, she stopped and scanned my face. A saddened expression crossed her own countenance as she placed her hands on my shoulders. “I’m sorry, Cathy. I just really need your help right now. Okay?”

“But…” I began to object.

“Give her a break, Cathy,” I heard Christopher say as his approaching footsteps told me that he was now standing behind my back. “Don’t worry, Momma. We’ll be alright.”

Momma’s lips formed a small smile as she looked at her son. “Thank you. After all, remember, ‘It is the entire family’s job…’”

“...to make sure that everyone is healthy and happy.’ Yeah, we know Momma. Go and do what you have to do. We’ll be alright.”

I sighed. The slight scolding tone in Christopher’s voice as he stated ‘we’ll be alright’ told me that the conversation had ended. Momma clicked her tongue before muttering, “How did I get so lucky as to have such wonderful children.” Exhaustion wore itself plainly around her cerulean blood shot eyes. In being this close to her, I could now see that she had used some foundation in order to cover up dark circles. She then leaned over and kissed both Christopher and myself on the cheek.

After I watched Momma walk out the door, I then turned to my brother as he headed toward the kitchen. “Why did you have to butt in like that?” I asked while following. The irritation practically dripped off of my tongue as the words came out.

While opening the refrigerator door, Christopher side-eyed his baby blues at me, before pulling out another mystery casserole. “Gee Cathy, I’m REAL sorry that I didn’t let you ambush Momma. It’s not like things are hard right now or anything.” He then removed my label and threw the whole thing into the warming oven. “Now, it would be VERY helpful if you could go and pick out a couple of boardgames and a couple of books. That way, we can keep the twins entertained after dinner. And then, if Momma isn’t back home by their bedtime, we can tuck them into bed and just read to them ourselves.” He then set a timer for twenty minutes.

I opened and closed my mouth a couple of times. Guilt began to sediment its weight into my body and steal the indignation from my mixed batch of messy feelings. “I just… I just wanted to get some answers on what’s been going on with Momma.”

It was Christopher’s turn to sigh. “I think it’s pretty obvious what’s going on with Momma, Cathy. She’s trying to get a job.” He then gently pushed past me and started to stomp into the hallway, toward the Danish teak sideboard that stored our family games. Staying close behind, I observed him kneel down and open the cupboard.

“I’m not stupid, Christopher. I can see that plainly with my own eyes. But, she started this practically the very day after Daddy’s funeral. Why?”

My brother pulled out our favorite games, but cringed at the decorative box covers. We had now played them MANY times. “I don’t know, Cathy,” he responded while putting those games back into the cupboard and digging around through the less popular ones.

“And now she’s been gone nearly everyday for the last three weeks. Again, why?” As I spoke, my anxiety, that had been climbing since Daddy’s death, was beginning to unbind itself upon my brother.

“I don’t know, Cathy,” Christopher repeated before finally choosing two of the games and closing the sideboard.

I could tell from the growing tension within his shoulders that he was becoming angry and that I should stop, but I couldn’t. My worries were gushing forth, as though breaking through a collapsing dam. “It just seems odd for a mother to suddenly have to leave her children right after they’ve lost their daddy. I just want to know how bad things are. I want to know why!”

“I said, I DON’T KNOW CATHY!” He all but shouted in response. Christopher then bolted upright so fast that my body jumped in surprise. “You think you’re the only person in this house who this is tough on?” My brother pointed toward himself in a fed up emphasis. “I…I was supposed to be at the Debate Club today. But I haven’t been able to go because I keep having to come straight home and help take care of things. If this keeps up, then I might have to drop the club all together. On top of that, I have a major essay due on Monday for my AP English class that I haven’t even gotten started on. I’ll be lucky if I can get the whole weekend to work on it. But honestly, it’s more likely that I’ll just have to beg my teacher for an extension. Now, all of that might sound inconsequential to a prima ballerina wannabe, but I need that stuff in order to have a chance at a scholarship. So, I would be very grateful Cathy if you could PLEASE just grow up, and pick out a couple of damn books to read to the twins tonight.” My eyes watched Christopher as he then picked up the decided upon games and headed toward the kitchen in an exasperated harumph to check on the casserole.

Standing there, I felt sorry for both myself and my brother. In completely unburdening my uncertainties, I had caused Christopher to unleash his as well. Quietly, I walked over and opened Cory’s bedroom door. The twins were still playing on the room’s floor with Tonka trucks scattered about the shag carpet. Carrie had brought in her Barbie and all of the beach accessories. She was a new doll that Momma and Daddy had bought for Carrie roughly two Christmases ago. A chuckle escaped from my mouth as I watched Carrie stuff the little plastic body into the box of Cory’s toy dump truck and proclaim that it was now Barbie’s dream taxi. “How else is she supposed to make it to the beach?” the four-year-old know-it-all insisted.

Finally, I cleared my throat which prompted both of them to look at me. “Alright you two. Dinner is going to be ready soon. So, it’s time to clean up.”

“Okay, Cathy,” Carrie acknowledged. She then stood up and began taking small arm loads of Tonkas into her grasp. “You heard her, Cory. It’s time to clean up, but let’s start with your trucks first. Okay?” Without saying a word, Cory got up and began to help his sister clean his toys while Barbie lounged in wait on his bedroom rug.

While they busied themselves, I went to check on Christopher. My older brother stood there fixated on the oven with his arms crossed over his chest. His eyes were red as though he had been fighting back tears. “I told the twins to clean their toys up,” I informed him.

Christopher leaned his head back against the upper cabinets. “Sorry, I should have checked on them myself before coming in here.” He visibly kicked himself as he spoke. “Do you think that they’re doing okay? I mean… I imagine that they must have noticed that things are weird. But at the same time, they’re so little that it’s hard to tell.”

“Well, despite being constantly babysat by their brother and sister right now, they’re still alive. So, something must be going alright,” I joked with a shrug. At first, we broke into a light chuckle, but then the humor died like a passing quick breeze as we both then thought about our father. I took a deep breath, easing some of the stress from my body. “Look, no promises because it’ll depend a little on how the twins behave too, but instead of another board game night, how about we do a TV evening instead. That way, I can hopefully handle them more easily on my own while you get started on that paper of yours.”

Christopher shot up and stared at me in complete surprise. “Cathy, that would… that would mean a lot to me.”

In response, I smirked mischievously and began to reach for the upper cupboards behind him in order to begin pulling down plates. “Oh, don’t start thanking me yet, brother dear. This just means that you’re about to owe me one,” I teased.

Christopher scoffed and mumbled out a “Yeah… yeah… yeah…” as he then grabbed the dishes that I had taken out and set one in front of each chair before finally taking the dinner out of the oven.

Not long after that, Momma started to sell off all of Daddy’s things. I remember Mrs. Henderson, one of our neighbors, standing in the doorway. Momma greeted her with a weary smile and a large box stuffed full of Daddy’s old work suits.

“Oh, I can’t thank you enough, Corrine. Bob is going to be SO thrilled,” Mrs. Henderson squealed in delight. “How much did we agree on again? Twenty, right?” she asked as she opened her handbag and pulled out a checkbook.

“I’m just glad that they’ll continue to get use,” Momma replied weakly.

As Mrs. Henderson began writing the check, she babbled happily, “I swear, no matter what event was going on in town, you and Chris were always the nicest looking couple there.” At that, my mother’s smile dropped and her back straightened. Once Mrs. Henderson’s eyes went back up to Momma’s face, she gasped. “Oh, I’m… I’m so sorry. That was insensitive of me. I can’t even begin to imagine what this must be like for you and the kids. You know… I made a chicken lasagna and I made way too much. Why don’t I have one of my kids bring some of it over? Give you a break.”

Momma’s lips curved upward once again in another small mask of a smile, “That sounds nice. Thank you.”

The whole scene hurt my heart. Like Momma, Daddy often wore the finest clothes. There were at least six or seven suits of Saint Laurents and Rabannes in that box that were now all being sold to our neighbor for a paltry twenty dollars. Not only that, but his silver watches and leather shoes were in that box too. What was Momma thinking?

But roughly a couple of weeks later, she began to sell her own clothes as well. One Monday morning, I noticed that while walking out of the house with that week’s classifieds, Momma also took a bag of her jewelry with her. When she returned, the gold and silver was gone and replaced with cash.

Then large pieces of furniture began to disappear. We suddenly found ourselves sitting on the floor to watch television and stacking our games in the corner of the living space after strange men came in and took the sofa and hallway sideboard. I still remember overhearing Momma say, “Oh, that? Yeah, we got rid of it. Believe it or not, it’s actually made family TV time a lot more fun and cozy. I highly recommend selling your own” to any neighbor who happened to notice that there was no longer a couch in front of the television set.

Her behavior grew increasingly erratic as the evidence of her and Daddy’s life together rapidly emptied out of the house and sold itself into the hands of others. If the phone rang, Momma would snap at Christopher and I to not answer it. When the mail came, she combed through it before throwing about half of it straight into the trash and then searching around the house for something else of value. Lastly, she had begun to keep her bedroom door shut at all times and none of us were allowed to ever go in anymore.

One day, after another round of job searching, Momma stormed into the house. Four months had passed since Daddy had died and she had only taken a break from her single-minded mission to find employment on Sundays and the twin’s fifth birthday. Without a word to any of us, our mother went straight to the kitchen, pulled out a bottle of red, and then stomped into her bedroom with it. The thundered sound of her door being slammed shut made me jump. I peered down the hallway with worried curiosity. Christopher emerged from his room in startled confusion and wordlessly asked me what was going on with nothing but a glance. I answered his concerned bewilderment with an equally silent shrug.

Christopher then approached the door and knocked gently. “Momma? Is everything alright?” When he didn’t receive an answer, he knocked a second time. As all was silent inside of the room, I approached behind. Christopher briefly glanced at me before turning back and placing his fingers around the knob. “Alright Momma, Cathy and I are coming in. Okay?” Without another word, he opened the door and we entered.

Growing up, I had been in Momma and Daddy’s bedroom many times. A double bed with four posts was once the home of a light blue duvet and white lace throw pillows. White cedar furniture had filled the rest of the room, including the large vanity that Momma would always sit at whenever she got ready for the day. Even with drawers for extra storage, the closet was still nearly bursting with both Momma’s and Daddy’s clothes stuffed inside. Family photos covered the walls.

Now, there was almost nothing left inside of their bedroom, only a mattress and a few of Momma’s clothes in the closet. Momma sat on the floor up against the wall with mascara lines running down her cheeks. She was drinking straight out of the dark wine bottle that she had just grabbed. Over her red velvet mini dress that she wore was a navy blue dress shirt that was big and didn’t coordinate. I quickly realized that the shirt had been Daddy’s.

As my brother and I approached, I noticed a black stain was marring the shirt’s deep azure nylon. The last number of years, Daddy had convinced Momma that she should stop throwing out perfectly good clothes and just start taking them to the cleaners if there were spots that she couldn’t tackle herself. That must have been the plan for this particular article of clothing before Daddy unexpectedly went to Heaven. It was also probably part of the reason why it hadn’t been sold with his other clothes.

Once we were just a few feet in front of her, Momma finally looked up and took note of us at last. Clearly, she was in a state. It wasn’t like her to be so unobservant of her surroundings. Frantically, she wiped off her cheeks. “Oh! I thought that I had told you two that this room was now off limits,” she scolded. “You see. I just wanted a change in the room’s scenery. That’s all. And I didn’t want that to worry you both. It’s actually quite fun to sleep on the floor.”

“Momma…” I interrupted in an attempt to derail her obvious lying.

Christopher and I then watched as her beautiful eyes turned downcast. “It’s… it’s not good, my loves,” she mumbled while wiping her wet eyes a second time. She then gave a sarcastic chuckle, “Wouldn’t you know it? There just isn’t a large career market for former housewives of fifteen years with no real prior work experience.”

My brother knelt down beside her. “Momma, I can quit club activities and get a part time job if that would help out.”

I got down on my knees beside him and then added, “I could get a paper route and maybe some babysitting gigs going.”

Momma looked at both of us and clicked her tongue, “Oh, my sweet babies.” She then reached forward and hugged both of our heads before leaning back against the wall. “But, no. It’ll be okay. You see. Your Momma… has a back up plan. Granted it wasn’t the initial plan. But, we’ll be alright. You’ll see. I just need you both to be strong and continue to look after your brother and sister. Can you do that?” We nodded in response and her full lipped smile of pride broadened at that.

The next morning was Saturday and Momma was up and about before everyone else. As all four of us kids started to rise, she insisted that we should quickly get dressed and head to the library. “I think that we could all use some family time together AND it’s free. More things in life should be free, TRULY.” Groggily, I wondered how Momma had managed to be completely ready before the rest of us had even gotten out of bed. She usually had a habit of taking hours to pick out clothes and style herself before going anywhere. But as the early morning fog cleared itself from my brain, seeing her eyes gave me all the answers that I needed. Despite her outward enthusiastic glee, her beautiful sapphires were completely bloodshot and foundation once again covered dark bags underneath. She had been up all night.

Once dressed, Christopher and I each held one of the twin’s hands as we walked out the door. It took us several steps before we noticed that Momma wasn’t following right behind us. I turned to look for her and saw her standing in front of our mailbox. Her body was frozen in place for an unusual amount of time and the expression on her face was nervous panic. She looked like a helpless animal that had been caught in a hunter’s trap and knew that it was about to die. There was a letter sized envelope in her hand that began to bend within the tightness of her fierce grip. Noticing it, I wondered silently to myself about what it was.

“Momma?” Christopher started in concern.

Hearing his voice, she jumped a little as though Christopher calling had just freed her from a spell. Then in practically one swift motion, Momma opened the little metal door, shoved the letter inside, and raised the flag on the side of the box. She turned to face us with her usual plastered smile and declared that we should get going.

I walked into the library smiling as the scent of paper dust permeated my nose. Both Christopher and I always loved coming here. When we were small, Momma’s rule was that we could only check out three books because whatever we took home, we had to keep track of and not lose. She also frequently insisted that we would be back soon anyway. So, there wouldn’t even be any need to check out more than that. The days when Daddy came with us were particularly special partly because my brother and I suddenly got to check out the library’s normal limit of seven books. Now that we were both older, Momma let the two of us check out seven books regularly. Meanwhile the twins, mostly Carrie, complained about only being able to pick out three.

Browsing the large dark oak shelves of the romance section, I spotted Romeo and Juliet. “Oh, I haven’t read this in a while,” I muttered to myself with delight as I opened the little paperback to one of my favorite passages. “‘With love’s light wings did I o’erperch these walls, for stony limits cannot hold love out.’” I placed my hand to my heart, feeling the words within its fluttering beats. What would it be like to one day have some cute boy say those kinds of words to me? I placed the book under my arm and searched for a second when I suddenly began to sense the icy aura of an obnoxious older brother coming to spoil my joy.

“Oh my golly gee willikers, how did I ever guess that you would be in the romance section… again,” Christopher stated with a sardonic droll. “Also, just so you know, that story doesn’t end well for the two of them,” he then added after having clearly taken note of what I was planning to bring home.

My eyes squinted in annoyance before turning to face him. “Well, at least some of us know how to have fun.” I then took my right hand and tipped the books that he was carrying until the spines were facing me. “Oh, look at that, non-fiction and… oh my golly gee willikers… more non-fiction.”

A haughty smile formed on Christopher’s lips. “You mock, but I still get better grades than you and I think that we both know why. Be smarter than Romeo and Juliet, Cathy. Be smarter.”

Suddenly, the librarian made a loud shushing sound in our direction. I lowered my volume to a whisper. “Do you hear that, Christopher? For someone who always loves to act as though he knows everything, I think that you would at least be able to comprehend that within a library, you should shush!” I then pushed past him with glee. My ponytail swung back and forth to each triumphant step that I made on the way to the checkout counter. I didn’t want to stay among the shelves and risk having my brother come up with a clever come back. Unfortunately, had I known that this was about to become my very last visit into that particular library, then I probably would have grabbed more books. When we returned home, the flag on the mailbox was back down. Momma briefly glanced at the thing before entering the house after us.

After that day, Momma was home a lot more. She still occasionally went out looking for a job, but her efforts had slowed down greatly. Though we were unsure about money, having her home more made things easier for Christopher and I. No longer were we having to take care of the twins every afternoon. This made it possible for my brother to get back into club activities and catch up on his studies. Meanwhile, I was able to get back into regular ballet lessons and spend time with friends once again on the weekends. While I still missed Daddy from time to time, it was nice to have some normalcy return into our home.

As part of her new routine, every morning, Momma would go and check the mailbox. Whatever she was waiting for, it was obviously important because finding the metal container empty often visibly upset her. She then placed a new letter inside. One that she had written after all of us kids had gone to bed the night before. Despite her frustration, the effort it took in sending these letters had become visibly easier. No longer was she standing there for a couple of odd minutes and seemingly terrified of some unknown horror. There was only irritation and resentment as she slammed the metal door shut. Sometimes, she closed the lid with such a hard and angry clang that it was surprising to not have the thing break.

Then one early afternoon, about three weeks and several letters later, Momma thundered in and startled me. I watched as she immediately sat down at the dining table and flipped through the mail. It had arrived that day much later than usual. She stopped at what appeared to be a personal envelope. Her hand trembled slightly as she looked upon the thing. From where I stood, I couldn’t read the lettering, but I could see that it was all gold embossed. It was so fancy and ornate that at first, I wondered if someone might be inviting us to a wedding. But there was nothing celebratory about Momma’s expression as I witnessed her coldly slice through the thing with her letter opener and pull out the matching stationary. Her face didn’t change out of its seriousness once as her eyes scanned along line by line. And once she finished, she slammed the paper on the table and sighed heavily.

I nervously walked closer. “Momma?” I began to ask.

Momma turned to face me with surprise. “Cathy, sweetie. Umm…” She then cleared her throat. “When Christopher gets home from his club, the three of us are going to need to have a sit down and talk. Okay?”

“O…kay” I responded. I couldn’t help but wonder what this was going to be about. From this closer distance, I was able to finally make out some of the envelope’s gleaming cursive words. On the return address, the name read, “Foxworth.”

Chapter Text

Christopher entered the house and with a small wave I motioned for him to come into the dining room. At first, he blinked at me with confusion until I repeated the gesture. Then, he capitulated and followed. We sat down at the table in front of Momma. All of the mail had been cleared off except for the pretty letter. But sitting there, Momma’s expression was hard as she scanned our faces. I could swear that the beautiful pale skin of her face was solid marble and the blues of her eyes were like icebergs. I had never seen such an energy come off of her.

Her countenance then transformed into a beaming grin that was somehow more unnerving than her previous stare. It was too sweet, like the saccharine of a door to door salesman about to pitch to you on why you should buy their latest and greatest wonder of the world. She then sighed heavily. A behavior that was a complete mismatch from the pasted on upward turn of her mouth.

“I’m going to start with the bad news first,” she finally began. “So, try not to worry as I speak because good news IS coming. At fourteen and twelve, you both are getting old enough that I suppose it’s not a bad thing for the two of you to learn more about the adult world. You see, your daddy, God rest his soul, and I were not as responsible with money as we should have been. The restaurants, the expensive clothes, the nice furniture, the wonderful presents that he always bought because he felt bad about having to be away on so many business trips; it all adds up. Granted, we weren’t in any debt, but we WERE living paycheck to paycheck.

“So, when he passed away so unexpectedly like that, there was virtually nothing in our bank to live on. We have been surviving the last number of months on the leftover life insurance money that didn’t get spent on the funeral and the cash from everything that I have had to sell off in the house. And that money will soon run out completely. We’ll be destitute after that. Because of all of that, we’re going to have to leave our home soon.”

Christopher and I looked at each other in a panic. Leave? Our whole lives were here; our friends, our school, Christopher’s clubs, my ballet class. My brother turned back toward Momma. “I thought that we owned the house,” he declared in a pleading voice.

“We do,” Momma confirmed with a nod. “But, our water and power will be shut off at the end of the month. And how will we feed and clothe ourselves without money to do so with?” she then countered. “I mean… I suppose we could start to go through your rooms, and maybe even the twins, look for more things to sell. That might buy us a little extra time, but it won’t be much.”

Hearing that, an image flashed into my mind of my bedroom looking like how Momma’s now did; my little white twin bed surrounded by a pink tulle canopy becoming nothing but a bare mattress on the floor, my clothes gone from my closet, my fairy light decorated bookshelves transforming into piles of books. Wait… would I have to sell my books too? My materialistic twelve-year-old heart wanted to scream and hide all of my things away from this fate like a dragon hoarding its gold. I felt myself shrink within an oppressive despair of unseen encroaching poverty. Was this what grown ups always dealt with within the adult world of dollars and doughnuts?

I glanced out through the glass slider at the twins running and screaming around in the backyard. My imagination struggled to even begin to truly fathom what their feelings would be toward having all of their stuff sold off to strangers. Though I could picture some very loud wailing over lost Barbies and Tonkas.

Momma then reached across the table with both of her hands and held mine and Christopher’s within each one. “I told you that good news was coming next,” she reassured before sitting back up. “Remember when I told you both about the backup plan that I had? Well, it appears to have come through. For the past couple of weeks, I have been writing letters to my parents and I finally got a response from your grandmother. She said that we can come and stay with them in my old childhood home! You see, my loves. Your momma was raised in wealth because your grandparents are rich. Not just well off, but filthy rich. As in, they own MILLIONS! I mean… wait until you see the old house. It’s gigantic!” Fake excitement squealed in her tone and conveyed that all our problems were about to end.

However, this new information threw me into immediate confusion because... “Momma, didn’t you say that our other family members were dead?”

Momma stumbled at that question and her eyes got wide as panic instantly gripped her. She then looked back and forth between Christopher and myself with visible nervousness. “Well, I… I thought that they were,” Momma finally began. “But, I decided to go ahead and write to my old address anyway.” She shrugged. “I mean. It couldn’t hurt, right?” Her face then turned serious. “Anyway, my father is gravely ill and infirm right now. My brothers died a long time ago. So, I am the only one left to inherit all of his fortune. You see, growing up, my father was… fond of me. In fact, I was his favorite. But, back when we were young, your Daddy and I did something that made my parents angry and I was then written out of his will as a response. The plan is that once we move in, I’ll work to earn back his favor, and then all of us will never have to worry about money ever again!”

Momma then looked between both Christopher and I again with that disquieting faux excitement. I got the impression that she was hoping that we would somehow show more positivity now. When she didn't get the reaction that she hoped for, Momma’s expression became more serious. “But… we’ll have to leave soon. You see, my mother was clear in her letter. We have until the end of the week to get to their house in Virginia or the deal will be off… and we’ll truly be on our own then.”

Christopher and I stared at each other. I wondered for a moment if our thoughts were as mirrored as our nervous countenances. ‘The deal will be off?’ So, did that mean that if we didn’t leave soon, then this grandmother who we had never met would leave her child to suffer? To starve? To die? What kind of a momma was this woman? I certainly couldn’t picture our own momma ever doing that to us. We then felt her hand reach over and clutch each of ours reassuringly once again.

“I know that the idea of leaving everything might seem scary right now. But, once we’re rich, we’ll be able to buy all of the toys and things that you have lost ten times over. Also, while it doesn’t necessarily make you more talented, you’ll be amazed at how many opportunities will come your way when you have money.” Momma then stared straight into my eyes. I wanted to look away, but something about her small blue oceans trapped me in place, drowning me within them. “You want to be a ballerina right? Well, any ballet, name it. Pick it my love and you’ll get the lead. I guarantee it!” She then turned to Christopher. “My little future doctor, why stop at working for a hospital, when you could own and run that hospital? There is not a single happiness that we will not be able to buy as those around you will treat you like royalty.

“All I need is your help with packing and the twins. We’ll want to leave by midday tomorrow. It’ll take about ten hours to get to Virginia by train. Make sure that everything that you want to take will be able to fit in a suitcase.” With that, she stood up. My brother and I sat there silent and overwhelmed by everything that we had just been told. “I know that this may all be scary now, but this really is the best option given the circumstances. And I promise that when this is all over then things will make more sense to you.” She began to walk out, but stopped. “Oh, and one last thing, our last names are not really Dollanganger. They’re Foxworth. Your father and I had it changed a long time ago. I just wanted you both to know since it might come up when we get to the estate.” Then she left, taking her golden letter with her.

That evening, the twins tittered with glee as Momma threw together an indulgent last supper for the family. Every piece of food was pulled out of the cupboards or the refrigerator, cooked, and served. Platters squished themselves along the counters and table, and Christopher and I then watched as the twins stuffed themselves until they both complained about stomach aches. Once they were both tucked into bed and read to. Momma proceeded to take all of the leftover food that didn’t get eaten and threw it away. Afterwards, as I laid in bed, I thought about what Momma had told me. Starting tomorrow, I was going to move into a grand house, get treated like a princess, and live a life like one of the many heroines from my books. So, why couldn’t I stop feeling worried and unhappy? I fell asleep that night to troubling dreams.

The next day, I packed my suitcase and helped Carrie to pack hers. Meanwhile, Christopher took care of Cory’s things. And golly, I never considered how little a suitcase could fit. A single Raggedy Ann doll took up half of the thing. Luckily, my beloved silver music box was small enough to stuff into the corner of the leather carry on. But ultimately, this situation once again had me lamenting for all the things that I was about to have to leave behind. Eventually, Momma suggested that Christopher and I coordinate our efforts. For example, my brother could pack the tube of toothpaste, while I grabbed the bar of soap. Then, we could just share everything and have more usable room for other things. “It’ll only have to hold you for a few days. Once we’re settled, we can buy more of all of that stuff easily,” she reminded.

Carrie was even less happy to hear that she was supposed to abandon her precious possessions. And oh boy, all attempts to reassure her that she would get it all back and then some did not work. In trying to get Carrie to declare what she wanted to take with her the most, several unproductive minutes went by of me arguing with the screeching five-year-old. Finally, I had to just pull outfits out of the closet and throw them into her suitcase on her behalf. Because in her current state, she was not about to choose clothes for herself at any point during this century. I also made sure to squish in her Barbie since I knew that it was important to her.

As a grumbly Carrie and I shambled out of her room, we bumped into Christopher. Along with his suitcase, he was holding a small pencil and sketch notebook, a large sketchbook with two boxes of basic colored pencils, and a couple of picture books. I wondered for a moment why he needed two different kinds of drawing set supplies. “Ten hours is a long time. You might want to take something for entertainment as well,” he explained. Realizing that he was right, but not wanting to admit it, I snuck back into my room and looked through my bookshelf. Most of them, I had read multiple times. Only Wuthering Heights, a book that I had picked up and put back down a long time ago, remained unread. I grabbed it.

The train station was a modest building. The clock on a pole that stood taller than Christopher told us that our train would arrive in about twenty minutes. I held Carrie’s hand and watched as Momma walked to a payphone, looked about to see if anyone else was near us, and rotaried in a number. She then told the operator at the other end to connect to Foxworth Hall in Virginia. After a few minutes, Momma spoke in a low voice, “Yeah, we’re at the train station now. We should be arriving in Virginia in about ten to ten and a half hours. Thank you.” She then hung up. “I was just calling to let your grandmother know that we are on the way,” she explained.

“So, you were talking to Grandmother then? What is she like?” I asked.

“Oh no, that wasn’t her,” she replied as if I had asked something silly. “That was the head maid, Mrs. Johnson.” Momma then grinned at me. “The house has roughly a dozen maids within their employment alone,” she declared excitedly.

When the train arrived, Momma handed the conductor our tickets. We watched as he punched them and then smiled at her. “Welcome aboard, Mrs. Patterson. Hope that you have a wonderful time on our train,” he welcomed with an extra level of friendliness that was common among men who spoke with Momma. She nodded her gratitude cordially, while Christopher and I gave one another a confused quick glance over the name. Then, we all entered.

Rows of blue suede double seats all faced each other. A table was in the middle pair of facing sets. A maroon and cream runner ran along the length of the car. Both the runner and the suede were starting to show a need for repair. We all then sat down. I wanted the window seat, but Momma insisted on giving it to the twins. That way, they could look out and hopefully be entertained. It was Carrie, Cory, and me squished together on one side, while Momma and Christopher sat on the other. Once settled, I opened Wuthering Heights while my brother opened his small drawing notebook and began doodling.

After about ten minutes, Carrie and Cory started to fidget and Momma’s eyes widened in mild nervousness over the fact that the twins were already beginning to show signs of tiny child boredom. But without missing a beat, Christopher tore out a few pages from his large sketchbook and his two sets of colored pencils and set them on the table for the twins to draw and color with. “Draw the things that you see outside the window,” he suggested.

After a few minutes of looking outside and drawing, Carrie crinkled her nose disapprovingly and grumbled, “We don’t have the right colors. The grass is light green and we only have dark green.”

My brother lifted his eyes briefly from his own work in order to see what his baby sister was whining about. “Try coloring the grass yellow first, then go over that lightly with the green. Here, like this.” Christopher then slid Carries paper over and demonstrated the grass coloring technique with a corner of her work. In response, the five-year-old gasped in amazement, fisted the yellow color pencil, and frantically colored lemon-hued grass across the paper as fast as her small arm could function.

“Slow down,” Momma chided. “You’re accidentally making markings on the table. Also, before either of you move on to another paper, I want you to use BOTH sides. This has to last until we get to Virginia.” She then sighed and looked at Christopher. “Thank you for bringing some stuff to do. I’ve been so preoccupied lately that I didn’t even think…” He shrugged in response, signaling to her that it was no big deal. She then clicked her tongue. “How did I ever get so lucky as to have such a thoughtful son?” Momma then lightly kissed his cheek in appreciation. It left the slightest lipstick smudge on the side of his face. He fluttered slightly at the affection.

“What are you working on, Christopher?” I then asked while motioning to his own sketchbook.

He smiled at me and there was a gleam in his eye that told me that I was about to regret asking. My brother then showed the page to me. It was of me and the twins doing what we currently were doing. I was reading while Carrie and Cory were drawing. Christopher’s art skills with a pencil were undeniable. This image would have been a dead ringer depiction of us. Except, for added whimsy, my brother had given all three of us a beard and mustache. “Personally, I think it’s an improvement,” the brat taunted. The twins then looked upon the picture and squealed with laughter. They then placed their hands over their mouths and pretended to have beards and mustaches themselves. I was far less amused.

Cory began to fidget in a way that we all recognized. “All right, little man. It’s time to take a short walking and potty break. You too, little lady. Come on!” Momma ordered.

“But, I don’t have to go,” Carrie griped.

“You’re still going to at least try,” Momma declared, ending the discussion.

After they left, I slid over to the window and enjoyed my brief moment of having a view that wasn’t disrupted by small and fussy human bodies. “So, once we’re rich, are you going to double down on being a ballerina?” Christopher then asked.

I glanced over at him before turning my body to where we were face to face. “Oh my brother, yee of little imagination, if I’m going to be rich, then why should I settle for just becoming a ballerina, when I could own an entire ballet company?”

Christopher whistled at that. “Wow! Ambitious!” he then declared, somewhat impressed.

“And you? Are you going to OWN a hospital now?”

Christopher shifted at that. “Honestly… it kind of freaked me out when Momma suggested that. It was all just… a lot, you know?” My eyes went downcast as I nodded in understanding. “However, now that I know what your plans are, then I guess I gotta. I mean, I can’t let you beat me,” he declared teasingly.

I scoffed at that with a half chuckle before asking what I had been wanting to for the entire ride. “Why did Momma tell the trainman that her name was Patterson?”

Christopher looked around and I could tell from his expression that he had been wondering the same thing. “I… I don’t know.”

Before I could speculate with my brother any further, Momma returned with the twins. So, we both stopped talking. As the afternoon wore into the evening and then into the night. We had dinner and then slept. Only Momma remained awake in order to make sure that we wouldn’t miss our stop. It was pitch black out when I felt her finally shake my shoulder. “We’re here,” she coaxed lovingly.

Before we disembarked from the train, the conductor halted us, “It’s two o’clock in the morning. Are you sure that you and your kids will be alright Mrs. Patterson?”

“Someone is coming to pick us up,” Momma replied reassuringly.

Unsatisfied, he continued, “And you’re sure that they’ll be here soon?” Momma nodded in answer. “Well, if you need, there’s a few houses down the road and up the hill that way, but they’re about seven miles from here.”

“We’ll be fine. Thank you!” Momma stated in a tone that was final. Then we got off and watched the train lumber away. Its whistle wailed out into the night. An eerie sound that had me wondering if we should have stayed on board. The station itself was little more than a rusted tin roof set on top of four timber poles. A couple rickety metal benches, with their green paint chipping off of them along all of the edges, sat in the middle. “Go ahead and get some rest, my loves,” she instructed. “Our pick up should be here soon.” The twins didn’t need to be told twice. They crawled onto one of the benches and laid down. Christopher flopped onto the other one and closed his eyes with a groan. I sat down and rested my arms and head on the bench, while my legs and feet completely dangled off of the thing due to lack of space. I watched Momma stand in guard and wait as another round of uncomfortable sleep took over me.

Some unknown time later, I felt my shoulder getting shook by someone’s hand. My eyes opened to see Christopher’s face. The bags under his eyes looked as tired as I felt. “Mom says that we’re gonna have to walk,” he explained in a groggy voice. Fog attempted to clear itself from my head as I groaned my way to an upright position. I rubbed my eyes.

“I’m sorry, my loves. I honestly thought that someone was going to come get us, at least Mrs. Johnson if no one else. But, it’s been over thirty minutes. And if we don’t make it to the house by dawn, then we’ll have to wait clear until the following nightfall for someone to let us in.”

My clouded mind only began to register the end of that statement. “Why nightfall?” I thought briefly as I stood up. I then looked down the road and realized what was in store. It was going to be a long way and incredibly dark. Trees swayed loudly in the wind around the old unpaved dirt road. The branches of the oaks and ashes overhung the path into a shape that was not unlike a mouth and tongue resting in wait to gobble up me and my family. I shivered, not just from the chill of the breeze, but also the fear. This was exactly the kind of setting from one of my books, where wicked monsters hid away among shadowed tree trunks in order to kidnap sweet mothers and scared little children. The ghouls then carry them off to an evil place where they will never be seen or heard from again.

Now more awake, I turned to my brother, whose face revealed to me that he was equally unexcited for this upcoming venture. I then looked at the twins. They were both nothing short of passed out. Momma noticed too. Her mental gears turned as she considered the situation before her. “Wait here for a moment,” she instructed. There were five suitcases. We watched as Momma grabbed her own, the largest one, and then walked into the woods. After a couple of minutes, I began to get nervous for her. But then, a sigh of relief escaped from my mouth as her silhouette returned to us, beating her hands together in an attempt to remove loose dirt from them. She then took off her shoes and popped the heel right off of each of them. Next, Momma proceeded to bend and flex at the gold rubber bottoms until the things were awkwardly straightened.

I opened my mouth to protest the destruction of her lovely shoes, when she looked at me. “I’ve already told you, my love. We’ll be able to buy anything that we want many times over.” As her feet tested the new stiletto-less stilettos, she then instructed, “Now, take your loose items, your books and art supplies, and shove them into your suitcases.” Once we finished doing as she asked, Momma then scooped up all four suitcases, two handles in each hand. “I have all of these if you have the two of them.”

Christopher looked toward the forest with mild confusion. “Aren’t you going to want your own suitcase, Momma?” he asked.

“If I have time after we all have gotten settled, then I may come back for it,” Momma answered. “Otherwise, I suppose some brave wanderer will eventually stumble upon some treasure in the woods.” She then made an exaggerated expression of horrified scandal before uttering, “...My knickers.”

My brother and I burst out in giggles and felt some of the nervous tension now escape from our bodies. We then stirred the twins long enough to have them climb onto our backs before they quickly passed out again. Looking at them, my sleep deprived self felt jealous over the ease in which my little siblings could fall in and out of sleep. Not to mention the energy that they had whenever fully awake. Cory was slightly smaller. So, I placed him on my back while Christopher lifted Carrie onto his own.

The funny thing is that Christopher was only about an inch taller than myself. He was consistently the smallest boy in his junior and high school classes and I teased him mercilessly about it while growing up. I called him the dwarf Dollanganger of the family and taunted about how he would always be my adorable widdle older bwother. “Don’t count him out yet,” Daddy would then scold. “He’s exactly just like I was at that age. Smallest kid in my class until one summer, during my mid teens, I suddenly just shot up about twelve more inches. It was like I’d eaten a fresh mushroom from Wonderland.”

Nothing but trees upon trees were available for us to look at while hiking along this road. Even then, it was too pitch black to admire any details. I could barely even keep track of Momma’s silhouette as it marched along in front of me and Christopher, leading the way toward our supposed bright future. Yet, the woods were noisy. A complete contrast to their otherwise visual stillness. Despite knowing better, despite the mature understanding of fact from fiction, an icy paranoia crept along my spine of some horrifying beast leaping at us from somewhere undetectable within the dark. Truly, I’m not sure what was keeping me walking except that Christopher was right beside me the entire way and gave me occasional encouraging smiles.

However, after our legs had trudged for Lord knows how long, I complained that my arms hurt from having to carry my brother. Then, between exhaustion, soreness, and general grief, tears began to roll down from my eyes. Almost uncontrollably, I started to whine like a child half my age that I didn’t want to walk any longer. I didn’t care anymore about this stupid grandmother and stupid grandfather. I didn’t care anymore about this stupid house. I didn’t care anymore about the stupid money. I wanted to go home NOW!

Momma turned to face me. There was a strange scowl across her face that was uncharacteristically cold. Wordlessly, it warned me to stop crying this instant, but I didn’t want to hear it. “At this point, it’ll take longer for us to go back then forward,” she chided me with an exasperated sigh. “I promise that it’s not much farther. If you’re both tired, then put down your siblings and make them walk the rest of the way.” Both my brother and I gasped at her strange behavior, but silently did as we were told.

Once woken up, the twins whined and grumbled even worse than I just had. But Momma was no longer listening to any of it. She simply marched on. If anything, her pace had quickened and I was almost afraid of her possibly leaving us behind, alone to wander in the black by ourselves with no idea about where we were supposed to go. Until, soon enough, true to Momma’s word, the trees cleared to a valley of plantations. At last, freed from all of those oppressive trees, we could make out various details. On a nearby hill, was a cluster of fine homes, with the largest and grandest standing at the top. All the while as my brother and I attempted to take in so many new sights, Momma marched with a strangely obsessive purpose that was unlike her.

“Is that a lake?” Christopher asked excitedly while pointing toward a dark squiggly circle in the distance.

Momma suddenly stopped like a car wreck and gazed at where Christopher was gesturing. “...Yes, it’s a small lake about a quarter of a mile away from us. My brothers and I used to spend numerous days there during our summer breaks.” She paused as fun and playful memories began to take their effect on the curve of her lips. “Then later on, your father and I snuck out there a couple of times in the middle of the night.” Her face then gave way to a soft sadness as moments of lost love and romance took a hold of her. “Come on. We’re almost there, my loves,” Momma said with a sweetness that felt more like her usual self.

Only in my most childish of fantasies did I imagine that we would be welcomed into a real life castle, but this was certainly a behemoth of a building. Looking upon the thing, I couldn’t help but imagine that this place would be a humdinger for hosting Halloween parties. On the surface, much about its architecture oozed with southern refinement. Along the front were greek columns that held up three layers of porches that wrapped around the left side, while the right side had an odd addition tacked on. A gravel road formed a circular shape in the front with a side road that wound its way back to a smaller building of similar aesthetics, which appeared to be a multi-car garage. A small porchlight above the front door presented the only lumination to the place. The structure gave an odd mishmash of auras. The porches told its visitors to take a load off, while the uninviting single porchlight seemed to declare “enter and die.”

“It’s creepy,” Carrie whimpered as she clung to Christopher’s pant leg. I then felt Cory do the same thing with my dress.

“That’s only because it’s nighttime,” Momma coaxed. “It’s absolutely stunning when viewed in the daylight.” She then proceeded to do a curious thing. Rather than approach the front door, Momma led us on quieted tiptoes around to the back. Our behavior seemed more like thieves looking to break in and steal the grandparent’s fortune than that of long lost relatives having a reunion. As we approached the backdoor, I could see that there was a light beside it as well. But for some reason, it hadn’t been turned on. So, the doorway was dark.

Before Momma even had a chance to knock, the door opened. A tall and middle aged Tin-Man of a woman stood within the entryway. A dark gray-taffeta dress covered her broad shouldered body all the way up to a high neckline. The only break up of the gloomy dress color was a diamond brooch. Matching dark eyeshadow adorned quick to judge eyes that then sat on top of a disproportionately small nose. Glue-gray hair was pulled back into an unforgiving bun. The reddest lipstick imaginable painted itself across lips that were tightly pinched together into a thin line like a bloodied knife.

She then spoke, “They appear well, Corrine. Just as you said.”

Momma moved her body slightly between us and this old woman protectively. “Of course, Mother. I didn’t lie.” Christopher and I exchanged looks. This was the grandmother?

The grandmother sneered at that, “It can be difficult to tell the truth from deceit when it comes to YOUR word.”

Momma sighed at that. Then I watched as her head lowered to the ground and her body became diminutive. “Mother, we’re exhausted. Please just take us to our rooms.” She then began to step inside only to be stopped by the grandmother.

“You are not stepping one foot into this house with those dirt covered shoes!” the grandmother scolded.

“Mother! These are what shoes look like when you force your own family to walk for miles! If you didn’t want us to have dirty shoes, then why didn’t you have someone come and pick us up after I called?” Momma whined. It was a strange sounding voice coming from her. If I hadn’t known better, I would have thought Momma to be my age and not thirty-four.

“I wanted to see how truly dedicated you were in getting back into your father’s and my good graces,” the Tin-Woman replied unmoved. “Wait here,” she then ordered and closed the door. I couldn’t believe it. My family and I had walked all this way in order to meet this woman, to live with her, only to be told to wait even longer and have the door shut on us! We stood for several minutes that felt like hours. Tears began to prick at my eyes again as I wondered if the old-woman was planning to leave us out all night. Where were we going to go if not here? But, the door opened once again and the grandmother held out a garbage sack. “Put your shoes in here.” We blinked in confused shock for only a moment before she then barked, “We don’t have all night!”

Momma jumped slightly at that before removing her broken heels. “It’s okay, children. Do as she says,” she instructed comfortingly before dropping her shoes into the plastic bag.

Once we followed Momma’s example, the Tin-Woman guided us up a grand staircase within a dark foyer of this monster house. Our socked feet padded down many halls and past many closed doors until we at last reached a room. She then turned the latch with her hand and unlocked the pine portal. We entered the space. Maybe it was the fact that our bodies were now finally near beds, but all of our remaining energy was gone. The only detail that my exhaustion fogged brain noticed about the bedroom was that the windows were covered by heavy drapes. Christopher automatically set the suitcases out of the way and pulled out pajamas for each of us, starting with the twins. While he did so, Momma and I auto piloted as well and helped the twins put on their yellow, footy PJs.

The grandmother stood at the door. “I’ll be back in the morning with your food and a list of the rules that you are to follow from this night forward while residing here. Once I leave, this door will be locked until I return. Know this, the four of you are to stay in this room and behave. For the outside world, it is to be as though none of you exist. Therefore, you are not to touch those drapes or make a sound that could possibly be heard by others.”

Normally, we would have argued and whined with indignant confusion, but we were all so drained that the things this Tin-Woman was saying barely registered. Seeking sleep and dreams, the twins climbed into bed together while Christopher and I began to pull the covers from the second.

The grandmother’s eyes widened at that behavior. “The older children cannot share a bed,” she then stated almost angrily.

“Mother, be serious!” Momma balked. “If you are that concerned about my children, who have done NOTHING wrong, then you should put them in separate rooms. God knows that there are PLENTY in this house. Also, they are good children, but they are exactly that CHILDREN. They need sunlight and space to run and play.” As she ranted and raved, I stood there and stared transfixed. The comforter vice gripped within my hand. I couldn’t remember a time where I ever witnessed Momma become this mad. It was like watching the countdown of a bomb about to detonate.

“That’s impossible,” the grandmother then interjected. “I cannot allocate any more rooms in the house toward your desperate and obvious scheme without raising suspicion. And if you don’t like my generosity Corrine, then you and the children can take your chances back outside. Need I remind you of how very lucky you are that I was the one who received your letter and not your father?” the Tin-Woman warned.

Momma gasped at that and then appeared to instantly deactivate from those words. “No,” she answered meekly before approaching the twins, picking up Cory, and placing him in the other bed. Clearly feeling somewhat befuddled, Christopher then followed and laid down with him, while I went and curled up next to Carrie. Momma then consoled us reassuringly, “It’s just for one or two nights. Okay? I’ll be back as soon as I am able. Cory, Carrie, listen to Christopher and Cathy. Be extra good and look out for each other. I love you all so much.” The last thing that she did was kiss each of us and whisper, “Goodnight, my love.” A few moments later, we heard the door close and the latch turn.

With that sound, I realized that the door was locked, and it suddenly fully registered that the grandmother had told us that she was going to do exactly that. So, for at least tonight, my siblings and I were trapped in this horrible place, owned by this seemingly horrible woman. It upset me how easily the Tin-Woman seemed to make Momma appear sad and small. Because of that, I already didn’t like the grandmother and after only one night.

Briefly, I climbed out of bed, went to my suitcase, and pulled out my silver music box. My soul needed some form of comfort. Lifting the lid, Tchaikovsky softly filled the room while the ballerina twirled and I held the object to my chest. For the third time tonight, teardrops rolled from my eyes as I began to cry. That’s when I heard Christopher's voice speak to me within that darkness. “Hey, are you okay? You haven’t cried this much since that time you broke your arm and then had to take a lengthy break from ballet lessons while it healed.”

My back straightened and I wiped my eyes. “Don’t even think about making fun of me,” I warned.

He chuckled lightly at that, “Honestly, I wasn’t planning to.” I then turned and saw his silhouette sitting upright as well. “I just wanted to say that I’m glad that we’re all together. I know that Momma made that suggestion about… all us having separate rooms. But, given how friendly and welcoming this place CLEARLY is, I think that we would have just been up all night worrying about each other. Anyway, that’s all I wanted to say. Goodnight, Cathy.” My brother then laid back down, while I blinked there in the black. After a few minutes, my head then rested upon my own pillow. As Christopher’s words went Merry-go-round in my messy heart, I wrapped my arms around Carrie and held her close. Unconsciousness then took over to the soothing sensation of her small inhales and exhales.

Chapter Text

I was only faintly aware of a slight creaking sound when a voice suddenly boomed, “Why are the four of you still in bed?! Get up immediately!” My eyes shot open in a startled fright and I quickly sat up. The Tin-Woman was standing at the doorway with what might have been the largest picnic basket on Earth slinged within the crook of her arm. Nervous about what she might do next, we scrambled out of our beds, stumbling and nearly falling to the ground as we got to our feet.

It was morning already? My pupils scanned the room in an attempt to discern why the space was still so dark. Then, I looked to the windows and noticed cracks of gold that illuminated between the swaths of heavy fabric. The dense drapes had obscured dawn’s light.

“I will not tolerate laziness within my house,” the grandmother thundered. “I will be here each morning at exactly seven a.m. to bring your food. So, from this point forward, all four of you are to be awake and dressed before my arrival. Set an alarm if you must! And if I have to remind you a second time, well… then we will find out if the belt will make a better teacher.” I started to tremble. Never before had an adult yelled at me and my siblings this severely, let alone threatened to beat us. She then slammed the basket down on the table, opened the lid, and pulled out some papers . The Tin-Woman slapped the parchments down beside the food. “Those are the rules that you are to follow from this hour forward. Read them as soon as possible because failure to do so will have consequences the likes of which you have never known.”

After she finished, my eyes began to look around the room. I was finally awake enough to study its details. The space was large, about sixteen by sixteen. The furniture and decor was a discoordinated mess that seemed to me to be a room more concerned with showcasing its opulence than being a cohesive design. Tan wallpaper with white flocking mismatched the deep rouge drapery and gold bedspread of our two doubles that we slept in. Next to each bed was a gilded lamp and nightstand. The drawer to the nightstand beside mine and Carrie’s bed was currently housing my music box. Gratitude filled my heart that it was tucked away and hidden from the Tin-Woman. I wasn’t completely sure of what she would do if she saw it. On the wall to the right of our beds was a dark mahogany vanity table sitting between the two windows. On the left wall was a matching mahogany highboy. The opposite wall from our two double beds was the dining table with four chairs, where the basket had been placed. It sat between two doors; one that led to the closet, while the other went to the bathroom. An oriental red rug with yellow tassels sat in the middle of the floor. At one point, it might have been beautiful, but now the threads were incredibly worn.

As I observed the various elements of our temporary lodging, something then caught my gaze and held it there in fascinated horror. Above the dining table was a massive triptych. Its image depicted a diverse drove of grotesque beasts chasing and devouring helpless human souls. All of whom were naked and shown to be wailing in fear and agony. Like the drapes and the rug, the painting was largely crimson in coloring as both the monster's skin color and the blood of the poor people were of that similar pigment. I stood there transfixed upon it in shock, wanting to look away, but unable to.

The grandmother must have noticed my stare because she began to explain. “I had that piece placed in this room special for your protection. You are to never cover it up or take it down. It’s there to always remind you that God sees everything. Even when I am not here to punish you myself, God is, and He will inevitably pass judgement upon you all should you commit evil behind my back. Just as He has clearly done to your father.” The four of us silently blinked in confused indignation as to why God would have punished our Daddy before the Tin-Woman then left us without saying another word. The latch sound of the lock that followed suggested that the grandmother didn’t intend to return for a while.

Now alone, we looked at the basket and list of rules lying next to it. I sighed at it. The thing was multiple pages. “I guess. We should probably eat breakfast and take a look at what all the grandmother’s rules are,” I stated in weariness.

I walked over to the wicker container to start digging through the food and setting the table. When I opened the basket, I gasped and proceeded to pull out things like potato salad, fried chicken, and sandwiches. The entire thing was stuffed to the brim with food, odd food. Items that I never would have personally considered for breakfast. Christopher then stood next to me and we gave each other a bewildered expression.

My brother then snatched the grandmother’s rules and glanced over its contents before muttering an “A…ha!” He then smacked the papers with the back of his hand, set them down, and pulled out other items; bacon, eggs, and toast. All of the other food that I had pulled out went back in the basket. The whole thing was then picked up and set down on the floor. “Cory, Carrie, come have breakfast,” Christopher offered.

As the hungry twins padded over, Carrie scrunched her nose at the spread. “Cory and I don’t like eggs. They’re lumpy and gross. We want cereal with raisins please,” she whined.

Christopher and I looked at each other nervously. Given our current predicament, the last thing that we wanted was for her or Cory to possibly throw some kind of tantrum. My thoughts scrambled to figure out a quick solution. “Carrie, there wasn’t any cereal,” I mumbled sheepishly. Then, it came to me. “But… Christopher told me that he would be willing to give you his bacon and toast in exchange for your eggs.”

I then beamed at my older sibling while he glared back at me. Bacon was one of his favorite foods and of course, he had said no such thing. I continued to smile insistently at him. Until with pinched lips, he begrudgingly passed his bacon and toast to the twins and took their eggs.

As he did so, Christopher mouthed to me, “I’ll get you back for that.”

“What a kind and caring big brother you are,” I taunted in return as the twins began to chomp down the pork meat greedily.

With a slightly amused smirk, Christopher then rolled his eyes and stood up. Grabbing the list of rules, he began to read, pacing as he did so, “”One: I cannot possibly go up and down the stairs multiple times each day. Therefore, the food in the basket must last you the entire duration. You will be responsible for making sure that it does so. Bacon, eggs, toast, and cereal will be for breakfast. Soup and sandwiches will be for lunch. And, fried chicken, potato salad, and green beans will be for dinner. You can have the fruit as your dessert.

“‘All of your used dishes will then need to be placed back in the basket, and in the morning, I will swap it for your next day’s basket of meals.”’ Christopher then stopped reading for a moment and looked at the three of us directly. “That’s why there’s so much food in there. It’s not just our breakfast. It’s… all of it,” he stated with a shrug. “For the whole day.”

My eyebrows furrowed at that, “Won’t our lunch, and even more so dinner, get room temperature and gross then?”

“Yes, but I… doubt that she cares all that much,” Christopher replied.

The room went quiet and somber at that. The idea that the grandmother didn’t care about the quality of what we ate echoed among the walls for a couple of painful minutes. While our momma wasn’t always the best chef at home, oftentimes over or under cooking our food, she at least cared. Momma wanted us to eat well, she just lacked the skills. This was the opposite of that. The grandmother, or more likely the staff, could make delicious meals for us to enjoy, but just didn’t see the value in it, the value in us, to put forth the effort. The Tin-Woman’s heart simply wasn’t where it should be.

Then suddenly, breaking the atmosphere’s tension, my brother’s back got uncharacteristically straight and his lips became pursed together. The three of us watched his behavior in puzzlement. However, once blue eyes scowled at the twins, we all quickly realized that our brother was doing an impression of the mean grandmother. “Don’t you dare even so much as think about starting to smile,” he told the five-year-olds in her cold voice. And I'll be darned if it wasn’t a dead ringer. As though in defiance, the twins began to squeal with delight as their response. “What is that sound?!” he then snapped. “Is that… giggling?” Carrie and Cory burst out even louder. “Stop that racket this instant! Such joyful sounds are NOT allowed in this house! Don’t you dare have any fun lest HE sees you!” It was my turn to break out in a chuckle at the performance. Appearing to be mighty pleased with himself, Christopher then impishly looked back at the list of rules and continued to read with the grandmother’s personification.

“‘Two: You will not speak to me unless spoken to, nor are you to look upon me with even the slightest show of defiance or disrespect. Every morning, at exactly seven a.m., I will come in to drop off your day’s food and milk. When I do, all four of you are to be dressed and stand at attention with your arms straight down your sides.

“‘Three: You will not jump, shout, or make any loud noise that will allow others within this house to hear. If you wish to play at a louder volume, then it must always be done in the attic. Inside this room’s closet, there is a small door that conceals the steps which lead to that upper space.

“‘Four: Do not open the draperies, not even a peek. As has previously been said, it is to be as though none of you exist for the outside world.

“‘Five: You are to maintain a tidy room with beds always made. Also, if you clog up any of the drains, whether the sink, bathtub, or even the toilet, no plumber will be called. If you break something, then whatever you break will remain that way until the day that you leave.

“‘Six: On the last Friday of every month, a maid will come in and clean the room. On those Fridays, all four of you are to go up to the attic and hide. There is to be no evidence of your occupancy left for the maid to find. Leaving anything behind, even by mistake, will lead to severe consequences.’”

My brain stumbled on that. The words didn’t make sense with something that Momma had told us all just last night, and that suddenly made me feel worried.

“‘Seven…’”

“Stop for a second Christopher,” I interrupted. He halted and looked at me with surprise, wondering why I had made him pause. “Momma said that we’re only gonna be in this room for a couple of days at most,” I began to explain. “So, why this note about the maid coming at the end of each month?”

I watched him blink at that. A growing concern was visible all over Christopher’s face as I witnessed the gears turn in his head over what I had just stated. But then, he scoffed and shook slightly as though attempting to physically eject the idea right out of his body. “The old bat is mean and probably lying just to scare us. We can always ask Momma about it later when we see her again. Anyway Cathy, let me go ahead and finish reading. Alright?”

I could tell from his tone that the discussion was final. So, I nodded in agreement. Afterall, my brother did have a point about the fact that we could discuss it with Momma when she visited us next, which hopefully would be soon. But, it remained silently rattling in my frontal cortex.

Christopher was by NO means stupid. At his high school, he had been the only Freshman who made it into an AP class for good reason. But, my brother frequently struggled with human complexity, nuance, and mess. Perhaps the truth was more that he was simply too smart to really understand people. To him, the world was a long list of facts to quickly memorize. It also didn’t help that my concern had called Momma into question, which went against his nature since she had been his favorite. After all, there was no way that both she and the grandmother could be telling the truth here. Boy, I hoped with everything that Christopher was right about who was really lying. It would make things much easier.

But, while the Tin-Woman was hateful to be sure, she didn’t strike me as a liar. If anything, the old woman seemed honest to a fault. However, experience and observation had told me that Momma was frequently one. She lied when she thought that the truth would hurt too much, she lied to protect those whom she cared for, and she lied to cover up embarrassment. Yes, Momma was a liar. Lying was something that I had known her to do my whole life. It had just never been a problem until now.

As Christopher then continued to read the list, he dropped the grandmother act while doing so. Clearly, my words had shaken him. “‘Seven: You will brush your teeth after breakfast and before bed everyday. If you are silent and good, I might bring cookies or cake, but no candy. Be mindful that should you develop any cavities, we will not be taking any trips to the dentist for them.

“‘Eight: Along with your teeth, you are to keep yourselves tidy and clean. Each day, you will keep your body bathed, your faces washed, and your hair brushed. I will not tolerate anything less in your appearance. As you bathe, you will also clean any rings in the tub. Keeping it as spotless as it was before your use.

“‘Nine: You are responsible for washing your own clothes in the bathtub, and your mother can take care of your towels and bed linens. However, should any of the linens happen to be soiled, then I will severely beat the child who is not fully toilet-trained.’”

At that last rule, Cory whimpered and Christopher paused his reading again at the sound. We all looked at my little brother with concern. Though he was fine during the day, able to hold it and make it to the bathroom, Cory did have occasional accidents at night. Honestly, they were so infrequent now that it was unlikely to even be a problem for the few days that we were to stay here. Just the same, I pet my scared little brother’s head reassuringly. “Don’t worry. We’ll just wash the sheets and dry them long before anything gets discovered. You’ll be safe,” I declared before kissing the top of his blonde curls.

Once Cory settled down, Christopher continued. “‘Ten: You are to devote at least five hours everyday to some form of study in order to develop and improve upon any talents and abilities. If no such skills exist, then that time is to be spent solely in reading the Bible.

“‘Eleven: You are NEVER to take the Lord’s name in vain and say grace before each meal. Always remember that God is watching you, even when I am not.’” Christopher’s head rose from that last sentiment. There was a wicked grin all over his countenance as he then stated with mischievous glee, “Goddamn this woman is a loony.”

“CHRISTOPHER!” I immediately scolded.

My brother chuckled with that sassy smile. He knew full well what he had done. Obviously pleased with himself, he continued to read with some of his former zeal as the grandmother’s personification had once again returned while doing so. Except this time, it was somehow less funny. “‘Twelve: You will all read at least one page of the Bible each day. The older children can read aloud to the younger ones. You will also memorize at least one passage daily. On random days, I will quiz you over what you have learned and all four of you better have an answer. Otherwise, I will see to it that a fitting punishment is carried out.

“‘Thirteen: You are to be modest and discreet at all times. You are to always be dressed. If it is after dark, then you will wear a robe over your nightgown before getting out of bed for any reason, even to go to the bathroom. You will not allow sinful, wicked, or lustful thoughts to dwell. You will not look upon or touch either your own bodies or each other’s in a manner that can be perceived as impure. If I ever catch the boys and girls using the bathroom together, or any other indecent behaviors, I will whip the skin off of your back without mercy until you once again find the Lord.’”

My mouth gaped and my cheeks turned pink with an incredulous embarrassment. What in the world did she think that it was we might be doing? What kind of children exactly did she think we were? It must have bothered Christopher as well because his voice went back to serious once again. All humor was now gone as he read the final rule.

“‘Lastly, fourteen: At any point, I may add to these rules as the need arises.

“‘For now, I will conclude this list by saying that you shall make no attempt to gain my affection, friendship, pity, love, or compassion. You will find such efforts to be impossible. I will never allow myself to feel anything for creatures born from sin. Also, while in my presence, you shall never refer to your father…EVER. And I…’” Christopher stopped for a moment as though reflecting on what he was now reading. “‘I will refrain from looking upon the one who resembles the father most.’”

The room went silent. It was so quiet, we could hear the sounds of nature through the windows that we were never allowed to open or even so much as peek through. All of us sat there as though attempting to digest a Thanksgiving meal that had gone bad. Finally, with some anger, Christopher grabbed the top sheet of the list and began to fold it in half.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

Without answering me, he then folded two of the corners down and after a few more folds, the first rules page transformed into a paper jet. With a smirk now on his lips, Christopher flicked the plane across the room with defiant flair. The twins both beamed in delight at how well the thing flew. It was more aerodynamic than anything that they knew how to make. He then placed another page in front of each twin before sitting next to Cory to help him with the folding. My brother glanced at me expectantly and waited for me to do the same with Carrie. I sighed in exasperation before moving over to assist my little sister.

“Christopher, you know full well that if the grandmother sees this, then she’ll be very unhappy,” I cautioned with concern.

My brother continued to ignore me while the last fold of Cory’s jet was being done. He then held it before our little brother. “You are not to run or scream while playing with this. If you do so, we’ll take it away immediately. Okay?” His little blonde curls bounced as Cory nodded in agreement before taking the new toy and zooming it around the room. Christopher then looked at Carrie as we finished the last of our folds. “That goes for you too,” he warned. As we watched the twins quietly play, he at last spoke to me, “Who cares? She clearly hates us anyway… especially me apparently.”

I observed him for a moment. His mouth twitched as he fought to maintain a fake grin for the twins. It hurt my heart to witness such a thing. “Honestly Christopher, I got the impression more that she hates our father. Though, I can’t imagine the reason.” My brother immediately turned his head toward me in mild shock and stared right into my eyes. “Remember what Momma said… back home?” I reminded him. “She said that her AND Daddy did something that made the grandparents angry. I get the sense that all of this somehow connects back to that. Again though, I’m not sure why.” I then stated in a tone that attempted to convey that the point was not up for discussion, “Christopher, we NEED to talk to Momma.”

He made a sound that couldn’t decide if it wanted to be a groan or a sigh before looking back at the twins. They were preoccupied with flying their planes back and forth across the room to see which one could glide further. The only problem was that, rather than land on the ground, both jets would frequently crash into the opposite wall. Luckily, none of it was noisy. “What are we going to do with them once they start getting bored?” he then asked, attempting to change topics.

Observing them, I shrugged, “Whenever they start getting fussy or hyper, we’ll choose that time to explore this attic that’s supposedly off of the bedroom closet. They’ll be able to make more noise up there as well. At least, according to our rules.”

“And once they’re tired of the attic?”

I cringed. “Then it’ll be YOUR turn to come up with an idea,” I declared before eventually standing up, stealing Christopher’s paper airplane, and joining the twins in their game.

As we played there together quietly, we suddenly became startled by the sound of the lock on our door turning. Instantly, my breath was stolen by that clicking, tumble noise. Looking at my other siblings, they were as shocked and scared as I was. What was going on? It wasn’t seven. I snatched the jets out of my younger sibling’s hands, surprising them further. Normally, they both would have yelled to give it back, but fear had frozen their tongues. I then pivoted to shove all of the paper under the bed to hide it, but it was too late. The door was wide open and exposed me as a guilty culprit. The clear evidence jumbled within my arms.

However, standing at the entryway was not the Tin-Woman, but our Momma. She was wearing a loose fitting blouse tucked into a canary yellow skirt. Seeing her, the terror inside of us turned into elation and I dropped our crumpled paper jets in grateful delight. Those horrible rules floated down to the floor while all four of us ran up and hugged the comforting adult form. Our small hands gripped and sought motherly safety and support as they wrapped around her waist and long legs. At our sudden tight clutches, Momma made a puffing sound like the wind had been knocked out of her and then groaned in pain.

“Momma, where have you been? I don’t like it here,” Carrie complained.

“Oh… I’ve just been busy with your grandparents is all,” Momma explained with a forced smile. Looking upon her more closely, it caught my attention that her face seemed unusually pale, her forehead was slightly damp, and her eyes appeared red and puffy. She then visibly winced while stumbling over to the bed and slowly sitting down. The awkwardness of her careful movements increased my freshly forming anxiety. Something wasn’t right with Momma as she rested her palms against the comforter to hold herself up. Carrie and Cory then bounced onto her knees. I watched as her beautiful blue orbs bulged and her full lips viced themselves shut.

Suddenly the grandmother’s voice thundered, “What is the meaning of this?” Panic stopped my oxygen as I turned my head to face her and saw that the Tin-Woman was indeed looking upon the strewn papers about the floor. Oh God… seeing Momma at the door had lulled me into a false sense of safety. I hadn’t imagined that the old woman was simply a short way behind her.

“I brought Corrine here because I wasn’t sure that you would take my rules seriously. It looks like I was right,” she sneered while pointing toward her destroyed ordinances.

At first, Momma appeared confused. She attempted to bend down and pick up one of our jets, but immediately bolted back upright and slammed her eyes shut. After several haggard breaths, she then spoke, “Cathy… C… Could you hand me one of those papers on the floor?” I hesitated with nervousness for a moment before doing what she had asked. Would Momma be upset at us, disappointed in what we had thoughtlessly done to the grandmother’s rules? Her sightline followed along the words of the page and panic indeed took possession of her features. But when she got to the bottom and looked up in anger, it wasn’t us that she was glaring at, but the Tin-Woman. “Mother, you can do whatever you will to me, but if you touch my children, then we will leave that very instant,” Momma declared in defiance.

Excitement began to tsunami over my body upon hearing those words. Light glowed off of Momma as she sat tall like the heroic savior that she was. Seeing her in all of her protective glory, I thought to myself, “Goodbye awful room, goodbye awful paintings, goodbye awful rules, and goodbye AWFUL grandmother.” I couldn’t wait to leave this place; literally just walk right out the door and never come back. I wanted to return to our safe and familiar home. I wanted to see all my friends and teachers at school again. And I stood there and hoped with everything that was inside of me that we would never, EVER have to come back!

But, to that, the old woman just smiled, stepped aside, and held out her hand in a gesture toward the exit. “Corinne, I simply lock the door to keep the children from being able to wander the house. You are not prisoners and therefore welcome to leave with your offspring at any time. But know this, I will NOT help you again. If you walk out that door, then you will truly be on your own. If you wish to take your chances out in the world, and even risk the consequences of your father finding out about THEM, then be my guest!”

Momma gasped as the full weight of the Tin-Woman’s words burdened her body. We watched in helplessness as something good, strong, and noble died within her right in front of us. Her head sunk low and her arms went limp. I longed to cry and scream out, “No! Let’s get out of here! We don’t need her or the stupid money! We just need each other!” But, such pleas were lost to a terrified and tangled tongue.

Smirking haughtily at her triumph, the grandmother then declared, “Now that that is out of the way. I have brought your mother here to demonstrate to you all how things will be done in MY house.” All five of us looked at her with nervousness. “Now Corrine, lift up your shirt and show them your back.”

At her command, Momma’s face blanched even further than before. “Mother, there’s no need! You’ve already made your point. They’ll behave. I promise!”

“Corrine! Clearly, your offspring have had the rod spared too many times during their upbringing and they have become spoiled.” The Tin-Woman glared upon the scattered papers about the floor. “A lesson must be learned before they too walk the path toward Satan. Just like their parents.”

I looked upon Momma. So, this was about her and Daddy afterall! “Mother…” she continued to object weakly.

“You heard me, Corrine. Now, do as you're told,” the grandmother responded coldly.

Batting her eyelashes, Momma rose and limped a few steps forward like a condemned man shambling toward the gallows. Slowly, she pulled her shirt out of the skirt, unbuttoned her top, and stood there in hesitation. Her chest became jittery while it moved with her inhales and exhales. “We’re waiting, Corrine,” the Tin-Woman reminded. Momma gave one last shaky breath before sliding her blouse off of her shoulders and letting it fall to the waist, held up by the sleeves still being worn on her lower arms.

All along the surface of her glowing ceramic skin were angry red gashes. It was as though Momma had been recently mauled by a feral animal. Barely a single spot on the porcelain of her back had remained untouched by this carnage. Crimson and scabbed, the welts echoed their message into our souls. This is what happens to those who disobey. Looking upon them, tears stung my eyes and I felt something new and dark birth itself within my ribs. It was like anger, but with thorns that pressured and strangled at my heart. I wished that I had possessed a whip within my own hand. That way, I could do to the grandmother what she had done to our momma, and I vowed to hate the Tin-Woman for as long as I lived from those minutes forward.

I heard the twins whimper behind me. My head turned and looked upon them shrinking away from the scene. My eyes then faced my brother. He glared at the grandmother and I could tell that he felt just as I did. Perhaps even more so because Momma was his favorite. He stood there vibrating within his rage. His clenched fists told a tale of wanting to pound the Tin-Woman into nothing but broken bones and a ruby puddle upon the ground. Make her bleed as she had made our momma. But like me, he was too young, too small, to succeed at such a feat. In a fight against the Tin-Woman, he would lose. MIn staring at him, my newly blackened little heart faltered to grief. I then empathetically walked over and wrapped my fingers around Christopher’s tightly hardened fist, willing him to calm down. “Not now, brother. Not yet,” I tried to psychically tell him.

Instantly, he looked at me with shock, but his breathing and shaking slowed. We then turned back to the grandmother, who glanced at our joined hands and then glared at us in turn. “Look closely, you four. There are fifteen lashes in total. One for every year that she lived in sin with your father. Your grandfather was the one who ordered the punishment, but it was I who applied the whip. And I’ll lose not a single wink of sleep at night in doing this to any of you as well, should you cause trouble.” She then turned toward Momma, who had begun to slip her blouse back over her shoulders. “Now, we shall make preparations to sell your house. With that money to start, Corinne, you shall receive a weekly allowance to spend as you see fit.”

Momma faced the Tin-Woman with an oddly childish look of unfairness upon her face. “Mother, that was our home. It’s MINE, not yours!” she whined.

“Oh, it’s yours is it? Then tell me Corrine, with what money did you purchase the property?” the grandmother asked. As she did so, her countenance sneered an arrogant smirk that I now wanted to tear right off of her face. “I’m waiting,” the old woman then insisted. Momma’s mouth opened and closed a few helpless times until she once again lowered her head in submissive silence. The Tin-Woman smiled at that before handing her daughter the key. “I’ll leave you alone to speak with your children. Be sure to lock the door on your way out. Also, your father wants to have dinner later. I suggest that you not disappoint him.”

With that final word, the old woman left the room. To the sound of the door closing, I let go of Christopher’s hand and all but ran to the twins; who were clinging to one another and cowering in the corner of the room. “It’s okay. It’s okay,” I began to sooth before hugging them both and placing comforting kisses on the top of their heads. “It’s okay.” The twins' whimpers transformed into quiet crying as their big sisters' arms gave them permission to express the fact that they were now truly scared. While clutching them, I turned to face Momma, ready for some damn answers.

Christopher was utterly lost in his worry and stood there unable to look away from her. Her body was cheated to the wall and we both watched for a moment as she slowly finished buttoning her shirt and tucking it back into her skirt. Never before had I ever seen Momma’s head hung so low and her shoulders shook with soundless weeping. It was a clear glass window into the state that she was currently in. But even with her obvious distress, I couldn’t hold myself back as questions exploded forth from my mouth. “Momma, what’s going on?! Why does our grandmother hate Daddy so much?! Why are we being kept hidden from our grandfather?! Why is all of this happening?!”

“For Pete’s sake, Cathy!” Christopher snapped in defense of her. “After what she’s gone through, just give her a minute. Will ya?”

“No Christopher, I want answers!” I shouted back. I was ready to scream and come completely unglued within this horrible place.

Clearly hearing our arguing, Momma’s back straightened and she quickly wiped away the fresh tears from her eyes. I then witnessed her masterfully shape shift right in front of us as her face painted on a fake cheerfulness and a sheen of false pride cloaked itself over her pitiful, trembling body. She then spun around like a stage actress, “Oh Christopher, sweetheart, you have no need to worry about me, my love. Honestly, it doesn’t even hurt that much anymore. Really… I’m perfectly well.”

Her expression then became serious. “Your Daddy and I had hoped to give you all a normal life, but I… suppose that it’ll be easier if you know the whole story. At the very least, all of this will make more sense. And maybe, from that better understanding, become a little bit more bearable.” She fidgeted a little as she spoke. “My loves, your Daddy and I… we loved each other deeply, and it was REAL. But, you see we…” There was a pause, and within that heartbeat, genuine emotion cracked through. It looked like sadness, longing… and shame. Momma then gave a small sigh. “We weren’t just related by marriage.”

Chapter Text

We all stood in deathly silence as the weight of Momma’s admittance took its full effect upon us. “Your Daddy and I, we weren’t just related by marriage.” What did that even mean?

She looked at each of us nervously. It felt as though the heavy atmosphere threatened to sink our bodies right into the floor. “Perhaps, we should continue this conversation in the attic? My mother won’t potentially interrupt us if we go up there,” Momma then offered. Our little Dollanganger eyes watched her as she walked to and opened up the closet door, before our feet then followed.

The space was a decent size, roughly six by four feet. At the back, left corner of the small walk-in, Momma fiddled with an unusually tiny doorknob. If you didn’t know about it, then the thing would have been easy to miss. A narrow passageway with a staircase revealed itself like something out of a Nancy Drew novel. It was barely wide enough for Momma to fit through. After her, I entered first, then the twins, and last Christopher.

“Why does access to the attic come off of this room’s closet?” I finally asked.

“This house is large and has been in the Foxworth family for many generations. So, over the years, numerous additions and oddities have been added for various unknown reasons,” Momma replied.

The stairway was dusty and uninviting. Dark colored paint chipped off of steep steps that were difficult for our short legs to ascend. The twins had to crawl upward while on all fours. “Why won’t the grandmother interrupt us while in the attic?” I continued. Christopher scoffed from behind me and I could feel his glare upon the back of my skull. He was psychically telling me to shut up so that Momma would no longer be bothered with my peppering questions. I just ignored him.

She stopped her ascent and turned to face us. Her expression was gravely serious as she then answered me, “When your grandmother was a little girl, each time that she misbehaved, her parents would lock her in a closet with nothing but the Bible. They wouldn’t let her out, not for food, water, or even to go to the bathroom, until she had memorized an entire page. As you can imagine, the experience has made her very knowledgeable of scripture, but also very AFRAID. Now, she’s excruciatingly claustrophobic.

“So, if you ever find that you need some freedom away from her, just come up these stairs. The greatest weaknesses for some can often make the best sanctuaries for others. Do you understand?” With that, she turned back around and continued her climb.

Listening to her words, I remember getting the sense that it wasn’t just the claustrophobia that Momma was talking about with the word ‘afraid.’ Rather, it seemed like fear itself somehow had the power to become its own terrifying entity.

For a brief moment, I was awash with sadness for the Tin-Woman because I could picture it all. A frightened little girl screaming and crying as she pounded away at one of the many closet doors, promising at the top of her lungs that she would be good if they just let her out. Until finally, through tiredness and bitter tears, she would submit to the unforgiving, immovable will of her parents and sit down to read the Bible. Within that cramped darkness, only the sliver of light from under the door would be available to illuminate the pages of God’s word.

In those few minutes that I could witness the past within my own mind, I felt sorrow for my young grandmother, my great kin. I wanted to hold her and tell her that this time of powerlessness will pass. But then I looked at Momma, whose every step took visible effort with audible grunts, and all my empathy and pity instantly evaporated back into hatred. How could someone with such an intimate understanding of the sins and abuses of their parents then grow up to do nearly the exact same thing to their own child? And thereby, perpetuate a family tree of pain, whose roots forever fed themselves from the water of blood.

Entering the attic, the space was jaw droppingly huge and stiflingly hot. Four dormer windows lined the right side. Immediately, Momma sauntered over and opened them all. A soft breeze swept through and provided the faintest of relief. I then went over, stared at the baby blue sky, and realized that it had been several hours since I had last seen or felt the outside. I closed my eyes and basked in that light, before then turning around to view my surroundings in more detail. It was immediately clear that not a single soul had entered the space in many years. This was where things went to be abandoned. From decayed books on shelves, to splintered toys and furniture, to even a bare mattress upon the floor; everything was beaten and broken. It was interesting to think of such a disheveled hoard belonging to people who were supposed to have the means to continuously buy new things. Dust and webs covered every surface. I shivered at the sight, wondering which of the numerous spider houses were empty and which ones still contained occupants. Christopher looked upon my nervous, shrinking form and haughtily mouthed the word, “Wimp.” I glared at him in defiance and then continued to glance about the room.

Finally, what caught my gaze was an old dress upon a manikin. The length was cut just above the ankles and a modest lace covered the chest and arms. Upon the head of the thing was a cap with some flowers stuck to it. “Is this a wedding dress?” I asked. All my knowledge of such gowns were hoop skirts, ruffles, frills, and long trains of tooled veils. Meanwhile, this thing that slinked with simplistic elegance was completely different. The only thing revealing the object’s identity was the white coloring of the fabric.

Momma nodded before explaining that “It was the style of the time”.

As I looked around some more, I noticed in the corner was a blackboard and four school desks. They weren’t piled like something being stored, but neatly staged and ready for children to learn. I pointed to it in confusion. Momma turned toward where I was gesturing and responded. “At one time, the Foxworths used their home as a local school.”

I paused at that. “All of those usable bedrooms within this house and they had a school done clear up in the attic?” Momma shrugged to indicate that she didn’t know why it had been that way.

We watched as she then opened up a cedar chest and pulled out blankets and an old towel. She laid a couple of the worn fabric comforters neatly over the dirty floor. A flower print decorated the puffy coverings. At one time, you could tell that the blooms had been blue, but the dye had long faded into a lifeless gray dinge. With a holey towel, she proceeded to dust off some of the toys and set them out on one as she then got the twins settled down upon it. Finally, Momma sat on the other and motioned for Christopher and I to join her. We did so as requested.

Once the three of us gathered in a triangle, Momma gave a heavy sigh. “Try to understand,” she began. “By the time that I met your daddy, I was all alone. I had NO ONE, but the servants… and my parents. We were young, and in so many ways, the two of us only had each other to turn to. And I think that in just those two truths alone, your daddy and I ultimately became inevitable.

“Growing up, I was raised to always be as lovely as possible. From the moment that I took my first steps and spoke my first words, I was privately tutored in languages, dance, art, and all other education that could impress an entire room of men. I was specially engineered by my father, Malcolm Foxworth, to always be a dazzling ornament upon his arm. A tool designed to distract others from the fact that the trunk of our family tree was rotten. But, that’s easy to do when your entire world is nothing but a forest of trees with rotten tree trunks. It was all a seemingly endless cycle of beauty and ballrooms during the daytime and rivers of tears at night.

“Back in those days, my two best friends, and perhaps the only people who I think truly cared for me, were my older brothers, Curtis… and Christopher.”

With the name instantly catching our attention, my own big brother and I looked at eachother. “Daddy was originally your brother?” I blurted out.

“Not exactly,” Momma quickly responded. “Now Cathy, I realize that you are naturally… CURIOUS.” Her eyebrow raised at me teasingly as she said that word, and I heard Christopher chuckling beside me. “But please, try to wait for questions until I am finished.” My mouth opened and closed to form a protest, but none came. So, she then continued. “The three of us did as much together as was possible. Even though we all had separate duties to fulfill within the manor.

“Being the eldest son, Christopher was Mother’s favorite, and worked side by side with our father as he was being groomed to one day inherit the estate. Perhaps, that’s why he was also the heaviest drinker among us children. With his situation, he often took the worst of Father’s wickedness. Yet somehow, he still had the strength to frequently shield Curtis and me whenever Malcolm’s eyes fixated upon either of us, and the two of them fought constantly.

“You see my loves, there is something missing from your grandfather’s heart and soul. An emptiness exists inside where compassion should be. And that very emptiness is only ever capable of taking from others, never giving. Such corruption compels him to want to control everything around him because that black hole inside of his chest is incapable of experiencing the satisfaction of fulfillment. So, he will NEVER have enough. It makes him the saddest and angriest person whom you will ever meet. For he is a man who has everything, and then some, and yet remains pitiful, unloved, and utterly broken. Worse still, his presence then frequently blackens all who spend too much time with him. Even his own children were not completely immune.”

“So, does that make him like the grandmother then?” I asked in sadness. I had somehow hoped that our grandfather would be different, at least kinder. But from Momma’s description, it sounded like he wasn’t.

Momma gave me a stern look for interrupting after she had specifically instructed me not to. “My mother was never a particularly warm woman, and Lord knows that she didn’t spare the paddle whenever we misbehaved as children, but she was never cruel like THIS before. I think that old age and years alone with my father may have ruined her. When I wrote that original letter to Foxworth Hall, asking for help, I specifically addressed it to her by name. I had hoped to prevent my father from finding out about the four of you. Because I… I don’t know what he would do then.”

Her expression changed into one of pensive fright as she seemed to imagine the possibilities of that scenario before fluttering back into the here and now. “Anyway, one night, Father and Christopher got into another argument. Except that this one became so loud and heated, that half of Foxworth Hall could hear their thundering voices. You see, in being a grown man, my eldest brother had been receiving increased pressure from both of our parents to get married and produce children. But, despite accepting many of the otherwise difficult responsibilities involved with running the Foxworth estate, Christopher never once showed any desire to take a wife.” An extreme bitterness leaked itself off of her tongue as she then stated, “However, that didn’t stop Malcolm Foxworth from any attempts in forcing the matter whenever a prospect came that was worth her weight in resources to add toward the family empire.

“I remember quickly putting on a robe and walking out of my bedroom to investigate as I heard the echoes of Christopher’s voice booming their vibrations among the marble and mahogany. ‘Mark my words old man, you’re going to meet a terrible end and then forever burn in Hell for all of the misery that your life has brought upon others.’ I then watched as Christopher stormed out with a whiskey bottle in hand. For a moment, my brother’s eyes caught sight of me and a strange glint of guilt entered his pupils, before he then stomped past without saying a single word.

“And that night was the last time that I saw him alive because in his anger and drinking, my brother… he drove his blue Maserati too fast and accidentally sped straight off of a cliff.” Momma paused in order to inhale and exhale a handful of shaky breaths and a wet sheen crystaled itself over her eyes. “And then about three weeks later, Curtis died as well. I guess… I guess he just couldn’t live without his big brother and simply died of a broken heart.”

Listening to that, I remember wanting to ask about Uncle Cutis’s death, but Momma had become so distressed that I didn’t want to upset her further. Many years later, well into my adulthood, I conducted an investigation into what happened. It turns out that Uncle Christopher had collected sports cars as a hobby. The smaller building in the back of the main house was a garage that had been built in order to house his extensive passion. Everything fast and automotive that the 1940’s had to offer was located in that giant warehouse-like space.

And roughly three weeks after their older brother’s death, Uncle Curtis sat in the passenger seat of Uncle Christopher’s 1943 red Ferrari and shot himself in the head. There was a letter found right beside him that read, “I just can’t do this anymore.” So, in a way, it seems that Momma had told the truth, Uncle Curtis had died of a broken heart. And of course, as though fate itself had forgotten what the date was and played a cruel April Fool’s joke, the one to initially discover the body had been Momma.

She sat there for a moment, breathing in fresh pain from having to relive that old memory until she at last spoke again, “For several months afterward, I thought about joining them. A couple of times, I even stood on the roof of this very house and looked down upon the ground with that in mind. But I… I was never as brave as my brothers were… or your daddy.

“Then one day, just a few months before my seventeenth birthday, my maid informed me that a new guest would be moving into the mansion with us. A young man, only roughly two years older than myself. His name was David Walters.

“It seems that my grandfather, your great grandfather Garland Foxworth, had been having some kind of an affair with a very young new maid named Alicia Walters. Sadly, once she became pregnant, the twenty year old woman was quietly let go from employment, paid to keep silent about the scandal, and never heard from again.” There was disgust upon Momma’s features as she recounted what had happened to this grandmother of ours, who we would never get to meet. “That is until she unexpectedly passed away from cancer and left behind her only son, who was now an orphan with nowhere else to go. Even though Alicia’s own parents were still very much alive at the time, they refused to take in a child who had been conceived outside of wedlock with a much older man.

“When learning of his situation, Mother felt pity for this boy. It was largely at her behest that David was now going to be living with us. But honestly, I think that she mostly just wanted her sons back, and this was simply the next best thing to that. By contrast, my father immediately hated him. To Malcolm Foxworth, the young man was nothing more than an illegitimate bastard. In the most technical sense of things, David was my half-uncle, Malcolm’s younger brother on their father’s side, and that gave him a potential claim to the Foxworth fortune. So, between my parents two very different feelings toward him, they came to a compromise over the young man. In exchange for being able to move in, David Walters was to begin training under my father in order to inherit the estate AFTER him. Also, under the terms of their arrangement with each other, David was forced by my parents to change his own name… to Christopher Foxworth. So basically, he was brought into the family in order to take the place of my oldest brother.

“Of course, I didn’t know about any of that at the time. All I knew was that a permanent guest was about to arrive, a boy no less. So, in response, I did what I had been trained to do my whole life. I styled my hair and painted on my makeup. I then put on my nicest day dress and headed toward the staircase. My heeled feet glided down to the foyer with expert, showman-like sophistication as I prepared myself to greet our young new guest with the usual grand introduction.

“The first time that I saw him, standing in the entryway next to my father and mother, the very first thought that came to my mind was that the new Foxworth Hall resident was handsome. But, my second thought was that he was the oddest, most unsuited person to ever enter through our doors. For one thing, there was a look of stupefied wonder across his face as he looked upon the details of his surroundings. Decor that I had never noticed with any interest as it was a part of my everyday life. The short sleeved dress shirt and slacks that he had on were dated, worn, and slightly baggy. Scuffed up saddle shoes completed a look that appeared to be nothing but hand-me-downs. Despite living in such a grand house, the small bubble of my wealthy world would never have guessed that these were the nicest clothes that this boy currently owned.

“As his stunned glances wandered over everything, he finally noticed me approaching and I watched as his face lit up even further. Now, I’ve dealt with stares from the male gender since the moment that I touched upon my teens, but this was different. Normally, the ogling of men came with numbers inside the black pearls of their eyes. I was a stunning beauty, near to debutante age, with potential access to a massive fortune behind her. So, what did it take to maneuver me into their arms?

“Meanwhile, my own mind would churn unspoken thoughts of what the gentleman in turn had to offer our family. Was he worth the effort of me pretending to be wooed and treating him like he was somehow exceptional?

“But, this boy’s gaze came without such games. Once I made it to the bottom of the stairs and stood directly in front of him, an unassuming smile beamed ever wider on his lips. It was a grin that whispered to me, ‘Oh man, whoever you are, I can’t wait to get to know you better.’ Studying him, my own expression began to mirror his, and for the first time, I felt a special little spark crackle inside of me. It was the static electricity of a budding attraction that came from admiring another’s apparent qualities. Qualities that I was soon to learn mattered far more than money.

“Then, my father introduced us, informed us of EXACTLY what it was that we were to one another, and I witnessed David’s zing dampen from that new understanding. Yet, from the moment my parents got him settled into Christopher’s old bedroom, this boy, now renamed after my deceased brother, continued to fascinate me.

“It took only the slightest of alterations for this new Christopher to fit into my brother’s high end suits. His hair was then restyled and the clothes that he had brought with him were largely thrown out. With such a similar build and coloring to the first Christopher, his outward transformation gave the unsettling visual of my brother coming back from the dead. But, the aura that he gave off within all of that finery couldn’t have been further away to that of a normal Foxworth.

“From the moment that they were born into this world, my brothers were dressed in silk diapers.” In thinking about them, Momma then gave a light chuckle. “I’m not sure that they would have even known what to do with clothing made from cotton.

“But, this new Christopher couldn’t have possibly been any more unsure of himself while adorned in the expensive gilded glamour. And when I lightly teased him about the stiffness of his posture, he sheepishly explained to me that that one suit cost more than he and his mother could make after two full weeks of work. It seems that in order to help with the bills, this boy had been working every weekday after school since the very minute that he turned fourteen.

“His education was also a mess. It took no time at all for father to discover that his skills in math and reading were well behind where they needed to be to eventually manage the estate. So, to save on finances, my parents arranged for him to receive lessons from the same private tutor as myself. I watched in pity as Christopher rubbed the sting out of the bright red backs of his hands. The instructor’s ruler had come down upon them as punishment every time he performed poorly during our small class, and that was often.

“After about three weeks of witnessing that, I eventually had to come out and ask him one day, ‘Uh, Dav… Christopher, you did in fact attend a school. Did you not?’

“‘Not private lessons!’ he responded to me indignantly. ‘And I already told you that I had to spend most of my extra time working. My momma and I couldn’t afford this sort of a thing, alright?’

“Hearing that made me feel sorry for him. It hadn’t occurred to me before then that public schooling might not be as nice as what I received because I had never experienced anything else but private tutoring. And for reasons that I didn’t fully understand at the time, I was compelled to aid this new Christopher. So, without thinking about it much, I just offered, ‘You know, if you have the time, I could help you work on the homework and study for the tests outside of class.’

“Surprise eclipsed his expression at that and he stared at me for a moment. It was as though his eyes were trying to decipher the level of my sincerity. I don’t think that he had been expecting much generosity from me by that time.” Momma’s face then cringed over the knowledge of what her younger self used to be like. “After that, we started to spend a lot more time together. In between discussing our various assignments, we frequently found ourselves slipping into casual conversation. The two of us mostly talked about our different childhoods from before he came to live with us.

“Until the day that she died, his mother had raised him completely by herself. He even learned the basics of how to cook and clean from her. You know that thing that Daddy used to always say, about how the happiness of a family is everyone’s responsibility, that came from her. She used to tell him, ‘So many boys in the world think that they don’t need to learn housework, but what’s going to happen if your wife widows you? Will you then marry again as quickly as possible for no other reason than to provide a free maid service for you and your first wife’s children? Because making food and cleaning a home are things that need to be done, and won’t be completed by magic alone. Remember David, it is the entire family’s job to make sure that everyone is healthy and happy.’ Sitting there and listening to him describe Alicia, I could tell that he LOVED his momma and was so proud of her! And I… I wish that just once, I could have met her.

“Honestly, it all made me feel kind of jealous because I couldn’t say the same things about my own father and mother. Some parents just aren’t worth honoring.

“As the months went by, the time spent with Christopher increasingly captivated me. Everything about him was just so different from anything that I had ever known. But, what truly dazzled me, what made my mind zip and my cheeks grow warm, was observing the way that he treated others. In having received love and kindness while growing up, he then knew how to give those things to others in return. For example, each time the servants did a task for him, even as part of their employed routine, he would THANK them for their hard work. Or if they made a mistake, like with his food, Christopher never got angry over it. He would just either accept the flawed meal as is or respectfully have it done over while apologizing to THEM for the extra trouble.

“Over just a short amount of time, all of the staff began to grin at him with clear respect and adoration. Now, I was used to the staff nodding and directing the polite upward curves to their mouths my family’s way, but this was something else entirely. A light glowed off of them as they beamed at Christopher. It was the warm difference between a genuine ear to ear joy that people will give you when they truly LIKE you vs. the smile that others will force onto their faces because they want things from you, or are even just scared of what you might otherwise do to them if they don’t.

“In observing all of this, I asked him one day, ‘Why do you keep thanking the staff? They’re servants and just doing what they’re paid for.’

“Christopher scoffed at my question and then countered, ‘That may be true, but they’re also human beings. As a human being, when you go out of your way for others, then you want to be told thank you, money or no. So, what makes you think that servants and staff are any different from that?’ I swear right then that I could see tsunamis of anger within his blue eyes as he glared at me. That furious reaction truly stunned me because I hadn’t realized at the time that I said something bad. Back then, I just didn’t know any better. His face then went blizzard cold before he added, ‘You’re a spoiled brat, Corrine. Do you know that?’ After that final jab, he stormed off, and oh was I ever angry! What he had said made me SO mad,” Momma declared with a joyous laugh. “In my entire life, no one had ever spoken to me like that before.” She then cleared her throat as a visible pink dusting went across her cheeks.

“That early spring, my seventeenth birthday approached. To commemorate the occasion, my parents had organized a large ball. All of Virginia society, and even that of a few other states, was invited to celebrate. However, the true purpose of the event was a thinly veiled announcement for the men of the wealthy world. It was time to start putting in their offers to my father for my hand.

“Mother even had a new silver and navy blue gown made for me, just for that very party. Until my feet became blistered, I spent the entire night talking to and dancing with nearly every unmarried male that attended, all but one. Having never learned how to purposefully glide and twirl within a soiree, Christopher awkwardly stood along the wall. And all through my birthday celebration, I felt his eyes burrow into me as I spun within the arms of the other men. It was a distracting intensity that kept reaching its way into my mind and heart, and prevented me from making anything but the most surface of connections that evening. Yet, each time that I glanced back his way, Christopher seemed to be looking around at everything but me, and I wondered if it had simply been my imagination.

“But, a few days later, while we were working on homework together, he asked me if I would be willing to also teach him how to dance. ‘I… I don’t really have anyone else that I can ask,’ he admitted. Somehow, I found the fact that Christopher seemed embarrassed to admit that he needed ballroom instruction to be adorable. So, I agreed to help. At first, he wasn’t allowed to wear shoes while we practiced because he was so awful about stepping on my feet. Yet, each time that he did, I burst out in laughter. A strange giddiness seemed to warm and bubble my soul during the whole experience of twirling with him, even when he was terrible at it.

“As several more months came and went, between all of the extra education and time spent with my father, I watched as Christopher’s clumsy naivete and innocence peeled away into a gentile dapper that was more appropriate for the Foxworth name. Yet, all through the transformation, his core self of being kind and caring somehow remained intact. And with my tutoring him in both dance and academics, we were becoming increasingly inseparable.

“While looking over his work for our next class, I complimented him on how his grades and overall scores were showing clear improvement. To which, he responded, ‘Well, it’s lucky for me that you make a far more engaging teacher than our official one.’ The comment had made me instantly blush and I found myself hoping that perhaps he had said that in order to flirt with me.

“I myself had also been changing. You see, I… I wanted to be more like him. I wanted to be better than I was, better than this family and this place. So, I attempted to adopt a number of Christopher’s habits, like always telling the staff thank you for their hard work. At first, they gave me strange looks, unsure of the reasoning behind my new behavior. But, after enough time, their appreciation toward my efforts began to warm the energy that they cast upon me. It felt inviting, and from that comforting glow, I learned the value and joy of being kind to others for no other reason than the act itself.

“As we celebrated our annual Christmas party, I spent most of that evening watching Christopher. Though he was still somewhat shy, he had come a long way. His gallantry had certainly increased as the other men took to him in conversation. He even escorted a couple of the ladies to the dance floor. But, every so often, I would see him gazing in my direction and smiling. Whenever our eyes met, my heart raced as though I was under an enchantment.

“And after that very evening, the nature of our relationship changed significantly. You see, my loves. While growing up, there were some nights when my father would come to my room… often drunk. So, my brother, the original Christopher that is, made something special for me. That way, I could quickly escape your grandfather whenever he came. Back then, all three of our bedrooms, my own and those of my brothers, were off of the wrap around porch. With that in mind, my oldest brother had a custom built lock put on the exterior of his window. That way, it could be opened from the outside as long as you had the key. He then gave me that very key and told me that I could escape my bedroom through the window and come into his room at any time of the night in order to keep myself safe from Father.”

Hearing that explanation, I again blinked with a question in my mind that I couldn’t hold back. “Why did you need to escape from Grandfather so badly that your brother felt the need to do all of that?”

Immediately, Momma had a panicked look strike across her face. “Well… you see, he…” After stumbling for a couple of breaths, her expression then corrected itself into something far more casual, and I knew that she was about to tell us a lie. “Oh, he would just start yelling at me is all, and that can be very scary for a young lady.

“Anyway, when I heard my father’s footsteps coming down the hall, I became terrified, immediately grabbed the key, and climbed out my bedroom window to escape. With a fear filled autopilot taking over, my feet ran to Christopher’s window, unlocked it, and entered while slamming the thing shut behind me. As I clicked the inside latch to relock it, all of the sudden, I heard a voice shout from behind me, ‘What the Heck?!’ A new panic gripped my lungs. In my rush, my mind had forgotten that this room would obviously have someone occupying it. I spun around to see the new and slightly damp Christopher wearing nothing but a towel. Both of our mouths opened to begin frantically arguing and explaining over everything that was going on, when a knock came at his bedroom door.

“In response, I jumped at Christopher and placed my hand over his mouth so that he couldn’t scream in surprise. ‘I’m not here,’ I pleaded to him. ‘PLEASE! I’m not here!’

“As confusion took over his features, I released my grip and hid behind his bed out of sight. A handful of minutes later, I heard the door open and my father’s voice slur into the room. ‘Christopher, you wouldn’t happen to have seen Corrine? Have you?’

“I crouched there and prayed helplessly while over hearing the exchange. Would he turn me in? Everything had happened so fast. Did he even understand my need? But then, ‘No sir, I haven’t.’ I blinked, feeling a sense of relief relax its way inside of me. My body wanted to exhale at that unexpected assistance, but I forced it to remain within my chest in order to avoid making a sound. ‘But, now that you mention it,’ Christopher continued. ‘I thought that I saw some kind of shadow passing by my window. I figured that it must have been my imagination, but perhaps it wasn’t?’

“After hearing a thank you from the old man, the door then closed and the latch turned. I then saw Christopher’s form, now wearing a bathrobe, walk around the bed and look down at me with a mix of emotions. Frantically, my mouth began to vomit out words, ‘I’m so sorry! My brother used to let me come in here whenever I was in trouble, and I just had nowhere else to go! I completely forgot that you were here! Thank you so much for what you said to my father! I promise now to never bother you again!’

“As the expository mush flowed forth from my tongue and tonsils, Christopher observed me and processed it all. Then, he spoke, ‘Corrine, I’m not entirely sure what’s going on, but if you need to get away from something, then you’re welcome to continue using this room for that.’ I looked up at him in complete surprise as he then knelt down to meet my eyes and engage my soul. ‘I promise that you’re safe here… at least with me that is.’

“And that was the moment. Gazing upon him as he gently grinned back at me in turn, my heart pounded in new understanding. For nearly that entire year, since the very first day of his arrival, I had been falling in love with him.

“Christopher then added teasingly, ‘Just be aware of what you might see. You are in fact sneaking into… my private bedroom.’ He stood up. ‘Speaking of which, would you mind staying there for a moment while I put on pajamas?’ As he then wandered out of sight, I felt my face grow hot at the sound of drawers opening. When Christopher returned fully dressed in his nightwear, he held his hand out to me and beamed. ‘Why don’t you stay for a little while until we know that things have quieted down with your father?’ he suggested, and his tone conveyed that usual unending sweetness that always captivated me. It was an energy that naturally seemed to come forth from his soul like relaxing tides going in and out, inviting you to swim within a sunset casted sea. So, without hesitation, I took his hand.

“From that night on, we really started talking about EVERYTHING. You see, it was different, being alone together in his room. The peaceful seclusion of that space evaporated all worries over what others might think and say about the propriety of our conversations. And with the new realization of what my true feelings were came a longing to know everything about him, and for him to know everything about me. So, I kept sneaking off to his room and claiming that my father had returned. At first, he responded by fretting over me, concerned and making sure that I was okay. But by the third consecutive night of my charade, he just grinned with a raised eyebrow at my falsehood.”

Momma then stared directly at me as she spoke, “Your daddy had this way of seeing the real me, underneath all of my pretending.” Though I knew that she was describing Daddy, somehow, right then, I felt like Momma was speaking to me as well. “With all that extra time we now had with one another, he and I did a number of things together to fill the hours. Sometimes, we continued to practice dancing. Other nights, I would read books to him. Anything in French was always his favorite. Years later, he admitted to me that it was because something about the French language gave my voice an extra bit of loveliness to him.” Her eyelashes fluttered from that flattery of the past. “And as I’ve already mentioned, we went out to the lake a few times and swam. It was… the happiest that I have ever been while living in this house.” Her arms folded around herself as she took a moment to ruminate within the romantic glow of memory.

“Then my eighteenth birthday came, and my parents hosted another grand soiree in order to accumulate more proposals. Except, unlike the year prior, Christopher was finally skilled enough in ballroom to take several women onto the floor throughout the evening. I watched with increased agitation while ladies fawned all over him as he twirled them with graceful flair and a cordial smile. All that hard work that I had put into teaching him, only to then witness as other women enjoyed the reward. Eventually, I couldn’t take it anymore and I left my own birthday party early, complaining that I had a headache. As you can imagine, my parents were less than pleased with me over that behavior.

“That night, per my usual routine, I snuck over to his room. As we relaxed on his bed, I asked Christopher if he had enjoyed himself while dancing. In truth, I was fishing. I wanted to know if there was someone who he had connected with at the event.

“And when I cast that question at him, the absolute smirk that he gave me in return!” Momma giggled. “He must have known exactly what I was doing because his reply to it was simply, ‘Eh, it was okay.’

“‘Just okay?’ I responded in disbelief. My parent’s parties have always been considered to be the event of the season. I’m not sure anyone else but my Christopher would have dared to utter such a thing.

“He then smiled in that gentle hearted way of his before explaining to me, ‘Well, you see Corrine, I have this problem.’

“‘Problem?’ I asked and then observed as his grin visibly widened with humor over my interrogating him.

“‘Yeah, my problem is that there’s a girl who I wanted to dance with there, but couldn’t. Actually, I had been meaning to ask her to join me for a spin since last year’s shindig. And… I thought that maybe if I learned how to shake a leg better, then I might finally get to ask her. Man, I spent a LOT of time training and preparing too, just for the chance… but I still can’t. You see if I did, people would talk and things would get hard for both of us, but especially her. So, like I said, the party was just okay because it takes a lot of fun out of attending a ball when you can’t swing with the person who you really want.’

“As Christopher explained his situation, his eyes roamed about everything in the room, except myself. While listening to him, my lips began to curl upward and my chest started to produce a familiar warm glow because I had a suspicion that this girl of his was me. At least, I hoped that she was. ‘Well then, why don’t you try telling me more about this girl that you like. I mean… maybe I know her and can arrange something to help you out,’ I then suggested coyly.

“At my flirtatious behavior, Christopher instantly turned to face me and the happy beam of his lips became SO bright. He then leaned toward me and began to describe this MYSTERY woman of his. He said, ‘Well, the first thing that many will tell you about her is that she’s unbelievably beautiful. When she walks into a room, you’re unlikely to find a set of eyes that aren’t staring at her. And boy, does she KNOW it!’ And children, you better believe that I smacked him right then for teasing me like that, but that only made him laugh before he continued. ‘But, what far fewer people probably realize is that she’s also brilliant. Easily, the smartest girl that I have ever known. She’s fluent in multiple languages and can do calculations in her head in less than half of the time that it takes me to solve them with a pen and paper.

“Then, Christopher’s expression became somewhat saddened while looking upon me. His eyes scanned my features like a curator analyzing a piece of art. ‘However, life has made her manipulative and greedy, and she can be mean and selfish without even realizing it. But underneath that entitlement, there beats a heart that isn’t quite ready to die yet. It pumps loneliness through her veins and yearns to feel what the world is like when true connections are made with others. And that heart of hers, it… it makes me want to be the man who shows her what the full value of such a thing truly is. So, Miss Corrine Foxworth, may I?’

“His words left me speechless. It’s a strange thing, my loves; listening to someone who truly cares as they describe you. They’ll tell you the good AND the bad, the beautiful AND the tragic. And through it all, you’ll feel vulnerable as your imperfections become exposed because you didn’t conceal your cracks as well as you had thought. Yet, despite even the ugliness, they still like you. And within that moment, you realize that, with them, there was never a need to hide in the first place.

“I felt romantically overwhelmed by it all. So, as a response to his final question, I could only muster a small nod. But, that’s all that it took. For suddenly, his lips were upon mine. And that… was my first kiss.”

Since the moment that Momma had spoken about meeting our daddy all the way until he finally kissed her, a large grin had not left my face even once. Her story was like something straight out of one of my favorite novels. I placed my hands on my chest, feeling giddy and gushy, before I then glanced over at Christopher. He was looking back at me and I watched as he rolled his eyes in annoyance toward my behavior. “Whatever,” I thought to myself. “He can just sit there and be obnoxious for all I care.”

Momma then continued. “Later that very week, Christopher said to me… he said, ‘Corrine, I’m planning on leaving this place, and I want you to come with me because I would very much like to marry you, if you’ll have me that is.’

“It surprised me. ‘You know that you’re being groomed to inherit ALL of this,’ I reminded him.

“But Christopher, he just shrugged. For him, none of this stuff mattered very much. ‘I was fine without it before,’ he explained. ‘And if it wasn’t for you being here, then I would have left a long time ago. I only came here because I was curious about my father’s family.’ He then looked at me and his expression was completely serious as he spoke, ‘I’ll be honest with you, if my momma had been alive, then she would have done everything within her power to stop me from coming here. You see, she… she wanted us to have nothing to do with the Foxworths. And now that I’ve been here for over a year, I understand why. Corrine, you’re the only thing that I have come to care about during my time here.’

“My soul fluttered with mixed feelings over what he was telling me. Perhaps that’s why I responded to his genuine openness toward me with my usual default of guarded games. ‘You know Christopher, there’s a couple of other proposals that I will need to consider as well. One of them is even a relative of the Rockefellers.’

“‘Oh, only a couple, that’s surprising,’ he responded with bitter jest.

“Something about his reply caused the sharp acid of feeling sorry for myself to rise up from the voice box of my throat, ‘Well, there probably is more, but my father only informs me of the proposals that HE is interested in. So tell me Christopher, what do YOU have to offer the great and terrible Malcolm Foxworth?’

“‘Not a single thing!’ he declared, and I could tell from the tone that I had made him mad. ‘As I just said, you’re the only one here whose wants and wishes I give a damn about.’ He then calmed back down into genuine sincerity. ‘But for you, and only you Corrine, I offer something completely priceless. In fact, it’s so valuable that many will spend their whole lives looking for it, but never find it because they look in all the wrong places… happiness.’

“In truth, maybe I should have said yes at that very moment. Packed my bags and left with him before anyone else even woke up. But, I was scared. While there were certainly many things about my life that I hated, it was the only one I had ever known. So instead, I told Christopher that I needed time. I already knew that my parents would NEVER approve. Which meant that if I walked out the door with him, then that would be the end of any claim that I had to the Foxworth fortune. It put me in a position of having to make a choice about my future. One where there was no winning, only losing. On the one hand, I had love. On the other, I had EVERYTHING else. And honestly my loves, at the time, there was a part of me that felt angry toward your daddy for forcing me into making that choice.

“It was another seven months before we finally faced my parents with suitcases in hand. I never would have been able to stand up to them without Christopher right beside me, interlacing his fingers with my own. And upon listening to our intention, predictably, they were both humiliated. My father screamed that I was going to be immediately disinherited. Meanwhile, Mother glared at us with her usual coldness before simply stating that our want of a union was an abomination to God and that our souls were no longer safe from the fire. Together, we then opened the front doors and exited to the soundtrack of Malcolm Foxworth shouting for us to never again return. And through all of that, Christopher never once looked back. But admittedly, I did.

“However, while we both waited on one of the benches of that small train station on the bottom of the hill, something surprising happened. One of the maids came and told us that my mother had given her an envelope and ordered the young woman to then deliver it to us.

“When we opened the thing, there was fifteen thousand dollars inside of it, and that’s the money that he and I later used to buy the house outright. The two of us then floated on what was left over to cover living expenses. We couldn’t afford a proper honeymoon. So, we just spent our first week of marriage alone together in our new home, decorating it and making eachother laugh. Though it wasn’t Hawaii by any means, it may surprise you how easy it is to entertain one another when they’re the one whom you love.

“It was hard at the beginning. In many ways, the sudden poverty was an adjustment beyond what my fears had conjured up within my imagination. We also had to change our last names in order to better hide ourselves, and our secrets, from others. And even to this day, I’m still not sure as to why Daddy didn’t change his first name back to David.

“And then, seven months after we had left the Foxworth estate and got married, we had Christopher Jr.” Momma then briefly looked at my brother. “When we named you, we actually had your uncle in mind more than your father.” There was a soft smile as she told him those words before then once again looking at the both of us.

“Unfortunately, to keep the two of us in his life, Christopher was unable to use any of his prior work history for a resume. That made job hunting hard. Even as someone who had always taken pride in the fact that he had been working since fourteen, your daddy willingly chose to start over as though he was applying for the very first time. He… he loved me. He truly did.” There were tears in her eyes as Momma stated that fact. “Things got easier once Christopher finally got an entry level position as an office aid at that tech company. And from there, it wasn’t long before they soon discovered that he was naturally good with people.

“While his schooling had improved at Foxworth Hall, I was still better. So, during the early years, I often helped with any work that he brought home. I even wrote a number of his proposals for him.

“Meanwhile, your daddy taught me the basics of how to cook and clean. With the life that I had grown up in, I had barely even SEEN things like a stove or sewing machine, let alone used them! And well, you two were there for most of the rest of it.” She reached over and gave our hands a gentle squeeze. “Though it had its struggles, your daddy gave me exactly what he said that he would… happiness. Those fifteen years were probably the best years of my life.” At first, she sniffled, “And now… I’m not sure if I’ll ever have that again.” Then, Momma started to fully weep right in front of us.

Suddenly, she stopped her wails and wiped off her cheeks. “No, no, NO!” she cried out, before scooting over toward us and staring into our eyes pleadingly. “I promise that we will get through this and when we do, we’ll all be HAPPY once again!”

“Now listen my loves, when we came here last night, I thought that my mother would allow you to roam about more of the house. We just needed to keep the four of you out of father’s sight. You see, my mother has no love for my father. Their own marriage had been arranged by their parents. And while she is individually wealthy from him, Mother has made it more than clear that she intends to have everything donated to the church when she passes. As punishment for what she believes to be my sins, none of her money will go to me. So in other words, any inheritance, any means for our survival, will HAVE to come from my father.

“And I swear, that soon enough, he WILL change his will and name me heir. But, I know him. Before that happens, he’s going to test me, force me to prove myself and make me suffer for leaving this place and defying him. The whipping that I received was only the beginning. However, do not worry for me because I will take it. All of the pain and humiliation that he has to give me, I will endure… for US.

“Now, I wish it was just me who had to put in the work. Just me who had to push through. But unfortunately, for our family to succeed, it seems as though you two and the twins are going to have to stay here for longer than originally expected… until Malcolm Foxworth dies.”

“What?!” I cried out in horror! “W… why don’t we just stay until he changes his will?” I suggested meekly, grasping for any alternative that could shorten our time.

“That won’t work,” Momma countered. “My father was FURIOUS when I left. He has only now begun to accept me because he thinks that I didn’t have any children with Christopher. If he discovers you after putting me in his will, then he’ll just take my name back out. I also fear the risk of what he might do to the four of you if you are discovered. So no Cathy, we will have to wait until the day that he dies. But believe me when I say that he is well on his deathbed now. You shouldn’t be stuck up here for more than a few months!”

I sat there in shock. I had barely been able to stomach the idea of a few nights. Now, my siblings and I were going to have to face months in this awful place?!

Seemingly reading my reaction, Momma continued with her attempt to persuade us and soothe my fears. “Now, I swear that I will do EVERYTHING in my power to make your time here easier. Every extra penny of my weekly allowance, every extra minute of my day, everything that I am possibly able to give will go toward your comfort.

“As for my mother, I know that she may seem scary, but as long as you follow her rules then nothing should happen to you. You’ll be fine. Believe me when I say that while growing up, she was the kinder between the two! So, can you do this my loves? For me? For us?”

I opened my mouth to complain, to argue, to fight back against this, when suddenly I heard, “Of course we can Momma.”

I turned toward my brother. An odd sense of betrayal dropped itself hard within the bottom of my stomach as Christopher looked right at me and willed me into submission with the severity of his stare alone. “Don’t worry. WE will be just fine,” he then insisted. It was difficult to discern whether he was talking to Momma or myself with that sentiment. But just the same, tears of hope filled Momma’s eyes that stole the protests from my tongue. She then hugged and kissed us both for our dutiful compliance.

After we walked back down the attic stairs and Momma left, locking the door behind her, my thoughts turned inward. They comforted me with the reassurance that one day this moment of powerlessness would pass, and I watched as Christopher began pulling out a late lunch from the basket for the four of us to eat. He then spoke to me, “So, we’re stuck in this one room for about three months, give or take. While the grandmother’s rules about cleaning and continuing to develop our skills will take up some time, and playing with the broken toys and old books will use up a little more, that likely won’t be enough to keep us fully occupied for very long. With all of that in mind, how are we going to keep ourselves entertained before either the twins go wild and expose our whereabouts or we all lose our minds from such a torturous level of boredom? Do you have any ideas, Cathy?”

In standing there and hearing my brother sum up our situation like that… oh boy, I could have punched him right then.

Chapter Text

The following morning after our day with Momma was a chaotic nightmare dancing to the percussion of my little sister’s wailing tantrum. She and I were in the bathroom trying to change into our day clothes before the grandmother’s arrival. The boys had long gotten dressed and were waiting for the two of us to finish in the main part of the bedroom.

“Come on, Carrie!” I begged in irritation at the short stack of stubbornness.

“No! I don’t like that dress!” she shrieked back. “You’re the one who picked it out, Cathy, not me. And I don’t want that one. Why couldn’t I pick out my own clothes?!”

In between her one, two punches of sentences, I attempted to throw the outfit on over her head while she was seemingly distracted, only to have her dodge my efforts like a diminutive Shaolin master. I sighed in exasperation.

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. “Cathy, Carrie, could you hurry up please? I have to go to the bathroom,” Cory’s polite voice pleaded. My eyes widened at that. It had been years since my little brother had had an accident during the daytime. But still, if he was asking, that meant the poor kid was probably doing a dance on the other side of the door. In realizing all of this, the expression upon my face changed to one of panic, while my sister’s transformed into triumph. Carrie knew that she now had the upper hand over her big sister. “PLEASE you guys! At least let me come in and use the toilet real quick! I promise that I won’t look!” Cory then cried out with increased desperation.

Hearing his obvious need, once again, I groaned out a “Come on, Carrie!”

“No! I want to go home! My favorite dress is there! That’s the outfit that I want. Not this one!”

I felt that last sentiment clear down into my soul. ‘I want to go home!’ As sympathetic vibrations pulsed within the very marrow of my bones, tears started to well up within my eyes. I then pursed my lips together in an attempt to regain my composure as I mumbled out, “We can’t go home, Carrie…”

“Why not?!”

Shaky breaths escaped my lungs as I fought back against the urge to completely cry in front of my little sister. “Because… Momma says that we have to stay here until our grandfather dies.”

Carrie blinked at that. Even with the recent death of our daddy, living and dying was still somewhat of a foreign concept to the five-year-old. Therefore, the entire scope of what was being requested of us did not yet fully register within her understanding as something dark and grim. “How long will that take,” she asked impatiently. I sensed the rush of my blood pressure increasing at that question. How was I supposed to tell Carrie that we were going to be here for a few MONTHS, without then witnessing the reaction of her becoming completely unglued?

Another knock came to the bathroom door that caused me to jump. “Seriously Cathy, can you two hurry up? It’s an emergency for the little guy out here,” Christopher’s voice scolded through the well polished portal.

“One MINUTE, Christopher!” I barked back.

The situation was rapidly threatening to get out of hand. Carrie and I couldn’t just open the door and let Cory in. The grandmother was going to be arriving soon. Appearing before each other in our night clothes, not to mention sharing the bathroom, was strictly against the rules. What would the Tin-Woman do if she caught us? Though a part of me wanted to spank Carrie myself right now, I certainly did not want any of us to be whipped. The fresh memory of Momma’s back still lingered in my mind. It warned me to make sure that all of us behaved.

My brain rapidly wracked through various ideas on what to do here. At last, an idea came to me and I bent down in front of my little sister. “Okay, I’ll make you a deal,” I declared. “If you stop complaining about whatever clothes you have to wear, then I’ll give you my portion of ice cream for two months after the grandfather dies. That’s two helpings of ice cream for two months, your FAVORITE. But…” I then warned. “Whine even once while we’re here and the deal will be off.”

Carrie’s eyes began to move back and forth. Her five-year-old mental gears visibly turned over the choices now presented in front of her. The freedom to continue complaining or double ice cream for two months? Coming to a decision, she countered with “Six months.” The tiny extortionist then foisted her arms in the air like a football referee calling touchdown. I sighed once more, this time in defeat, as I helped place the dark blue lace neck hole and sleeves over her head and arms. Afterall, who knows? Perhaps I would get lucky and my greedy goblin for a sister would forget all about this conversation. Doubtful…

Once I got my sister into all of her clothes, I burst through the door. “Alright Cory, you’re good to go,” I declared while wiggling my hands in a ta-da type motion. But to my surprise, there was no appreciative hustle into the bathroom coming from my little brother. He just stood there, no longer needing to go. Confused, I then asked, “Is everything okay, Cory? I thought that you needed the restroom.” The little boy smiled at me sheepishly before pointing toward our dining table. In the middle sat a small red vase, with gold wheat growing as the depicted image painted upon the porcelain. Originally, dead yellow chrysanthemums resided within the container, but they had been pulled out and set to the side.

For a few seconds, I stared at the thing, wondering why the flowers had been removed. Then, my countenance began to shift into horror as understanding of what exactly Cory was inferring suddenly dawned. “Christopher!” I shouted, “That’s disgusting!”

My older brother had been leaning against the highboy with his arms and legs both crossed like the cool kid on the block. The expression that he gave me in turn showcased a maligned innocence, and I could see that he was about to defend himself with a “What did I do?”

But, I cut him off before he could. “Oh, don’t even give me that face!” I snarled. “That is obviously your gross brain child upon our EATING table!”

Christopher fumbled in obstinate self-defense before stuttering out in anger, “He had to go, Cathy! And you FEMALES took too long in our ONE bathroom! Seriously, would you rather Cory had gone right in his pants?”

Fury and aggravation boiled within my blood as I reactively yelled out, “ALRIGHT!” I then stopped and began to settle down my breathing. My mind could see Christopher’s logic for how he handled his side of the situation. But still… EW! “Alright,” I stated again in a calmer tone. “To make things easier, let’s just agree from now on we only use the bathroom for plumbing needs. The closet is plenty big enough to use as a changing room. Also, I have an idea for the attic that we can discuss after the grandmother has come and gone. But, for now…” My finger pointed judgingly at the defiled rouge flower holder. “Clean up your mess before it starts to smell, and you know who discovers it!”

Christopher rolled his eyes at my command, before standing up, sauntering over, and snatching the thing off of the table with a defiant flair. Light yellow liquid was then poured forth from the vessel into the sink. He then turned the tap on and filled the vase with clean water. After swirling it around, that water was then dumped out and replaced with fresh H2O one more time. My brother walked back in, set the thing down on the table, and placed the dried out chrysanthemums back inside. The smuggest of smiles spanned across his lips over the ease of his task. And admittedly, his entire behavior from start to finish made me want to push him down a flight of stairs. I scoffed at his haughty performance and then whined internally, “Why do boys always insist on acting like neanderthals?!”

When the grandmother arrived, we all stood at attention for the very first time. There was a moment where she gave mine and Carrie’s hair a disapproving glance, but luckily said nothing. Nonetheless, I cringed. With all of the commotion and arguing that had taken place in the early morning, I didn’t have time to style our hair. So, both of us appeared as though we had simply crawled out of bed and put clothes on. Which, in all honesty, was not far from the truth.

Then, true to her word, the Tin-Woman asked us what quotes from the Bible we had read and memorized. While we had semi-regularly attended church growing up, never before had we been expected to read God’s word from cover to cover. Upon reviewing the thing, Christopher and I agreed that we would read about two to three chapters each day. Thank the Lord that a “chapter” within The Good Book is roughly only a single page, but saying that we were reading multiple chapters made us look far more dedicated to this woman’s cause than was the reality.

First was Carrie, then Cory. They were still so young. So, to keep the twins from making potentially upsetting mistakes, Christopher and I decided to indefinitely give them the shortest lines for this recitation. Per our instructions, Carrie spat out Genesis 1-1, “‘In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth.’”

Afterwards, Cory belted out Genesis 1-3, “‘And God said, ‘Let there be light,’ and there was light.’”

A smile of pride graced itself along my mouth at how well the twins had performed as I then sounded off my own passage. It had been one of my favorites out of what the four of us had read so far, Genesis, Chapter 1, Verse 16. “‘God made two great lights–the greater light to govern the day and the lesser light to govern the night. He also made the stars.’” Since that age, my favorite verses have always been the ones that show God and Christ as a source of goodness and light within the world. Even to this day, I pray that when I meet my makers at the gates of paradise, they prove to be kinder and more empathetic than so many of their followers.

Last, it was Christopher’s turn. His teeth bared themselves in the most machiavellian of grins on his face. I stood there and watched in nervousness over what exactly it was that my mischievous teenage brother had planned. But, all he said was, “Genesis, Chapter 2, Verse 25, ‘Adam and his wife were both naked, and they felt no shame.’” For a moment, the grandmother glared at him with suspicion. Then, she placed our basket of food upon the table and left without saying another word. With the now familiar sound of the latch turning, the four of us relaxed.

As we dug into our breakfast, our mother suddenly came in and surprised us. Nearly bursting the door open as she did so. She was panting and out of breath. “I managed to get away from my father for a few minutes,” Momma explained in between great inhales of much needed oxygen. “Also,” she then added with glee. “I brought you guys some things.” I noticed then that a Coach satchel was slung from her left arm. As her right hand unzipped the top, she continued to speak, “I don’t have the first payment of my weekly allowance quite yet, but I DID sneak into the family library and take a few books out for the four of you. The entire collection within that room are all first and second editions. Isn’t that amazing?!”

Momma pulled out a book of fairy tales first. “The twins are NOT allowed to touch this,” she warned. Her voice was stern and final. “But, it’ll give you some more reading options at bedtime.” A copy of Gone with the Wind then came forth from the large bag next. The precious tome was placed into my enthusiastic hands with a strange amount of delicacy. “Your favorite book,” she stated excitedly, and the tone contained a level of expectancy for gratitude. However, before I could reply with such, Momma then added, “But, be VERY careful with that. It’s a second edition with the dust jacket still on it. That means it costs roughly four-hundred DOLLARS!”

My hands trembled at that new information, and I watched as my most beloved story transformed into what felt like a fragile glass figurine within my fingers. No longer was the value of the object an experience of words that transported me into a southern romance during the Civil War Era, but something much more lifeless and external. Four-hundred dollars? How was I even supposed to crack the cover open without risking damage to the spine? Immediately, I set the thing down on the table and gave Momma the smallest of nods as a thank you. She stared at me for a few moments with confusion on her face, clearly wondering why my behavior lacked elation.

Finally, I asked, “Won’t the grandparents get upset if they see holes in their shelves from the missing books?”

Momma blinked for a few moments, “Was that what was bothering you, my love? Oh, don’t worry about any of that. I don’t think that my parents have set foot in that room for months, maybe even years. My father prefers his personal study where he can be alone, and my mother is very picky about what she reads outside of the Bible. Only works that have been approved by other church members and leaders. You see, that woman is very conscious of any unholy ideas festering sinfulness into her brain and corrupting her thinking.” With that last sentence, sardonic ooze dripped off of her tongue. It suggested that this was a mindset that she personally did not agree with.

Yet, hearing all of that, Christopher and I turned to one another in a little shock. We were unsure of how to feel about the existence of a vast, unused library. Why even have such a thing if it was to be left unloved?

The last expensive leather bound removed from the satchel was a copy of Gray’s Anatomy. She then handed it to Christopher. My brother held it carefully within his fingers. “Before he passed, your daddy and I had been talking about getting you another copy in order to replace the one that you currently have,” Momma explained. “And when I get my allowance, I’ll do exactly that,” she then promised.

I watched as his fingertips gingerly caressed the cover. He then turned the thing over and stroked down its spine. Love softened the features of his face as he then lightly opened it and glossed through the pages. If someone asked him to, I would bet good money that my brother could quote the entire book by heart. The way of the doctor was like his own personal faith. For as long as I had known him, Christopher knew without question that he wanted to become some form of clergyman among its sacred and sanitized hallways. To use his great mind, his abilities, to save lives with, was his personal mission. Since the day that Daddy had gifted that book to him, Christopher read and reread the thing every night with his prayers. And after five years of that, his Gray’s Anatomy was arguably held together now with more tape than paper.

Despite all of that, he then set it aside on the table, just as I had done with Gone with the Wind. “That’s very thoughtful of you, Momma. But, if it’s okay, I’d like to keep the one that I currently have. Although, when you get your allowance, I could probably use some more book binding tape,” he added light-heartedly.

An expression of surprise on Momma’s countenance mirrored the one that she had just given to me. She was offering him a nicer copy, and a first edition no less. So, why? However, I immediately knew. The book that Christopher possessed had been specifically given to him by Daddy, and there was no replacing the value of such a thing. At least… not anymore. Then, her face began to develop a sadness around the corners as understanding sunk in, and she touched his cheek in response. “My sweet boy,” she whispered to him.

His ocean blue eyes fluttered a little at the touch, before his gaze turned toward a wall. “You know Momma…” Christopher then began to suggest. “Since we’re going to be here for a while, you should probably allocate a portion of that allowance money toward getting Cathy some ballet supplies.”

A gasp escaped my mouth at my brother’s act of thoughtfulness. With everything that had happened, ballet had not entered into my considerations. But, in reflecting on it all now, I remembered that I had just recently been allowed to go on pointe. It would have been devastating to lose that progress. Momma beamed at me and nodded in agreement to Christopher’s request. She then kissed the top of each of our heads, before hurrying out the door. It seemed strange to watch her frantically leave a visit that had only lasted about ten minutes. Once ‘I love yous’ were spoken, the latch clicked and we were once again alone with our breakfast.

After eating, my siblings and I went back upstairs to the attic. We had left the blankets and toys still laying out from yesterday with Momma. So once we got the twins settled back on their designated comforter, Christopher and I began a more thorough walkthrough of the area. The place was as disgusting as ever, but it was certainly spacious. I immediately opened the windows to let in fresh air and gaze once more up at the sky.

“So, what was it that you had in mind for this place?” Christopher then asked.

My eyes roved over each nook and object within the vicinity. There was so much. While it was all dusty and decrepit, the potential was there. At last, I answered, “If we’re going to be here for months, then we have GOT to build more room for ourselves. It also wouldn’t hurt for us to tackle some kind of big project in order to eat up a bunch of that time. So, let’s transform the attic into a large play area. That way, we can more easily use the downstairs bedroom for living essentials and come up here for fun and games.” I then spun around toward Christopher with a theatrical flair, and continued to pitch my idea with a confidence that I didn’t actually feel. Usually, it was my nature to be more pessimistic. Upbeat thoughts of making the most out of a challenging situation tasted phony upon my tongue. Yet, I continued to talk. “All we have to do is clean… thoroughly, move objects around to where the spaces make more sense, and then decorate. Make it all look a little less Charlotte Bronte and a little more Jane Austen.”

I watched as Christopher looked around. A beaming grin growing ever wider upon his lips. I could tell that he was seeing the vision. His optimism came from a far more genuine place than my own. “Yeah, alright. You know, with all of the books and bedding, we could make a reading nook and a small library.”

A more truthful smile graced my own mouth as my brother’s enthusiasm infected me with an internal fire of more honest excitement. “Absolutely!” I declared. “And with all of these old clothes, we could put together a costume area. Over there…” My finger pointed toward a couple of pianos. “That could become a music space. We already have a study hall with the weird schoolroom in the corner.” I added with a shrug. Christopher chuckled at my light humor. And with a nod of his head in agreement, that was the beginning of things.

It started with cleaning. In order to get supplies, we let Momma know about our plan for the attic when she surprised us with a second visit that very same day. I don’t think that she could have been much more delighted. In fact, the following morning, she dropped off a bucket and a few rags that she had absconded from the house, like the books before. She then promised that when her allowance came, she would buy plenty of mops, brooms, and the like for us to use.

Using the rags, we gave a light dusting over every object. At this point, mostly just to get rid of the cob and spider webs. Then, everything was cautiously pushed to the side of the room. It was all in need of some form of repair. So, we feared that much of it would completely fall apart just from being moved. But to our relief, our efforts did not cause anything to break down further.

With everything moved out of the way, a thick coat of grime and sun bleaching marked a life-size blueprint of where all of the furniture and things had rested for so many years. The pattern might have been interesting if it wasn’t for the pigment being an ugly and unclean dinge.

“Maybe… we should paint the floor while everything is out of the way?” I suggested. “But, what color?”

“Green,” my older brother’s voice declared from behind me. “And we’ll make the walls light blue.” I turned toward him. Green and light blue? What an awful sounding combination. Confusion must have announced itself all over my face because he then gave me one of his frequent impish grins before stating a “Trust me.” After considering for a moment, I shrugged in capitulation. As odd of a combination as it sounded, at least it would be cheery. We certainly couldn’t make the place look much worse than it already did.

With nothing but that bucket and few washcloths, there wasn’t much that could be accomplished yet. We had to wait a couple more days for Momma’s allowance to hopefully come through. In the meantime, we played in the attic on relatively clean blankets and did all else downstairs in the bedroom. The best part of our day was when Momma visited us. Christopher would playfully hand her an ever growing shopping list as more ideas came to us on ways to make the attic more hospitable. In reading the thing, her full lips would then beam in a proud grin that delighted us all and increased our excitement.

But the visits were strange. Each day, Momma would always burst through the door, before quickly sitting down with great gasps like she had been sprinting. There was also a schedule to it, roughly fifteen minutes in the mid-morning and thirty minutes at about mid-afternoon. After three days of this, I began to ask about the odd timeliness. To which, all that she would say in response was that Malcolm was working her pretty hard. She refused to then give any further details on exactly what tasks it was that the grandfather was having her do.

At last, Friday came and went. True to her word, Momma snuck quietly into our room late that evening with nearly every cleaning tool imaginable, a couple large drums of green paint, and some kind of chemical called primer. “This’ll get us good and started,” she glowed out with pride. Finally, she handed me a large white box. When I opened the thing, inside of it was a pink leotard and ballet slippers. I squealed with delight.

For the next couple of weeks, with Momma’s help, the five of us scrubbed the floor thoroughly. The process messed with our sleep schedule a little because she could only come in and assist us during the late evening and night. Luckily, once the grandmother was dealt with in the morning, us four little Dollangangers were able to enjoy some much needed naps. But our Momma’s day was largely dedicated to the grandfather, and the exhaustion wore itself plainly around her eyes. Crescent moon shaped dark shores hung themselves below her ocean blue irises during her daily visits of fifteen and thirty minutes.

My elbows became sore and blisters appeared on my hands from the level of ferocity that I was forced to attack the floor with in order to get the wood planked floor clean. It took no time at all before our soapy water would turn murky and then have to be replaced. And the more we swept and washed away, the more various critters then came out to play. They made my skin crawl. I frequently shrieked as a multitude of spiders and insects scurried about in fear of our efforts. Momma or Christopher would then sweep up the tiny, multi-legged creatures into an empty bucket and dump it out the window. And oh boy, was I glad that it was them doing it, and not me.

For a short while, once we decided that we had done enough for the day, Christopher and I would sprint to the bathroom in a race. The attic’s multi-generational muck covered us both from head to toe. As my older brother pushed me to the side and thereby always made it into the restroom first, a smug expression was all over his face. Cory then joined him and they shut the door. I pouted as Carrie and I were forced to wait our turn. Envy rushed over my body as the sound of clean shower water rushed through the door. Suddenly, I heard Christopher bellowing. “Oh man, this feels so amazing! Golly Cory, am I glad that we don’t have to stand and wait for this wonderful shower while being all dirty and gross because that would SUCK!”

Anger seethed inside of me at my brother’s taunting as I pounded in fury upon the pine. “Christopher, you unbelievable jerk,” I shrieked. The only response to sibling rage was the obnoxious sound of him laughing unsympathetically.

After a few days of this on repeat, I wasn’t gonna let him keep getting away with it. So on the third night, when a clean Christopher emerged from the bathroom, I gave my older brother the most innocent smile that I could force upon my face while my mouth uttered out, “I love you so much.” Christopher’s muscles then tensed as my arms flung around him. I nuzzled my face across his chest and rubbed my hands through his hair. It was obvious that my brother was wondering what in the hell his sister was doing as he stood there completely stupefied.

But before my brother had a chance to ask about what was going on, I let go of him and rushed Carrie into the bathroom as quickly as possible. My nimble fingers then immediately locked the door. When the water was turned on, I suddenly heard him yell out, “Oh! Come on, Cathy!”

My lips beamed at that. “Christopher, I love you SO MUCH!” I shouted mockingly. The words were then followed by an evil cackle of triumph. Once Carrie and I became spotless, we stepped out of the bathroom. Christopher was standing right in the doorway, waiting for me. There were muddy, gray smudges all over his body where I had hugged him and parts of his flaxen locks now stood on end from my hands rubbing grime into the silk-like strands. The expression on his countenance appeared to be humorous, but annoyed as his hand waved a white washcloth of truce in the air. I chuckled in earnest at his behavior.

“Look,” my brother began. “I think that since we live in a civilized society...”

“Well, in theory at least,” I sneered back at him.

His eyes squinted at my interruptive implication, but he didn’t word his grievance. Rather, Christopher simply continued, “Anyway... instead of fighting and racing like wild animals, I was thinking that maybe we should just take turns on who goes first everyday. That means tomorrow, you and Carrie will get to shower first, and then the next day it’ll be me and Cory.”

I only took a moment to consider this proposal before answering him. “Well, that sounds like a far more hospitable arrangement than the current situation.”

I watched as Christopher nodded at my agreement. “Sounds like we have a plan.” He then walked past me and into the bathroom. Before closing the door, my brother spun around to face me again and raised his arms. “Since I’m in need of a SECOND shower, would you like a hug?” he joked lightly.

I giggled at that before replying with a “I’m good, thanks.” The door then closed and the shower water turned on for a third time, leaving me to tuck the twins into bed with a smile on my face.

It was another week before the floor was completely spotless. With a second allowance payment, Momma bought even more supplies for our project, including more paint and primer, and a bunch of various tools like hammers and screwdrivers. Each late afternoon, we opened all four of the windows before getting to work. Momma insisted on it, claiming that the primer and paint fumes were not healthy to breathe. We laid the primer down first, and oh boy, I had to frequently take breaks by running to the dormer and climbing out onto the roof. My young lungs gasped in great bellows at the much needed fresh oxygen.

After that was finished, we opened the large green tubs of house paint. While it still smelled of chemicals, it was thankfully nowhere near as overwhelming as the primer had been. Although, there were still times that it gave me a slight headache. The three of us then dumped a small amount of the viscous, verdant liquid into a paint try. Our long handled paint rollers dipped into the lush colored goo and went to work. The twins were expressly forbidden from stepping on the wet paint and mostly entertained themselves on their comforter.

As the floor took the color, I noticed that it gave the room an interesting degree of freshness and vibrancy. Gazing upon it all, I once again asked Christopher, “Why green?”

My brother stopped the stride of his roll and looked at me for a moment. He smirked. “Well, the last thing on your list for making this place look nice was decorating, and you’ve always insisted in the past that it’s easier to do when you have a theme.”

I blinked at that, and wondered with some amusement as to what alternative universe I had landed in where my brother apparently listened to me. “Okay. So, what’s your theme idea then?” I asked.

His smile broadened until it showed teeth. “Well, since we currently can’t bring ourselves to the outside, I figure that we could try bringing the outside to us. I want to make this space into a garden.”

Thinking about his words, my eyes wandered about the room. Perhaps it was the addition of the emerald floor or my desire to venture about a real garden space, but I saw the vision. It was like Christopher was uploading pictures directly into my brain. The light blue walls would undoubtedly form the sky. With help from the rest of us, my brother could then paint on details like grass, flowers, and trees. Not only that, but much of the large furniture could be repaired with the tools that Momma had bought and then given different colors in order to better fit with the general theme. Lastly, we could add three-dimensional flowers and other decorative elements using paper, jewels, and fabrics. We would just need to ask Momma for crafting supplies and wait for her next allowance. And who knows, maybe she could also purchase different shades of green runners and area rugs for the floor.

Once we finished painting the walls in the sky blue, we began the next phase of moving objects and furniture into their new spots. The idea was to create different zones of play. First was the music area. Amazingly, the attic had not just one, but TWO, antique pianos. One was an elegant glossy black, the kind that could often be seen at the most well to do of shindigs. The other was the color of a relaxing dark roast coffee. It lacked the same showmanship as its companion, but instead felt like something to be casually enjoyed on a lazy morning.

The fancier of the two instruments was on castors and moved into place with reasonable ease, only catching a couple of times on the imperfections of the floorboards. Once in place, my fingers briefly stroked the tuxedo colored finish and ivories. The sound that came forth from pressing the keys was less than musical and made me cringe. Unfortunately, for whatever reason, the second one did not come with wheels. So, to prevent the newly finished floor from getting scratched up, Momma, Christopher, and myself decided to lift and carry the thing to its new permanent location. Meanwhile, the twins helped by lifting the accompanying benches.

The three-hundred pound baby grand did not move without effort. We frequently had to set it down and take breaks. When the thing was at last all but dropped into its final resting place, Momma leaned against it, gave great breaths of exhaustion, and joked lightly, “What I wouldn’t give for the help of some handsome men.” She then paused as though considering those words with deeper thought, before adding, “Not that I can see my shop being open for business anytime soon.”

I looked at her in confusion. My twelve-year-old mind did not yet fully understand the double entendre behind her words. “What does that mean?” I asked. But, Momma just waved her hand dismissively in response.

When Momma eventually left us to go to bed, the four of us kids remained in the attic to play in the newly formed music area. The twins started by pounding away at a small snare drum with the kind of rhythm that you would expect from five-year-olds. Christopher went to investigate the black piano, while I perused through a stack of records to place in a corresponding player that had a splintering leg stand. Luckily, the rest of the device appeared fine. We would just need to strengthen that leg with some tape. Looking at the selection, I shook my head a little. We were going to have to listen to them one by one, and see what we even liked. MUCH of it was obscure and from before any of us were even born. I thought to myself that maybe Momma could purchase us some music that was more contemporary. I was hankering for Elvis, Johnny Cash, and even a little Nina Simone.

I then turned toward my older brother as he stood in front of his instrument of choice. “Do you even know how to play the piano?” In all of my years, I couldn’t remember Christopher ever receiving lessons.

He smiled at me and shook his head. “Just this,” he replied. His fingers then pressed into the keys a painful sounding version of “Chopsticks.” I giggled as I watched him demonstrate it a few times. I then went to the dark wood piano and began to copy his movements. It didn’t take long to mimic the tune, and together we began to form what might have been the worst duet in the history of piano.

“This sounds SO bad,” I burst out with a howl.

“Yeah, they’re both REALLY out of tune,” Christopher chuckled back.

The longer it went on, the more tears pricked at the corners of my eyes with all of the laughter. The twins came over to see what we were doing. Cory put his fingers in his ears, while Carrie cringed her criticism. “You’re not very good musicians,” she declared.

“You’re one to talk,” my mind wordlessly fired back at her.

For the next several evenings, we put together the toy and costume areas, making sure to leave enough cleared space by the wardrobes for Christopher to eventually paint a theater stage into the floor, and a clear area for us to play various games at the toy zone. There were a couple of rocking horses in the back corner of the attic that got moved to the toy station where they now belonged. One was missing its eye, while the other lacked a mane. We moved an old dining table and three chairs against the wall as an alternative play space to the floor. None of us could find the fourth dining seat. A small former children’s bookshelf became the new home of all existing board games. They were each missing pieces and had to be thoroughly cleaned before getting put away. Everything else was able to fit inside of old trunks that were now designated as our toy chests.

The challenge was looking through all of the trunks and reorganizing everything in a more accessible way. Every piece of broken plaything, holey clothing, and potential prop was moved to specific containers and then shoved to their correct areas. And oh boy, did it take forever. There was SO MUCH to go through, and the original placement of it all had no rhyme or reason to it. It was as though ancestors upon ancestors just came up into the attic, threw their no longer loved possessions into the nearest available space, and then never touched it again. The result of which now felt like an odd treasure hunt to us.

One large trunk had a bundle of stained letters that were bound together with old twine. They rested next to a beaten up gray cap with a black brim and matching strap banded along the front of it. Occasionally, we found books and set them over next to the bookshelves to be dealt with later. The greatest surprise of all was opening a box and finding a very familiar looking gray dress. We pulled the thing out in shock. It had a large stain on the front, which was probably how it ended up here. I shook my head in disbelief and then shouted, “Does that woman wear ANYTHING else?!”

Once the toy and costume spaces were complete and Momma left to go to bed again, Christopher quickly put on the grandmother’s old dress and began to jokingly chase the three of us around the attic. We screamed in shrieks and giggles as he yelled out, with that mocking impersonation of his, “Stop running away you bunch of sinners so that I can whip you all!”

Next was my turn to put on a costume. I chose the wedding dress. It hung a little too long upon my young frame. So, I had to keep the skirt part constantly held up within my fingers in order to walk around. I gave my siblings a curtsy, followed by a twirl that swept itself along the ground. I felt so pretty and proud within all of that snow colored lace. “What do you think?”

The twins appeared dazzled by me. As old as the dress was and as young as they were, the beautiful symbolism behind such a gown was not entirely lost on them. Only my older tormentor sneered. “I think that you’re going to make some unlucky guy very unhappy one day."

I scoffed as my body made a harrumph type motion. “Can’t you just say, ‘Wow sis, you look nice,’ like a normal human being?!”

The next few days went the same, Momma would visit us for fifteen minutes, then thirty, and last she would help us in the evening. We moved and organized bookshelves into the final area, a reading nook. As her eyes got worse looking with exhaustion, Momma was leaving us earlier and earlier to go to bed. Occasionally, she fell asleep right on the spot while working and one of us would have to wake her up.

Some of the bookshelves were so decrepit that we used our tools to hammer nails into them for increased stability before moving them into place. Having never used hammers before, both Christopher and I banged our thumbs more than once. We then looked through, dusted, and organized the books by category and title. Occasionally, when I opened a cover, a little bookworm friend would reveal itself to me and cause me to drop the novel with a scream. My brother or Momma would then pick the whole thing up and flick the little bug larvae right out the window.

When all of the bookshelves were repaired, moved, and organized, we sanded and hung a couple of swings from the rafters, using wood and rope that was found in one of the chests. Afterall, rope swings could make an interesting spot for reading. They also fit with the theme of having a garden.

Once all of that was done, Momma left earlier than usual in order to get more rest. Meanwhile, the four of us looked through the books of our newly put together personal library. It turned out that a number of them were ancestral photo albums that depicted people in old fashioned clothing. What was strange to me was that not a single black and white face shown ever seemed to smile.

The lack of photographed jubilation especially struck me when I found pictures of a young woman who I could swear was the spitting image of Momma! She wore the very wedding dress that now rested on the manikin within our attic. Standing beside her was a man who looked an awful lot like Daddy in a tux. The husband, I presumed. In my twelve years of life, I couldn’t imagine a couple looking so miserable and morose on their wedding day as these two did. I scanned the two marital figures and wondered who among our ancestors they were. Then a thought came to my mind and I immediately shook my head in rejection of it. There was no way that it could possibly be those two.

A different album that caught my eye were seemingly old pictures of the Tin-Woman herself, each showing her with an older gentleman. Except here, she was wearing hoop skirts and petticoats of different textiles. Meanwhile, the gentleman wore a variety of odd suits made from very thick tweed. He had thick gray eyebrows and a mustache that framed the coldest eyes that I had ever seen. Standing beside one another, the two figures looked like both a terrible and yet perfect match. I summoned Christopher over to witness my discovery. My older brother peered over my shoulder. “No, these photos are too old to be her, but the likeness is uncanny. This is probably her mother or even her grandmother,” he explained.

As I turned the page, we then saw a photo of this same woman standing out in front of a plantation with the old man. The NOT our grandmother was hugging a Bible within her arms. In the background, dark skinned people seemed to work in a field of large leaves. The workers wore thick layers of plain clothing and wide brimmed hats. Sympathetically, I felt hot and dirty just looking at them. There was not a single happy face within the entire image. Not even the two land owners, who were wearing outfits quite a bit more extravagant than those in the fields. “Hmm, I guess it makes sense that the estate used to own slaves,” Christopher stated. The tone of his voice was casual, but his face was stern. As though he was stating a fact of life that he personally did not approve of.

My eyes scanned the picture. We had left home right before I was to learn about the Civil War in any great detail at school. Though I had read Gone with the Wind, I had become far more aware of the concept of slavery through scripture within the Bible. Over what had been nearly a month of reading multiple chapters each night, we had now gotten well into the Book of Exodus. In fact, Christopher and I had just recently taken turns reading aloud about how God had helped Moses free the Israelites from slavery within Egypt.

“I… I’ve never seen photos of slaves before,” I mumbled out somberly. The words felt stupid as they came forth from my mouth.

Christopher nodded. “That’s probably partly because our home was in Pennsylvania,” he replied. His brow then went pensive. It was an expression that he always made whenever he was accessing the encyclopedia that housed itself within his cranium. “I’m… not entirely sure of when Virginia ended slavery, but Pennsylvania was among the first to begin the process with The Gradual Abolition Act of 1780.”

I soaked in his words and looked once more at the word of God within the photographed woman’s hands. I then thought about the Tin-Woman who she resembled so much. “Isn’t it strange, Christopher? How do people who claim to love, honor, and live by a scripture that depicts a large section where God is assisting in the freeing of slaves then turn around and do the same thing as the book’s villains?”

My eyes then looked up at my brother. For a moment, he was blinking at me and his mouth was slightly agape. His head then shook and he cleared his throat. “Well, you could make the argument that God was freeing his followers from the Pagans, Egyptian heathens. More or less.”

My mind again reflected on what he was telling me. “So then…” I began somewhat apprehensively. “Does that mean that this treatment stopped once the slaves started to follow the teachings of Christ and were no longer heathens?” Looking at him, the expression that Christopher gave me was once again utterly gobsmacked. “What?” I then asked almost defensively.

At my increased concern, he rubbed the back of his neck. “Nothing… it’s just that, while you’re still a kid in a lot of ways, give it a few years and I think that you might do really well in my AP English class.” With that, Christopher walked away, the stiffness of his gate almost seemed like he was embarrassed about the exchange that had just occurred. But ultimately, it was my turn to be stunned because… had my brother just given me a compliment? Once my senses returned to me, I shelved the book in its proper location next to the other photo albums that we had discovered throughout the attic. Although, I was unsure about ever wanting to open it again.

The following day was the last Thursday of the month. That meant tomorrow, there would be a maid coming to clean our room and we had to make ourselves scarce. All that had to be done in order to complete our attic project was the finishing touches. Momma would buy us crafting supplies over the weekend, as well as some throw rugs and pillows. Meanwhile, Christopher wanted to paint the furnishings and add on details so that all the different styles of furniture pieces coordinated better. The end was in sight.

With all of that in mind, we temporarily set the project aside, and placed the majority of our focus today on cleaning and moving all of our things upstairs. That way, in the morning, we would have to worry about making the beds and walking upstairs. Knowing about rule number six from the Tin-Woman’s list of do’s and don'ts, to not leave anything behind on cleaning day, I searched each cranny and frequently found something that belonged to one of my siblings. We went to bed comfortably certain that everything was currently up in the attic and ready for tomorrow.

Yet, as we went up the following morning, I realized with a cold sweat that downstairs, inside of my nightstand drawer, was my precious silver music box. I had spent so much time worrying about everyone else’s things that I had forgotten about my present from Daddy. Quickly, I started to head back to the room. I could feel my siblings eyes following me with panicked confusion. I opened the secret attic passageway door and entered the closet. My hand touched the bronze knob to enter our bedroom and hurriedly grab my prized possession. But, a voice bellowed through the pine slab and stopped me in my tracks.

“Mrs. Johnson, I want this room cleaned thoroughly. And if you find anything odd, then deliver it to me when you are finished.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

I hung my head low in despair and as quietly as I could, I headed back up to the attic. My older brother must have been able to tell that something was wrong. All through the experience, Christopher stared at me in quiet concern while he opened up leftovers that we had saved to eat from throughout this Friday. It was good that he and I had thought about doing that. Otherwise, my siblings and I would have gone hungry today since a new basket would not be delivered to us until tomorrow morning.

Sitting there trembling with a book in hand, I tried to remain optimistic and distracted. Perhaps the maid wouldn’t even look inside of the drawers. It seemed odd to clean within such a place, that was for floors and bathrooms. Or maybe, since it sounded like it was only going to be the Head Maid, Mrs. Johnson would simply forget about needing to clean the nightstand drawers entirely. She’d just thoughtlessly pass over it and prioritize more important things before ultimately running out of time. But when evening came, the four of us returned downstairs and the first thing that I did was open the nightstand. And with the emptiness of that drawer came a great pain within my chest and tears glossening my eyes.

Chapter Text

I couldn’t sleep. The disappearance of my music box produced a continuous anxiety that was activating my insomnia. I sat up and looked around. My siblings appeared to be fast asleep. So, as quietly as possible, I got up, snuck into the closet, and tip-toed up the stairs to the attic.

It was dark. The only lumination was the moon and starlight that were just barely visible through the four windows. Luckily, my eyes were currently well adjusted to the pitch and I could make out the general shapes of everything within that upper space. But just the same, I flung open the dormers to increase the brightness, if only a little bit more. Disturbed dust particles floated around and glittered like snowflakes that would never fall to the ground.

I moved the record player from out of the music area to over by the windows. We had recently repaired the damaged leg with some duct tape. It was just waiting for a coat of Christopher’s paint before it would then look nearly as good as new. Next, I opened the box of ballet supplies from Momma. The thought occurred to me to change into the matching leotard, but I decided against it. Once I had succeeded in tiring myself out, I knew that it would be easier to go back to bed if I was still in my nightgown.

Therefore, instead of putting on the entire ensemble, I opted for solely wearing the blush-colored slippers. My breath exhaled at the comforting feeling of my toes resting once again inside of the object’s vamp. I tightened the small drawstring along the side of the slip-on and then wrapped the ribbons around my ankles. Once finished and standing upright, my feet tested the box and platform within the pretty, but unfamiliar shoes.

The last thing that I did was grab the record that I had set aside. Tchaikovsky, how appropriate that the only album that I had been able to recognize was from that particular composer. It felt as though destiny was playing its hand as my fingers delicately lowered the large disk onto the player and positioned the tonearm to begin playing the music.

As the overture started to fill the room, I flexed my feet a few times by going on pointe. Then, I took off. Normally, I simply practiced the five basic positions in order to keep noise down. But tonight, my heart and soul were desperate to blow off anger and despair. So, from pirouette, to arabesque, to cabré, and then développé, I pushed my body into a freestyle that glided through that thunderous tune. Within the moonlight that glowed through the dormers, the terrible world around me disappeared as my limbs spun and stretched into a relaxing high. As the rhythm moved faster, so did my body. Secret feelings and frustrations released themselves from somewhere deep inside of me and went out into the universe as I grew ever more tired, until at last came the crescendo. Delightfully exhausted, I stopped and focused on regaining my breath as the best part of 5th Symphony Tchaikovsky boomed its triumphant sound into my very pulse. When the song finished, I moved the record player arm and flipped the power switch to off. The instant silence was strange, but not unwelcome.

Suddenly, my limited vision caught the bare shape of a human form and I gasped out in shock. Then, I relaxed. It was only Christopher. But as he came further into the light, the oddest expression eclipsed his countenance. His eyes were transfixed upon me and his lips were pinched together into an uneven line. A moment passed and still he said nothing. However, his sapphires seemed to glow and shift as he continued to give me that strange stare. Feeling somewhat confused by his behavior, I spoke, “Uh… sorry if I accidentally woke you. I didn’t mean to.”

Christopher began to rapidly blink as though my words had broken him from a trance. “Oh… uh… no, you didn’t… or kinda? Maybe?” His body then straightened and his eyelids closed as his chest gave one deep motion of an inhale. It appeared as though he was trying to reorganize and compose his mind. Once more, he opened his Blue Marsh Lakes for eyes. “You see, I’m having bad dreams… BUT only on occasion. That's what actually woke me up. Anyway, when I noticed that you were gone from the room, I came up to check on you.”

His sentiment made me smile a little. I then bent down and began to unbind my slippers. “I didn’t know that you had trouble with bad dreams,” I said while unwrapping the ribbons from around my ankles.

Christopher sighed at that before mumbling, “I didn’t used to. It’s a recent thing. I guess that you must still have trouble with insomnia.”

As I finished removing my shoes, my head nodded in conformation. “Gee, I wonder why on Earth you could possibly have started having nightmares. It’s not as though things have become challenging as of late,” I speculated sarcastically. My older brother beamed, and within that atmosphere of light humor, produced a sound that couldn’t decide if it wanted to be a scoff or a chuckle. “Do you want to talk about it?” I then asked.

Almost instantly, he shook his head no and stood up goofishly straight, like a piece of two-by-four. He was attempting to look mature and brave, but to me, the now excessively upright posture simply made him look silly. Just the same, I nodded in understanding and started to move toward the stairwell in order to go to bed. “But, I wouldn’t mind it if we just talked for a while,” my brother then added. I stopped in my tracks and observed him. Though Christopher was trying to hide it, he shifted awkwardly and I could tell that he was nervous about the idea of going right back to sleep. I considered him for a moment before motioning for him to follow me to the bed that was sitting upon the floor.

While reorganizing everything, we had set the mattress over into the reading area, where it now laid along the wall. It seemed like a good idea to not have to read right on the wood floor. As we moved it over there, Momma promised us that with her next allowance payment, she would buy green sheets, pillows, and comforters for the thing. But for now, we had one of the old blankets with a faded floral pattern laid out on top. It was covering up some strange brown stains that had soaked into the white fibers of the padding. A giant trunk sat nearby where all of the other bed linens and throws were being stored. That way, we could access them whenever.

The two of us flopped on top of it and bounced a little. The coils creaked and groaned with the effort of supporting our young Dollanganger bodies. Having been long past their prime, the springs had a lot of give to them. Christopher and I then leaned our backs against the wall and simultaneously exhaled into the moment.

“So, what do you want to talk about?” I finally asked.

I watched as my brother stumbled upon that question. “Honestly… I’m not really sure. I just… wasn’t ready for sleep yet.” He then pulled his knees up to his chest and hugged them protectively. The behavior almost made him look like Cory, a little kid version of himself. Whatever he had dreamed, it had really bothered him.

My lips pursed together in mild concern and I supposed that it was up to me to be the conversation starter. “Christopher, what do you think Momma does when she’s not with us?”

The sudden question made my brother bolt upright in mild shock and then tilt his head in thought. “I’m not entirely sure,” he admitted. “Why do you ask?”

“Oh… It’s just that when she comes here, Momma always seems exhausted and frantic. And that leaves me wondering sometimes. I also… wouldn’t mind knowing why she brought us here to begin with.” I then fetaled my own knees up to my chest, mirroring Christopher. “I mean, I guess we need the money, but…”

I didn’t know what exactly to say next in order to finish that sentence. Was being rich really worth all of this? We weren’t especially wealthy before when Daddy was alive, and it had never been a problem then. So, what made it into such a priority now?

Then, my brother said something that truly surprised me. “I’ve been thinking about something Momma said. Back when she was telling us of how she grew up and got together with Daddy, she mentioned that I was born about seven months after they had left this place.” My legs shifted as my gaze turned to Christopher in confusion over what he was getting at. He must have read as much all over my countenance because he then clarified. “Babies take nine months to form, Cathy. Granted, it’s not an exact science. Some infants may come two weeks early; others, two weeks late. But, that’s the general rule. In order for me to have been born two whole months early like that, it’s highly probable that Momma was pregnant before they left the estate.”

I faced forward again, considering his words. “I wonder if she knew…” I began to mutter, then stopped. My lips did not dare give voice to the other part of my concern. Did that mean that the reason that Momma had left the Foxworth house was not because she had been in love with Daddy, but because she was pregnant with Christopher? Had she used Daddy as a simple means for escape? To save the baby? To save herself? My eyes looked back at my brother. His chin leaned against his arms, which crossed along the tops of his propped up knees. His expression was pensive and saddened, and I wondered if he might have had the same worries as myself. Witnessing him act this way made my heart ache a little because it was the first time that I had ever seen my brother have doubts about Momma. My mind then thought back to all of the interactions that my parents had ever had with one another; the looks, the conversations, the behaviors. Reflecting upon it all, I quickly realized that if love had been nothing but an act for Momma, then give her an Oscar or Academy Award.

That moment made me understand something new about humanity. People rarely do anything in this world for only one single motive. So, I decided right then that both were true. Momma needed to get away AND she was in love with my daddy. He was something safe and wonderful to run to, a hope of happiness. Within those handful of minutes, it was as though I could feel myself growing up. I was starting to shed my cocoon of youthful naivete and morphing a little further into adulthood. And that inescapable act of getting older, getting wiser, made my universe more messy and complicated.

But ultimately, who knows if I have ever been right about Momma’s reasons for the choices that she has made in life. Honestly, I’m not even sure if Momma truly knows those answers because she has an overwhelming habit of lying, not just to others, but also to herself.

I glanced back at Christopher and stated reassuringly to him, “Daddy and Momma loved each other very much.”

My brother turned to me a little startled, but relaxed. The ghost of a tired smile skittered across his lips as he nodded and uttered almost enthusiastically, “Yeah, of course!” He then stood up. “I don’t know about you, but I think that I’m ready to head back to bed now.”

As he began to walk away, I called out his name. “Christopher!” He stopped. “Now that I know you’re having trouble with bad dreams, if I see you like… struggling in your sleep at all, I’ll be sure to wake you up. Also, you’re welcome to wake me up whenever you need to.” I then added jovially, “Just no promises on how perky I’ll be in that situation.”

Christopher opened his mouth, but no words came. He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, and even though it was dark, I could swear that there was a light pink dusting across his cheeks. Finally, he managed an “Uh… thanks. I… I appreciate that.” Then, he left.

In looking back on my past and reflecting upon it all as an adult, I sometimes wonder what the blood of my Christopher is to me. A more mature perspective into the story of Momma’s life has given me grim suspicions as to why exactly a drunken Malcolm Foxworth would visit his young daughter’s bedroom in the middle of the night. So, what was Christopher Jr. then? Was he my brother, the offspring of two young adults falling in love within the freedom of a locked bedroom and moonlight? Or was he the product of something much darker, making him a mix of both my half brother and half uncle? Either way, Christopher Jr. truly was Christopher Sr.’s son, if not by blood, then certainly by spirit and fate. But, I suppose none of that really matters at this point.

The next morning, we stood at attention. After our very first time doing this, it didn’t take long for me to figure out what Christopher’s naughty little scheme had been while reciting Chapter 2, Verse 25. Every night, we read a couple of chapters and memorized a verse. And each time, my older brother would pick the most scandalous line that he could find from what we had read. Anything that referenced sex, strong violence, or any other number of taboos was his for the taking and preaching out loud to the Tin-Woman. I stood there for that whole month in the light of dawn that barely cracked through those oppressive red drapes and listened to him belt out:

“Genesis, Chapter 4, Verse 19, ‘And Lamech took unto him two wives: the name of the one was Adah, and the name of the other Zillah.’

“Genesis, Chapter 6, Verse 2, ‘That the sons of God saw the daughters of men that they were fair; and they took them wives of all which they chose.’

“Genesis Chapter 8, Verse 17, ‘Bring forth with thee every living thing that is with thee, of all flesh, both of fowl, and of cattle, and of every creeping thing that creepeth upon the earth; that they may breed abundantly in the earth, and be fruitful, and multiply upon the earth.’

“Genesis Chapter 9, Verse 22, ‘And Ham, the father of Canaan, saw the nakedness of his father, and told his two brethren without.’’’

I witnessed the grandmother become more and more visibly displeased with his responses. But other than changing the rules, what could she do? Christopher was performing exactly what she had asked. He was quoting the Bible. Each time that he did this, my lips pursed together as I internally began my own version of The Lord’s Prayer while he took his turn, “Our Father, Who art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name; Thy kingdom come; Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven. So, please don’t let my brother make me laugh right now.”

Sometimes, if there was more than one quote to use, I would join in. My cheeks became slightly warm in a mixture of giddy nervousness as I spat out, “Genesis, Chapter 9, Verse 1, ‘And God blessed Noah and his sons, and said unto them, Be fruitful, and multiply, and replenish the earth.’” Whenever I did this, Christopher would beam at me. The grin was one of pride in his younger sister for doing her part in rebelling against the Tin-Woman’s oppressive regime.

On that particular morning, my body was extra fidgety. I was still worried over what had become of my music box. As the grandmother entered and set her basket down, Carrie opened her mouth to begin reciting her practiced piety. But, the old woman interrupted with “We won’t be doing that today.” The Tin-Woman then began to pace among us, with her hands behind her back, like a drill sergeant among basic trainees. Thick, unforgiving heels pounded cruelly upon the wood flooring, and the stiff fabric of her taffeta dress made noise as layers rubbed together with her every stride. “Instead, I want to talk about respect.” She walked to one side of the room and doubled back as she continued to speak. “You see, when I set certain rules, I expect them to be obeyed in a manner that shows both devotion to the Lord and respect to your elders.” The grandmother specifically glared at Christopher as she said those words. It gave me the impression that she was talking about his selected quotes, and my brother must have had the same feeling because he responded to her words with a haughty sneer. Yet, once she stomped back over to the highboy, the Tin-Woman pulled my music box out from behind her back and set it on top of the piece of furniture. I gasped. “Take this for example. Did I not SPECIFICALLY instruct that there was to be no evidence of your occupancy? So, how was it then that the maid was able to find THIS?”

Instant panic overwhelmed me as I took a thoughtless step toward her and desperate words erupted from my mouth. “Please give that back! I promise. I won’t leave it down here again! I swear. I’ll just keep it in the attic and you’ll never see it again. Just PLEASE…”

“You will speak when spoken to, girl!” the grandmother shouted in interruption. My body jolted before going back into formation. Shaky breaths escaped from my lungs as I stood there, trying not to cry.

Suddenly, Christopher spoke up, “Please grandmother… As a Christian, have mercy. It… it was a gift from our father. And as you know, he’s passed away.”

My eyes shot up and stared at my brother. His expression was serious as he attempted to engage the Tin-Woman’s compassion, even invoking Christ to do so with. But, my gaze then turned toward the old woman, and I could tell that she was furious! Her eyes bulged out, her face reddened, and her lips pursed together even more tightly than usual. Without further warning, she grabbed my music box and with all of her force, threw the thing onto the ground.

As it tumbled through the air, there was a strange moment where time slowed and I swear that I could see the memory of my father giving it to me reflected upon the mirrored surface before the entire thing shattered upon the solid wood slats. My shocked throat uttered a strange, foreign sound. It was as though I wanted to scream, but couldn’t. The grandmother then yelled out a bunch of words that I wasn’t closely listening to. I was too transfixed upon my shards of music box. It was something about how we’re all sinners who need to respect the Lord to keep our souls safe. The door then roughly slammed shut, and the familiar sound of the turning latch clicked.

I ran toward my broken present from Daddy and fell awkwardly to the floor. I stared at the broken pieces of the thing and without thought, I grabbed the nearest trash bin and began to clean up the mess haphazardly. My siblings stood there silently, but I could feel their stare as I scooped up silver and glass with the energy of a robot completing a programmed directive. Unsurprisingly, it was not long before a sting ached in my right palm. I looked at my hand, and sure enough, a small shard protruded from it. Other than that slightest of pain, the limb felt lifeless as though it wasn’t even my own arm anymore. My fingers ripped the glass from out of my skin and tossed it into the rubbish like a useless pebble. Droplets of blood began to stain rouge spatter upon the now twisted pink felt.

That seemed to snap Christopher out of his shock as he shouted, “Cathy, stop!” He then knelt down in front of me, forcefully grabbed my hands to cease their activity, and examined my right one. “You’re lucky! It doesn’t look deep, and you clearly didn’t nick any veins or you would be bleeding a lot more,” he scolded before then yanking me by the wrist to the bathroom.

As we both entered, my lips mumbled out “Boys and girls aren’t supposed to be in here together.” It was almost a kind of pure recitation of the rule. There was no thinking behind my words. My mind had temporarily gone on vacation to some happy real garden elsewhere, enjoying fresh cut grass and air.

His only response to that was an angry “Shut up!” Followed by turning the faucet on, forcing my hand under the water, and washing it with soap. The brief pain of the sudsy liquid hitting my cut began to clear out some of the fog as I winced. “We don’t have antiseptic. So, this will have to do. When Momma comes up, I’ll ask her to get us some first aid supplies. Should have done it sooner, but just didn’t think about it,” my brother explained more to himself than to me. A clean washcloth was then folded and placed on my hand. “We have to keep pressure on it until it stops bleeding.”

I was then led to the bed and told to sit down. Almost on instinct, I laid down instead. Everything was heavy and tiring. There were sounds in the background of Christopher finishing with my music box’s clean up. It was slower and more cautious than I had been. At some point, the twins must have tried to help because I heard his voice say, “Uh, uh, I don’t want either of you getting injured too.”

It was a few minutes later, I heard the door open again, and my Momma’s warm greeting came into the room. “I’m here, my loves.” There was an awkward pause before the whispers of my older brother informing her of what had happened reached my ears. He then mentioned that we should get some first aid supplies when the next allowance becomes available. Without another word, she grabbed a chair and sat down next to me. Delicate, perfectly polished fingers, began to softly stroke through my hair. “My poor baby girl,” she whispered to me. The entire effect was like a comforting breeze slowly bringing me back to life.

Tears began to form as I cried out “Momma!” I then leapt into her arms and started to sob uncontrollably. “MOMMA!” Her hand moved from petting my scalp to rubbing along my back. Her teeth and tongue made a soothing sound like a rainstick coaxing a ceremony of motherly love into my soul. Within her embrace, I wailed and wailed and wailed.

I caught Momma glancing at my bedside alarm clock. With a saddened face, she then spoke softly, “I’m sorry, my love. I… I have to go now. But, I’ll be back later today to check up on you. Just take it easy.”

The unfairness of the situation hit my bloodstream with the force of a cement truck and I screamed out, “Do you really have to leave?!”

In response, Momma gently touched my cheek. “I promise that one day this will all make more sense to you. Just don’t worry about anything, but relaxing. And hey, when I have the money again, I’ll buy you a NEW music box. Only this time, the diamonds will be REAL. Won’t that be great?” As she gently pulled her way out of my grasp, she whispered, “Rest now.” I clutched and grasped at anything of hers that I could. I didn’t want her to go. Why did she have to go?! The expression that she gave to me in return was somewhat chiding. “Remember, I’m doing this for US,” she said while shaking my grip free.

On the way out the door, Momma looked at Christopher. “You be nice to her today. You hear?” she scolded.

He shrugged at that. “Of course, Momma.”

She touched his cheek and kissed his forehead appreciatively. She then did the same with the twins and was out the door. My body flopped back onto the bed. The muscles and bones were once again weighed down with a lead-like heaviness. But, my mind was at least much more in the moment. I couldn’t help but reflect upon how it felt like Momma had changed. The house and Foxworth legacy seemed to be nothing more than a curse upon us all. Her leaving any one of us sobbing like that seemed unimaginable before we had come to this place.

A few weeks later, Momma would do exactly as she had said that she would. She bought me a new silver music box with real diamonds encrusted within it. We ended up storing it in the attic with the costume props.

As I laid there thinking, feeling the effect of Momma’s sudden absence, a tiny, plastic body slid its way into my grasp. My head tilted downward to see Carrie putting her doll into my hand. “If you’re sad Cathy, then you can have my Barbie. Just give it back when you’re no longer sad, okay?” A small smile began to form onto my mouth at the sweet gesture. My little sister then added, “But please be super careful because we both know that it’s my favorite.” I chuckled slightly at that and nodded in confirmation that I would.

Cory followed suit and wordlessly placed his Peter Rabbit stuffy under the crook of my arm. My little brother often liked to hold it whenever we read to him his favorite story at the time, which was eponymously titled with the same name as that beloved long-eared toy.

I sat up and bundled the precious objects into my arms. My hand then gently grabbed each of the twins by the nape of the neck and pulled them in for appreciative kisses.

Christopher then came over with his disheveled copy of Gray’s Anatomy. “I suppose that I could add this to the pot as well,” he stated jovially before setting it on my lap. We beamed at each other as he then sat down next to me in the chair that Momma had moved several minutes before. “I am so sorry, Cathy,” he grieved.

I clutched the book and dolls even more tightly as I replied, “There’s nothing to apologize for.”

He nodded in understanding. “You know, Cathy. Whenever you’re feeling better again, I could really use your help with finishing the attic.”

After that day, Christopher stopped being sneaky and rebellious with his Bible verses. In fact, he no longer had any level of care for anything that the good book had to say. His choice of quote for the morning had the passion of a bouncing roulette ball waiting to land somewhere. It was a job, a means to get our food and the grandmother out of our room just a little bit faster. Although, such a mindset is perhaps a form of rebellion in its own way.

Almost ironically, my brother’s gift for memorization would soon be able to recite whole pages of scripture with ease. But any potential for a connection that ran much deeper than a knowledge of what words happened to string together died within that attic, murdered by one of its supposed believers. Somehow, my own faith has survived that house of hypocrisy. However, my ideas of God and what it means to be truly good within this world are very different from my grandmother’s, and many others like her. A person’s actions will always speak louder than their words to me, no matter what book happens to be sourced.

Not long after that, we went back upstairs and continued to work on the attic. The twins and I started by helping Christopher with painting the furniture. I had specifically put him in charge of that job since he was the most artistically talented among us. When I did, my brother gave me an indifferent thumbs up of compliance. With each piece, we emptied it of stuff and set the shelf, chest, or any other form of large wooden unit on top of one of the old sheets being used as a drop cloth. Then, as my older sibling got to work, the other three of us would prepare the next item. When he finished and the paint dried, it would get moved back into its original location with the items placed back where they belonged.

Although truthfully, my two little gremlins helped for about ten minutes, got bored, and then went off to the toy area to play. I groaned at their abandonment.

With the painting, the idea was not necessarily to make everything match, but to at least coordinate. The bookshelves and tall wardrobes often became various types of hedges and trees, while the dressers and trunks became large bushes and shrubs.

“It looks much better,” Carrie declared. “But not very much like a garden yet. There’s no flowers,” she then criticized.

“We’re waiting for Momma to bring the rest of the supplies. Then, we’ll have flowers everywhere. You’ll see,” I explained.

A couple of evenings later, Momma came up to the attic with our materials for the decorations. Unable to contain my excitement, I beamed at all of the colored paper, tissues, and doilies. There were markers, beads, and fake gemstones. Every craft item imaginable was carried up in bags upon bags. Among it all was even more paint; this time of various colors besides just greens and blues.

“I cannot believe how much this place has changed!” Momma observed with pride as she carried up the area rugs that we had requested. “It was like the set to a horror movie before.” Her praise made my three siblings puff up in delight.

We then arranged all of the different carpets in locations where they made sense. As Momma helped us, I was unresponsive and distant toward her at first. The fresh memory of her abandonment in my hour of need still hurt within my heart. But, as the nightly hours passed in working side by side, I began to catch myself smiling. In those days, it was hard for me to stay angry at my mother.

Looking at all of the different carpets that were finally laid out, I wondered to myself with some amusement if our Momma had possibly bought out the entire store’s worth of verdant throw runners and area rugs. The once flat green wood of the floor now had interest and versatility. Some of them were unattractive shags that I never would have thought to grab. That can often be a funny thing about designing and decorating, a single piece on its own can frequently be ugly as sin, but when put together as part of a cohesive look, it suddenly becomes beautiful. They also now provided many soft places for us to take our shoes off without fear of splinters.

Before leaving for the night, Momma helped us make the bed over in the reading area. We removed the old floral print comforter and throw pillows. “I know that I promised more green. But honestly, I got a little tired of the color and went in a different direction for the bedding.” She then pulled out pillows that were patterned in a psychedelic floral kaleidoscope of color. The rest of the bedding was the same, except that the colors were a calmer pastel-like pallet. Looking at the bed all put together, I had to agree that it was a nice break up from all of the mosses and emeralds. It made me even more excited for when we would add the painted-on theater and flowers. “Did I do alright?” Momma asked with a warm, yet nervous, smile.

I grinned brightly back at her and stated with enthusiasm, “It’s totally groovy!”

The next day, with all of our new paint colors, Christopher began to design what our stage space was going to look like. Somewhat excitedly, he showed me a book that depicted different staging techniques among ancient cultures. It was a textbook that he had found a while ago and set aside to use as a reference for this part of the project. The page was turned to diagrams of Greek amphitheaters. There were tracks along the descriptive sentences where a former bookworm had clearly enjoyed a lunch. My eyes fixed themselves to just the pictures in an attempt to avoid looking at the holey sight.

The outdoor theater design would help it appear like it naturally existed within our attic garden among the future paper flowers. As my brother spoke, his voice carried that haughty, know-it-all quality that it always did whenever he thought that he was teaching his sister something new. “ALL of this seating that’s in a semicircle is called the Theatron,” he began to explain while showing me a well labeled illustration as though I couldn’t read it for myself. “The circular stage in the middle was for the orchestra. Then, you have the main part for the actors called the Proskenion, and the backdrop is known as the Skene. I think ‘skene’ might be where we get the word scene from!”

My eyes squinted with annoyance. “I love how you’re behaving as though you didn’t just learn all of this ten minutes ago from the very book that you’re now showing me.” Christopher scoffed with frustration as I then snatched the text from his hand. The diagram was an overhead view of the whole thing. When I turned the page, a front view was shown. From the picture, it seemed that the backdrops of Greek plays must have frequently been entire building structures. A stage appeared to be propped up by columns, and at the back of the stage were three different image panels, perhaps meant to depict different scenes from the play being performed. “Hmm… I think that the effort required for painting the orchestra and seating might be more work than it’s worth. But, the building itself… apologies, the PROSKENION and SKENE… is pretty. So, we should probably focus on that.”

Christopher rolled his eyes at my mockery of him and then looked over my shoulder at the picture. “You know… it might be easier on me to just cut the bottom half of the building off, and only do the top part where the three scene images are located. Then, the stage area can simply be painted right on the floor.”

Depicting the structure was more of a task than we originally thought. To get all of the proportions correct, my brother ended up meticulously measuring everything off and then marking it all up with chalk before daring to even touch the thing with a paint brush. By the end of the day, there was a rough sketch of how it was all going to look. The twins and I marveled at the chalk draft. “That’s going to be our stage,” I whispered down to my younger siblings. Their smiles broadened with excitement. Meanwhile, Christopher beamed with braggadociousness. I rolled my eyes at him, but was impressed nonetheless.

The next day, he began to paint using multiple shades of gray. From his strokes, Greek pillars erected themselves upon the wall, and a roofline with multiple pitches connected along the top. To give it aging and further tie in to the garden motif, vines twisted up the columns of the Parthenon-like structure. An image of a rectangular slab of slate came forth from the wall and served to present itself as a stage upon the slatted flooring.

During my brother’s process of channeling his inner Michaelangelo, the twins and I sat in the school room space and I demonstrated techniques for making different styles of flowers. Similar to how Christopher had found his theater book, I had discovered a book on gardening to use as a visual guide for the three of us. As an added whimsy, I brought my new Barbie and Peter Rabbit dollies up to be extra helpers, making us into a party of five. Mostly, this was just a means to keep the twins engaged longer.

Almost immediately, Cory grabbed Peter Rabbit and proceeded to show the long eared cottontail how to hold scissors for cutting the various floral shapes. Meanwhile, Carrie just stared at her former doll, and did zero work in the process. “Barbie’s not a very good helper,” she began to tattle to me.

“Oh, why not?” I asked, pretending to be serious.

“Well, I think that she was expecting to go to the beach and not a flower garden. She’s still got her swimsuit on and everything.”

My lips pursed together as I fought back giggles. I then picked Barbie up, held her face to my ear, and pretended that the plastic doll was whispering to me. My head repeatedly nodded with fake understanding. At last, I set Barbie back down in her assigned seat. “She says that she is perfectly happy to make flowers with us, even in her current attire.” In response to her big sister obviously playing with her, Carrie squealed with laughter.

After we cut out what may have been well over a hundred different forms of lilies, roses, and daisies, I then demonstrated how to use glitter glue and the fake gemstones to decorate them with. Admittedly, I cringed at some of the six-year-olds’ rough flower edges that they had cut, and more than once, they used so much glue that it splooged off of the paper and onto their desk. I groaned. They were making a big, sticky mess that was going to have to be cleaned up later. But, I supposed that at least they were having fun and trying their best. Once the flowers all dried, we then taped the rainbow of blooms all over the attic, anywhere that they made sense, and soon marveled at how the place quickly exploded with vibrant, three-dimensional color.

Christopher paused his work for a moment and whistled. “Wow! The place is looking better than I imagined!” I looked over and observed his own project. The major brush strokes of the architecture were all completed. It was just the detailing left to be done, and it was already appearing amazing. My mouth gawked with a little jealousy. Out of all my family members, why did my older brother have to get the art talent? As if he wasn’t full of himself enough as is.

He then handed me a glass of dirty water. “Hey Cathy, any chance that you could swap this out with clean water?”

I nodded in agreement, took the thing from his grasp and headed downstairs. My throat hummed a happy little tune as I dumped the muddy liquid into the bathroom sink and poured in fresh. The attic was almost finished and it was impossible for me to contain my eagerness toward it. Yet, as I exited the bathroom, I jumped and nearly dropped the water. The grandmother was standing right there.

And without further warning, the Tin-Woman stomped toward me and grabbed me by the shoulders with the coziness of metal vices. “What have the four of you been doing up there?!” she commanded. My eyes blinked for a moment and my mouth was gaped open. I was too stunned to answer her. She then violently shook me and repeated the question. Cold water from the cup splashed onto my hand from the force of her and awoke me from my stunned stupor.

“We’re… we’re painting,” I finally managed.

But, that didn’t seem to subside her anger and suspicion in the slightest. “Don’t think for a single moment that the lot of you can do wicked things in that attic behind my back. Whenever I have come to check on you in the afternoons, the four of you ALWAYS seem to be up there. For over a month and a half it has been that way. Now, tell me the truth this time, what are you doing up there?!”

Her grip tightened further and my body started to tremble. “I don’t know what it is that you think we are doing, but I swear that we’re just painting! We can’t do much in this room. So, we decided to remake the attic into a garden themed playroom. We didn’t even know that you were coming into our room, besides in the morning. And that’s it! I swear! We’re just painting! Painting, painting, PAINTING!”

“If what you’re doing is truly so innocent, then why are you shaking like someone with something to hide?” Her fingernails started to dig into my skin and I squirmed even more fiercely in an attempt to seek out escape.

“Because you frighten me!” I shouted out truthfully. “And you’re hurting me! Please let me go!”

Within that moment of desperation, I thought about crying out for Daddy, then I considered wailing for Momma. But, I knew that neither would come to save me, though for different reasons. Tears of terrified helplessness started to form at the corner of my eyes. Then suddenly, I heard, “Good grief, Cathy. Did you fall i–” I turned slightly to see Christopher standing at the closet doorway. His expression was grave. It clearly hadn’t taken long for him to assess the situation as he approached us both and placed his arm between us, protectively pushing me backwards away from the Tin-Woman. “Is something wrong, Grandmother?” he then asked.

The old woman sneered at him. “I was simply asking your sister about what it was that the four of you have been doing for all of this time up in the attic.”

“We’ve been decorating it,” Christopher answered flatly and showed his hands for evidence. There were spots of various colors all over them. “I’ve been painting, while my siblings have been making paper flowers. The theme is a garden. I asked Cathy to come down and fetch me some fresh water.” His pupils that nestled themselves within typhoons for irises that stared straight into the grandmother’s steel gray eyes. “And when she took a while, I started to wonder what might be keeping her.” Despite the tension of the room, my brother then gave the old woman a disarming smile, followed by a gesture toward the closet. “If you’d like, you’re welcome to follow us upstairs and then we can show you our work.”

Her eyes narrowed with venom as Christopher blatantly flaunted her weakness right out in the open. But to that behavior, she said nothing, only stormed out of the room, and locked the door behind her. My brother watched it for a few more minutes to make sure that she wasn’t planning to return before facing me and asking, “Are you okay?”

I silently nodded, but my still shaking body gave away how scared I had been. He sighed at that, told me to come here, and pulled me into a hug. I wasn’t fully crying this time, but my face buried itself in his chest. I wanted to forget about the world. As I felt his hand pet the back of my head and his voice whispering that I was safe in a soothing manner, my breathing and body began to slow. Without even thinking much about it, my hands clung to him tighter and my lips stuttered out, “Please, don’t leave me too.”

There was a pause followed by a light chuckle from Christopher. “Where would I even go? We’re in the same boat.” I lifted my head to look at him. “Or… maybe I should say that we’re in the same attic?” he added lightly. A smile started to form on my countenance at that. “Speaking of which, what do you say to finally finishing the place?”

I nodded in agreement and we headed back upstairs.

The last step of the attic decoration project was, if you can believe it, making bugs. Only these ones were actually CUTE. My task was to create dozens of individualized paper bookworms. Some were pink with glasses, others were blue with baseball caps. All of them, no matter what color and style, had a charming cartoonish look about them. I then placed one in each of our books and beamed with pride. They were going to be our bookmarks. However, I then shuddered. The memory of when real bookworms crawled about within our tomes still made my skin crawl.

Christopher made little bees out of glitter glue and gems that were placed on small pieces of black or yellow paper. When finished, he then glued them down on our various paper flowers. “The plants won’t survive without them,” he explained jokingly. The materials that my brother had chosen to create these insects gave the effect of adding even more sparkle to our green space.

Meanwhile, Momma helped Cory to create a multitude of different kinds of butterflies and dragonflies. Momma, Christopher, and myself then hung them all from the rafters on strings. The breeze that wafted through the windows would sometimes catch them and make it appear as though these bugs were truly flying around.

Lastly, against everyone else suggesting otherwise, Carrie made a purple paper earthworm the size of a boa constrictor. Black pipe cleaner eyelashes curled forth from a large red eye. “Her name is Caroline,” my little sister declared proudly. The three of us older Dollangangers, including my mother, sighed at that. It had become something of a tradition within our family to give every member a name that starts with a C. So, if Carrie had C-named it, that meant the thing was staying.

Meanwhile, Cory quickly walked over, began to pet Carrie’s project, and blurted out, “Nice to meet you, Caroline.”

We all watched as Christopher found a spot for Caroline to lurk within the school room area and taped the thing to the wall there. He then quickly threw together a cardboard sign and posted nearby. On it read the words, “Beware of earthworm.” I chuckled.

With that last touch, finally, everything was done! Momma gave us each a congratulatory hug and kiss. As she did so, she gushed non-stop about how unbelievably amazing it all looked. To the background noise of her praise, my siblings and I marveled upon it all. For the first time since coming here, the space felt truly like it now belonged to us. Our sanctuary from the grandmother was no longer just some awful room where we were being stored away like forgotten objects. It was now a place that we had claimed, conquered, and made our own. Every part of it in some form or another had been transformed by our hands. From the trees, to the flying insects, to the various flowers in the attic, the power of our work and tenacity had successfully transported us to the outdoors. And, at least for the time being, our imagination had made us free.

But, completing the attic project wasn't the only incredible thing to happen. Roughly a week later, the grandmother came in with our breakfast and a yellow vase of chrysanthemums. “I brought these for the attic,” she explained with a tone of aggravated sheepishness. “Now, you’ll have some real flowers in that garden.” She then left without saying another word. The four of us stared at the bouquet and its vessel. A part of us wondered if the vase had needles inside or perhaps the flowers were poisonous to touch. Since, of course, the Tin-Woman couldn’t have possibly done something… nice. Could she?

Chapter Text

Christopher trudged to our stage area with the enthusiasm of a sloth and the most annoyed expression imaginable. He was wearing a dress suit that we had found in one of the trunks. Some of the bottom hemming was visibly coming undone and draped threading like loose cobwebs. That was probably how it ended up here. The blue coloring was a nice complement to his eyes, but everything hung VERY long and forced him to roll up the sleeves and pant legs several times over. To keep the several-size-too-big pants up, we had to add new holes into the brown leather belt, which caused the silk lined fabric to awkwardly bunch all around his waist. All of these significant adjustments gave a ludicrous nature to his appearance. Standing there, his eyes rolled as he groused, “I’m gonna go on record and remind you that I HATE this play.”

“Oh, just shut up and say your lines, Romeo!” I barked back. My brother and I then harrumphed at one another within our differing frustrations. He wasn’t exactly my first choice for the role either, but there was no one else around who could play the part for me.

With her latest allowance payment, Momma bought us a bunch more books and games in order to help keep the four of us entertained. One of them was a collection of all of Shakespeare’s plays. So, of course, we had to perform my favorite scene from Romeo and Juliet. Wearing the old wedding dress, I played the part of Juliet. Meanwhile, the twins sat on the floor and watched as audience members.

After berating my brother, I then cleared my throat and declared with my greatest of acting skills, “‘How camest thou hither, tell me, and wherefore? The orchard walls are high and hard to climb, and the place death, considering who thou art, if any of my kinsmen find thee here.’”

Christopher stared at me with that same expression of clearly not wanting to do this. However, his face changed as mischievous mental gears started to visibly turn. And without warning, he suddenly scooped up our little brother and held him in the air in front of me, causing the small boy to shriek in shock and delight. With a grin like a Cheshire Cat, Christopher then recited, “‘With love's light wings did Cory o'erperch these walls, for stony limits cannot hold a brother out.’” Cory kicked his legs slightly as he dangled from his big brother’s arms. He was clearly confused, but continued to giggle from the whole situation.

At first, I crossed my arms and shook my head. I was unamused by my older brother’s ad-libbed improv. But, as the cutesy humor of the moment crept its way into my frustration, I relented, leaned in, and gave my little brother a peck on the cheek. Instantly, the five-year-old’s face flushed with a scarlet of charmed embarrassment. “My hero,” I then stated somewhat sarcastically to my two brothers before moving on to something else. The play was now ruined anyway.

Forever after we had decorated the space, our feelings and relationship with the attic had become strange. It really was our beloved sanctuary. The one place where the four of us could go to escape and truly be ourselves without fear of God and the Tin-Woman. However, it was also little more than a peaceful prison, which meant that it didn’t take long for our lives to transform into a maddening monotony. Our typical daily routine went like this.

Before dawn, we washed, got dressed, and styled our hair. Oftentimes, Carrie and Cory needed help doing up their buttons or tying their shoes. Afterwards, we refreshed ourselves on the Bible verses that had been chosen and practiced the night before. Then, once we recited our lines to the grandmother and watched her leave, the four of us ate our breakfast at the table.

The daily basket food was always the same; bacon, eggs, toast, and cereal for breakfast, soup and sandwiches for lunch, fried chicken, potato salad, and green beans for dinner, and finally fruit for dessert. Sometimes, there were detectable differences, such as different types of soup or choices of lunch meat for the sandwiches. But overall, it didn’t change. The fact that our lunch and dinner were no longer hot by the time we got to those didn’t help with making things appetizing either.

To alleviate some of the boredom with our nutrition, we frequently tried to change things up. One day, it would be breakfast for dinner. The next, we would have our sandwiches with fruit and potato salad instead of soup. But just the same, over time, it became more and more of a challenge to force ourselves into consuming it. And as a result, we were all beginning to lose some weight. The twins were especially hard. Their five-year-old pickiness often had either Christopher or myself taking turns in giving them our portion of the best grub. Yet, they were still prone to whining about having to eat the same thing again, which quickly became tiring. More than once, either one of us would suddenly snap at them to “Just EAT IT!”

Once breakfast was finished, much of the former tension deflated and laughter came more easily as we made our way up into the calm of the attic. The flower vase that the Tin-Woman had gotten for us currently sat in the windowsill, and I watered it everyday until it eventually died. Each week, the four of us cycled through board game nights, play productions, and deeply unrhythmic family concerts. But most days, the twins ran straight to the toys, while Christopher dove right into reading. The imaginative paper and hardback worlds of our decently sized library allowed all of us to explore even more places for escape beyond our large handmade playroom. My own time was often split between books and practicing ballet.

As I repeated the five basic forms, I would occasionally catch my older brother glancing up at me. However, these passing looks lacked that odd energy which had occurred the night when he had walked in on me dancing to Tchaichovsky. So, I mostly just ignored him.

On any given day, Christopher and I would frequently jump into a competitive conversation about what we would do with the money once the grandfather finally died.

“When the grandfather dies, I’m going to run the largest ballet company that the world has ever seen!”

“Oh yeah, well, when the grandfather dies, I’m going to open an entire fleet of hospitals!”

Sometimes, saying these things made me feel guilty. There is something cold and mean spirited about waiting around and wishing for someone to die. But, at the same time, our means for ultimate freedom was tied up in that man’s death. And if the poor renown that Momma had preceded him with held any truth to it, then it seemed like the world would be a happier place without him. I imagined Malcolm Foxworth’s funeral becoming as empty as that of Ebenezer Scrooge. Those closest to him in life would simply skip his service to go fill their pockets with his former money, and then sneer at how they didn’t get enough. In the end, the worth of his corpse to those he left behind would not be measured in the volume of bereaved tears, but in the weight of his coin. And really, we were no different. It is an interesting thing to hate someone whom you have never even met before, but some reputations are just that bad.

When it was time for lunch and dinner, we stayed in our garden. Momma had even bought us a picnic blanket to use. Each day, we laid the red and white checkered sheet out, opened the basket, and dug in to enjoy our small garden party.

Except that, the food was still largely unappealing. So, more often than not, Christopher and I would have to take the twins downstairs afterwards and wash slimy green beans out of their hair from a food fight that we had just had. As long as everything was cleaned up before the grandmother found out about it, none of us cared about the messes that we were making. We were having fun.

Occasionally, with a horrified expression on her face, Momma would walk in on our Lord of the Flies lifestyle and immediately attempt to scold us. But before the guilt of disappointing her could truly sink in, she would then curse the clock and be forced to leave. It wasn’t long afterwards that we would go right back into doing whatever had gotten us in trouble to begin with.

The other normal occurrence within our attic dwelling lives was that Christopher and I were often tired. Now that I had been made aware of my older brother’s issue with bad dreams, it surprised me that I hadn’t noticed it before. Rarely would a week pass that I didn’t see him tossing and turning in his sleep at least once. A pinched brow was placed below a forehead that perspired ever so slightly. So, as promised, I would pull up a chair, sit down next to his side of the bed, and wake him. At first, Christopher would always be startled as it took him a minute to remember where he was. But, his rapid breathing would then slow while his mind reoriented itself in the knowledge of reality vs. terrifying slumberland.

Once he calmed down, the two of us would then whisper to each other in our quietest voices so as not to disturb the twins. We talked about anything that had occurred throughout the day; whether it was the books that we were currently reading, funny things that the twins did, or even mocking jokes about the grandmother. These silly little soothing conversations of ours went on anywhere from thirty minutes to two hours. Until we were both exhausted and he was feeling brave enough to try going back to sleep again.

The following mornings, we HAD to be awake during the Tin-Woman’s visit, but afterwards our schedules became much more flexible. The twins were still too young to go unsupervised for a long period of time. So, Christopher and I took turns napping. Once whoever went first woke up, they would then tag the other for their turn to rest.

Oftentimes, rather than go all the way back downstairs, either one of us simply just crashed on the bed in the reading nook. That way, we were still available in case an emergency arose. It also guaranteed that the grandmother would not disturb our slumber for any reason. I imagine that if the Tin-Woman had ever caught us sleeping during the day like that, then she would have angrily ripped the comforters right off of our unconscious bodies and accused us of being lazy.

Evenings always went the same, the four of us would all take showers, get into our pajamas, and crawl into mine and Carrie’s double bed. Either myself or Christopher would then read our couple of Bible chapters and pick out our lines for the grandmother. After everyone practiced their verse a few times, we would then read the fun bedtime story. The one that we were actually excited for, whatever that happened to be. And as the twins started to fall asleep to the sound of our voice, Christopher would wish Carrie and I a good night and take Cory to the other bed. The image of my big brother tucking in my little one gave me flashbacks of when Daddy used to do the same thing with a smaller version of Christopher many years ago. But of course, Christopher lacked the large stature and frame to be able to just simply scoop Cory up into his arms and carry him.

As August came to a close, we decided to have a beach day before the chilliness of fall inevitably set in. Barbie got to join in on the fun of course. Carrie insisted on it. For at last, the fashion icon’s black and white striped one piece would make some sense for a while.

For the event, Christopher and I lifted the reading nook bed over to where the windows were, stripped down to our undergarments to pretend that we were wearing swimsuits, and lounged in front of those dormers to sunbathe. I found a pair of bent sunglasses in one of the trunks that I manipulated back into a usable shape and placed them over my eyes.

Meanwhile, the twins took the opportunity to practically rip all of their clothes off, before running and playing tag about the entire attic while being as naked as the day that they were born. I looked upon the crazy display and sighed. “Well, I suppose it’s a good thing that we’re at least on a PRIVATE beach,” I then mused to myself.

I basked along the mattress with a second edition copy of The Once and Future King that Momma had brought up. Christopher laid down beside me with 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea. My eyes glanced in mild surprise at what book he had chosen. “Fiction! I’m sincerely impressed right now, dear brother!” I teased.

He chuffed at my ribbing before explaining with a tone of dry humor, “I thought that a story about the watery deep sounded like a great option for a beach read.”

For the next few hours, the two of us relaxed and read. While doing so, we were mindful to check on the twins every now and again. Eventually, those two chased the little kid energy right out of their bodies. And when that happened, Christopher got up, scolded them into at least putting their underwear back on, and settled them down into working a couple of puzzles that he pulled out. He then returned to the bed and reopened his book.

The increasing warmth of the blanket from the sun perpetually beating down upon the thing activated my imagination. I was no longer lying upon a comforter on top of a worn out old mattress, but along a cozy towel that rested upon comfortable, shifting sand. I periodically rolled over for an even coverage of tanning as my body relaxed into a fluidity that was more akin to a cat than a human, and I dozed off a little in between lengthy passages of the boy, King Arthur, pulling mighty Excalibur from the stone.

Eventually, I got to the part that described the romantic feelings between Queen Guinevere and Lancelot. I exhaled dreamily at the words and giggled out, “I always love a good forbidden romance.”

I then heard Christopher audibly scoff in the background. He sneered, “An entire novel about the rise and fall of a mythically noble king, and all that you get out of it is the romance. Of course, it is.”

My contented sigh transformed into one of exasperation. Aggravation needled its way into my otherwise serene escapism. Why did he always have to criticize what I chose to enjoy within my freetime? Attempting to brush him off, I retorted sardonically, “Yes, yes, I get it already. You’re the God of geniuses and I’m a sappy air-head. Whatever. Can I just read in peace now?”

A few awkward minutes passed where I could feel Christopher blinking at me. Within his stare, the tranquilness of my imagination’s beachside fantasy began to evaporate into reality like a passing mirage. Irritation percolated through my bloodstream as I felt an impending argument between the two of us approach. Finally, he spoke, “Okay, I know that I can give you a hard time every once in a while. But just so we’re clear, I have never once thought of you as stupid. If anything, I think that you’re too smart to be wasting away your mind on that kind of crap.”

With that, I snapped, “Alright, that’s it!” In being tired of his egotism, I scrambled up to my knees, removed my sunglasses, and glared at him right in the eyes. “First of all, Christopher, LOVE is not crap!” I chided loudly. Then, realizing that my tone was overly harsh, I closed my eyes and took a calming breath before continuing. “Look, I get it. You’ve decided to make becoming a doctor your entire personality. Not to mention the fact that you’re a BOOOY, which naturally means that admitting to liking anything even remotely girly will cause you to somehow spontaneously combust.” His eyes squinted at my obvious mocking of him, but he didn’t interrupt. So, I kept going. “But, good grief! For your information, spending time with someone you love is supposed to be FUN! I mean…” My arms clutched tightly around the book and I looked up at the ceiling as my romantic imagination started to form fantasies. “Don’t you want to walk alongside someone who, despite all of your own cleverness, says something so amazing that it practically causes your brain to stop functioning? And right then, there’s just nothing left to do, but kiss them.” My eyes then went back to Christopher. “Don’t you want to get lost in a moment with someone special?” There was a pause as he stared at me. His mouth opened and closed a few times, but nothing came out. “Anyway, I think that an experience like that would be lovely. But you do what you want, I suppose.” No longer caring, I laid back down and reopened my novel.

But then, he surprised me. “When… you put it like that… romance sounds like it could be nice.” I looked at him in disbelief. Was Christopher admitting that I was right about something? If so, then I most certainly deserved to have a parade float made in my honor. He then added, “You know, I remember Daddy telling me something kind of similar to that a long time ago. About a girl one day leaving me speechless, I mean.”

My mind reviewed my childhood in fast forward with the attempt to recall what it was that my brother was talking about. “Oh yeah…” I declared once I believed that I had come upon the correct memory. “Except that he was trying to convince you to learn how to ‘dance with the lady,’” I then added.

“Hmm, that’s right…” he chuffed out in response.

And with that, we went back to our reading. However, in continuing mine, I ultimately got to the part where the Great King Arthur confessed a dark secret of his to both Guinevere and Lancelot. At the age of nineteen, he had conceived an ill-legitimate child, Mordred, with his half-sister Queen Morgause. Once it was known, his advisors had then scared the young king into believing that the act had been a sin and that his son would grow up evil due to being a product of incest. So, to prevent such a terrifying and miserable wickedness from reaching adulthood, the king agreed with these people to have Mordred killed. Except, that Morgause had been hidden away. So, it was unknown as to which infant was of Arthur’s blood. In response, all of the babies that had been born within the same month as Mordred were placed on a boat that was then crashed upon an island and sank. Of course, Mordred somehow survived the incident, while all the other newborns drowned.

Though neither Lancelot nor Guinevere blamed him, stating that he was young at the time, I did. Right then and there, I wanted to throw the hardback out the window and scream, “You’re supposed to be BETTER! A great king and hope for mankind should be more than this!” And even though I was nearly done with the story, I set the thing down and didn’t pick it back up. It was too real to me. Even to this day, I still have never finished The Once and Future King.

As things progressed into fall, the four of us did an activity where we made roughly a couple hundred leaves out of fall colored construction paper and marker. Christopher then raked it all into a giant heap in the middle of the floor, and we watched the twins as they jumped and played in them. Sometimes, Carrie or Cory would get paper cuts on their hands or bare feet from not having been careful enough. But for the most part, it served well as something similar to a real leaf pile.

At one point, Cory even handed me one of the leaves as a gift. It caused me to chuckle. The behavior reminded me of when the twins used to bring in presents of leaves and flowers to give to Momma. Always, she would act so proud and grateful when they did so. But in reality, they would be magnetized to the fridge for a short while and eventually go in the trash. To be fair, there were only so many little kid offerings that could fit on that cold surface area. Sometimes, if she truly loved something, Momma would press it inside of a book and then seal it into a handmade bookmark with clear package tape.

In taking the thing, I copied her behavior and began to gush at Cory over how sweet and thoughtful he was. At my praise, my little brother beamed with pride and began to search for another good leaf to then give to Christopher. In all of this, what made me laugh the loudest was the fact that, upon closer inspection, I was pretty sure that this was one of the leaves that I, myself, had made.

For Halloween, we were unable to go out Trick-or-Treating. So, we organized an attic party instead. Christopher and I put together a list of costume requests and decoration desires for Momma to pick up at the beginning of the month. Once she came back with all of the stuff, it wasn’t long before we took down the flying insects and hung black and orange streamers from all of the rafters instead. The floor and furniture of our garden became strewn about with fake cobwebs and gravestones. Lastly, a couple of skeletons now sat comfortably in the reading nook area.

Momma came up one evening with some pumpkins and helped us all to carve out wicked looking Jack-o-Lanterns. Momma’s and Christopher’s glowing orange gourds were easily the most well done, while the twins were barely even recognizable as faces. When the room was all finished, I mischievously wondered what the grandmother would think of all of this macabre design if she could see it. I doubt that she would have liked it at all, and that made me love it even more.

When the holiday evening came upon us, I dressed myself up as Glinda the Good Witch, while putting Carrie into a Wicked Witch of the West costume. As I sponged green paint upon her face and hands, she cackled evilly and began to immerse herself fully into the role by threatening to get me and my little dog too. I giggled and shook my head at her. Cory was a cute bunny rabbit. “My name tonight is Peter,” he declared as I marked up his nose and drew on whiskers for him. Lastly, Christopher came out in a white lab coat with a doctor’s stethoscope around his neck. My eyes squinted at him in criticism over his lack of creativity while he shrugged at me in return. Fully demonstrating that he didn’t care what I thought.

As the night began, our five Jack-o-Lanterns provided the only lumination to purposefully make things spooky. We also each had a flashlight, just in case. Within that glow of Halloween spirit, the twins and I laughed without restraint as we Twisted and Ponied together to songs like “Monster Mash” and “I Put a Spell on You.” They were records that Momma had bought for us to use tonight. While the three of us twirled around, tittered, guffawed, and everything in between, I caught Christopher standing off to the side of the room. He was using his flashlight to READ his Gray’s Anatomy of all things!

Without further delay, I approached him. “Christopher, you can do that anyday.” I sassed while pointing at his book. I then made a follow me motion with my hand. “So, stop wallflowering yourself, come out to the floor, and celebrate Halloween with your family!”

“Come on, Cathy. We both know that I don’t dance,” he rebutted.

My arms slumped in disappointment. “Alright, fine. I guess that I’ll just dance with the twins then. Seeing as they’re not as lame as you are.”

“Hey,” he lashed out defensively. “I am not lame!”

“Uh, right now. Yes, you are,” I fired back before returning to the twins and twirling each of them while listening to them squeal in delight. “Forget about him,” I thought to myself. I would be darned before I let a stupid older brother ruin my night.

But a few moments later, Christopher suddenly ran into the middle of our group and hoisted up a screaming Carrie. He then started to bounce up and down to the beat of the music with her in his arms. Watching the two of them, a beaming grin burst itself upon my lips as genuine delight filled me. My smile then shifted into a proud and haughty expression as I wordlessly teased, “See? This is what FUN feels like.”

He glared back at me with a look that seemed to reply, “Yeah, yeah, you goaded me onto the floor. Now, shut up about it already.”

Near the end of the party, Momma came up and surprised us with a huge pillowcase that was loaded about a fourth of the way with candy. To the background sound of her scolding us not to eat too much, we gasped and marveled at the various edible items, such as Razzles, Lemonheads, and Sweet Tarts. Colorful things that we hadn’t looked upon in months. My mouth watered at them all with excitement. She then danced with us kids for a few songs before eventually waving goodbye and heading off to her own bedroom. Once the adult disappeared, against her warnings, the four of us devoured the bounty of sweets until stomach aches were guaranteed.

Later on, while getting ready for bed, Christopher and I made extra certain that EVERYONE’s teeth were brushed so as not to get cavities. We then tucked the twins into bed. It took no time at all for them to crash hard from the sugar rush. With those two settled in and asleep, Christopher and I sat against the wall, looked at eachother, and just laughed until our sides were sore over the terrible state that our tummies were currently in. Sometimes, it can be an absolute blast to indulge in things that aren’t very wise to do.

By contrast to Halloween, Thanksgiving was a mess that year. Momma had promised us that she was going to bring up some food that day, fresh and hot. Apparently, she was to be hosting a Thanksgiving banquet in her father’s honor that would include a large feast. Yet, despite how busy it would all make her, Momma swore that she would somehow be able to sneak away into the kitchen for us. We were to expect her no later than four o’clock with our dinner. She had insisted. In listening to her, I don’t think that the four of us could have possibly been more excited for a fresh meal that wasn’t sandwiches, green beans, or any of the other items that we had to force ourselves to consume day in and day out.

To prepare for the occasion, I pulled out an old table cloth from one of the attic trunks and washed it in the bathtub. There was a slight tear in the thing. So, after it had hung on the shower curtain bar long enough to dry, I patched up the rip with tape and then laid it out across our bedroom’s dining table with the damaged part placed next to the wall, where no one would notice it.

Christopher then helped me by pulling out every piece of china that had been stored away upstairs and washing them. Meanwhile, I took the leftover beads from our old flower project and had the twins separate out the red, orange, and yellow ones from the rest. From the dishware that my older brother had gathered, I took a small white tea cup plate and set it down in the middle of the table. The largest former Jack-o-Lantern candle was then placed in the center of it. A dried trickle of wax that cascaded along the side and a black wick were clear signs of the fact that we had already used the thing, but it would just have to do. My fingers finally scattered the separated out beads into a fall colored river that flowed down the length of our bedroom eating area, with the majority gathered around the former Halloween candle.

Setting the dishes was a temporary problem. Silverware was fine. But for plates and bowls, there was a red set and a white set. Both were missing a crucial piece. It appeared as though they had once fully served four people while in their complete condition. Then, at some point in time, a dish must have gotten broken somehow. So, the other three sets were sent up here to be forgotten, and presumably, brand new china was purchased to replace them. The problem was that there were four of us. So, how was I going to set the table in a manner that didn’t look awkward? Finally, the answer came to me. I laid the red and white dishes together in a checkerboard-like pattern. Two sets had a white plate with a red bowl, while the other two had a red plate with a white bowl.

Christopher then laid out the silverware. It had been a long-time since Momma had last taught us proper table setting. But naturally, he still remembered. Forks were laid to the left on top of a folded napkin, while knives and spoons went to the right. In lighting the candle and looking at the final result. My smile beamed. I was pretty pleased with the results given our limited resources.

The four of us then sat down and chatted away in wait. Four o’clock came and went without too much concern. But, as our candle’s wax melted down into five o’clock, I got up and started to pace with aggravation. “Cathy,” Christopher coaxed. “Momma’ll be here. She’s just hung up on whatever is going on at their banquet.” At his reassurance, I sat back down. But the anxiety remained, this moment bore an uncomfortable resemblance to the night when Daddy was supposed to come home in his green Cadillac, but never did.

Six o’clock and Carrie started to complain, “I’m hungry!”

“I’m hungry too,” Cory parroted.

I sighed in defeat. I didn’t want to spoil our special meal. But at this rate, I was also unsure of when or even IF we were going to HAVE the dinner. Shaking my head, I stood up, pulled a sandwich out of our picnic basket, and cut it into fourths back at the table. “Here. Let’s go ahead and have a snack. And if Momma isn’t here by seven-thirty, then we’re just going to have to dig into our regular food.” My tone of voice made no attempt to mask my frustration as I spoke.

Christopher nodded in understanding as I passed out the pieces of sandwich. “We should probably get our Bible reading done while we’re waiting as well. One way or another, by the time we eat and clean the table up, we’re probably gonna be really tired.” I looked at him and gave a small smile, before motioning for him to go ahead and grab the thing.

While we nibbled, the three of us listened to him read Psalms 72 and 73. My soul felt bitter. I wanted Momma to have Thanksgiving with us, not with crappy rich people who she didn’t even seem to like. Or, at least, why couldn’t we have joined the banquet? What gave the grandparents the right to always pull her away from our arms? Hadn’t we already lost enough? Almost as though God’s word was speaking from my own heart, those Psalms cursed the wealthy. Psalm 73 called those people proud, violent, and corrupt, while Psalm 72 talked about how God would help the poor and righteous.

After he finished, I chose Psalm 73, Verse 12. “Behold, these are the ungodly, who prosper in the world; they increase in riches,” I practiced with venom on my tongue.

In watching me, Christopher’s mouth curved into a smirk of humored pride. “You know that the grandmother’s not going to like that one,” he warned lightly.

“I don’t care!” I spat back like a striking viper.

Just as we were about to give up on Momma and dig into the picnic basket, she came through the door in a harried frenzy. Her hands were holding a giant silver tray that was absolutely loaded with covered dishes. A periwinkle swing dress decorated her form and accentuated her eyes, while a Harry Winston barrette pinned back her blonde hair. Matching earrings hung down into blue gemstones that coordinated with what she was wearing. As usual, Momma was jaw dropping. Diamonds really are a girl’s best friend.

Her eyes gazed upon our place setting. “Oh wow, the way that you guys set the table is so charming and lovely. You did a great job!,” she declared as she laid down her heavy load upon one of the beds. “I am so sorry that I am late. I had to pay Mrs. Johnson this week’s allowance in order to get food set aside unnoticed. Even then, I only finally managed to get away by claiming that I had to go to the bathroom. So unfortunately, I can’t stay long or it will appear strange.” Before any of us had time to breathe a word, Momma clapped her hands together. “Okay, enjoy the food everyone! And goodnight, my loves. I’ll be back to visit you all tomorrow. I love you!” And like a passing tornado, Momma was suddenly gone out the door. Leaving us all blinking in shock and staring at one another as we tried to process what exactly had just happened.

It was a few minutes before Christopher finally got up and removed the lids from the tray. Underneath, there was turkey, mashed potatoes and gravy, mixed vegetables, and a cranberry gelatin salad. My brother then loaded up each of our plates with food, except that he knew better than to give the twins vegetables and cranberry gelatin. But of course, that didn’t stop Carrie from pinching her nose at the Jello-like salad that was on mine and Christopher’s servings.

“What is that? It looks so gross,” she complained.

“Something that you don’t have to eat. So, stop freaking out about it,” I fired back.

It had been a long time since we had tasted anything different than what was in our basket. So, unsurprisingly, the starving little piglets began to devour their turkey and mashed potatoes with zeal. However, the real hog at the table was Christopher, who ate giant mouthfuls of the food so greedily that even Yogi Bear might have cringed at the sight.

I scoffed. “Be careful Christopher. It would be a terrible trouble for our resident doctor to have to be the one to need the heimlich maneuver,” I then chided. But, like the uncivilized cavepeople that my siblings could be, none of them were listening to a word that I had said. Eventually, I shook my head with a light giggle and dove into my plateful of food. In tasting it, my mouth and tongue guided the rest of my body into delight at the rare treat. However, there was a feeling of disappointment as well. I had been looking forward to a hot and fresh meal, and everything here had long gone cold.

The next day, Momma came to visit us and I swear that she looked utterly exhausted. It was a stark contrast from the manic energy that had gusted into our room the afternoon before when dropping off our food. She sat at our table with me across from her. Her eyes spaced off into the distance, then her mind would come back and she would give any one of us a tired smile before zoning out again.

“Are you okay?” I finally asked.

All at once, Momma snapped back into the here and now, “Huh?... Oh! Sorry, I’m just tired. I had to host that banquet last night, which meant that it was my responsibility to make sure that all of the guests were tended to. So, I was basically sprinting all day yesterday. And afterwards… My father needed some things taken care of. Anyways, helping him ran me late into the night.” There was an uncharacteristic sourness to her tone. Whatever her and the grandfather had been doing, it had seemed to make her angry. Christopher was off to the side with the twins, refereeing while they played checkers against each other. He must have caught her strange aura as well because he kept glancing our way and started to look concerned.

In an attempt to lighten the mood and bring back her smile, I tried to change the subject a little. “Well, you sure looked pretty yesterday. Was that jewelry all new? The barrette and earrings, I mean.”

She paused, and appeared uncomfortable at the question before finally answering, “My father bought those for me. Honestly, I’d rather not wear gifts from him, but it’s expected of me to do so.” Her voice sounded even more harsh, and I worried that I had made the wrong choice in complimenting her.

Since it seemed that there would be no means of achieving a more joyful disposition, I decided to ask a deeper question. Something that I had been curious about for quite some time. “Momma, why do the grandparents even like the Bible?” She looked at me with confusion. So, I elaborated, “Well, it’s just that… we’re in the middle of the Psalms now. And I just can’t help noticing, at least from what we’ve read so far, that it doesn’t seem to like them back.”

Listening to what I was saying, the dark circles under her eyes gave way to a haughty sneer that revealed a vindictive intent. Her prolonged period of weariness and internalized resentment practically jumped at the chance to gossip about her parents. “Well, you see my love. That depends on who you are talking about. My parents are very different from one another.

“My mother is a TRUE believer. If the priest of her church put a gun in her hand and said that it was the will of God to have me dead, then she would shoot me right between the eyes without hesitation, and view the act as being just.” I jumped at that. A mother murdering their child? The thoughtless cruelty of that was unthinkable to me. And yet, Momma was talking about such a thing as though it was the same as calling the sky blue or the grass green. A truth that had just become another part of her everyday. “But you see, while your grandmother may have an unshakable faith, it’s also true that the old woman has never had to work for anything a day in her life. So, she has little understanding in regards to the struggles and hardships of ordinary people. On top of that, life has filled her to the brim with permanent bitterness from the behavior of her husband, the death of her sons, and the abandonment of myself. Because of all of that, her judgement comes easy, while her empathy and compassion come hard.

“But for my father, honoring the Bible is largely performative. It allows him to better get away with accomplishing the actions of Satan in his deeds if he claims to follow the path of God with his words. You see, your grandfather consistently does horrible things to others in order to claim just a little more gold for himself. Then, he makes a show of going to church on Sunday so that his supporters can willingly turn a blind eye and say that he is righteous. But, they have their own agenda. All of his so-called FRIENDS ultimately just want his favor and money because NONE of them are good people.

“And honestly, while I doubt that he truly believes, I do think that Malcolm is hedging his bets for the afterlife. He thinks that if there is a God, then He will allow my father to enter Heaven for all of his years of theater worship, despite what he has done to human beings.” Momma then laughed an ugly, angry cackle that wasn’t like her at all. It sounded deranged, like she had been long reaching the end of her rope. I felt myself growing scared while listening to her. She wasn’t acting like herself. “He thinks that God’s judgement will be as buyable as man’s.” As she continued to speak, I swear that Momma’s eyes began to shift in color. They slowly swirled and transformed away from their hopeful and happy blue and hardened themselves into a steel gray. “And maybe he’s right, perhaps The Great Sovereign sends the rich and cruel to Heaven and the poor and suffering into Hell. Lord knows how that certainly seems to be the way of things on Earth.”

My heart thundered harder and harder within the cage of my ribs as I looked upon what seemed to be the Tin-Woman’s soul behind my Momma’s beautiful face. “If they’re truly so terrible then why don’t we go to the police?!” I panicked out.

But, that just made her laugh louder. “My love, the Foxworths OWN the police. Law, reason, and safety do not exist in a world where everyone’s principles drop like unholy water as they drool at the golden calf of my father’s fortune.”

Just when I felt darkness and hopelessness come down upon me in an oppressive blanket. Christopher suddenly came over, touched Momma on the shoulder, and asked, “Momma, are you alright? You sure that you’re just tired?”

All at once, she snapped back into focus and became our mother again. Her eyelashes fluttered about, seemingly ashamed by how far she had let herself go in front of her children. Right then, my expression turned serious as I gathered my courage to ask her the question that I truly wished to. “Momma, when can we get out of this room? You said that it would only be a few months, and now it’s heading into December.”

Sweetness and sadness returned into her once again blue eyes as she responded, “Not yet, my love. My father is truly on death’s door, but he is also being kept alive by the finest medical assistance that money can buy.” Momma chuckled a little. “In fact, I dare say that being so weak and frail all the time frequently makes him angry.” Her face then turned serious. “He also has not yet changed his will. So, revealing yourselves now would be devastating to our family’s long-term survival.” I started to pout in frustration. However, before I could begin to whine, she then added, “BUT, on Christmas, there will be a ball in MY honor. It’ll be far larger in scale than the Thanksgiving banquet. That’s when my parents are going to fully reintroduce me back into society. So, progress IS being made. My father would never plan for such a public extravagance otherwise.”

I shifted with impatient exasperation. “Momma, is there ANYTHING that you can do to let us outside this room, even for just a short while?” I complained.

Sympathetically, her mind appeared to be going back and forth in trying to decide something. Finally, she leaned in close and motioned for me to do the same. “Alright,” Momma whispered. “The twins will NOT be allowed to. They’re too young to be trusted with the responsibility. But, on Christmas, EVERYONE will be preoccupied with the soiree. So, I can arrange for you and Christopher to be able to watch without anyone noticing. But, the two of you must do EXACTLY as I say. If either of you do anything else, then I will never do this again. Understand?”

I nodded in compliance.

When Momma left our room, I wondered how Christopher would feel once I filled him in with what was to come on Christmas day. As for myself, there was a rush of excitement within my veins. Even if I was only able to observe, I had never attended a ball before. My romance novels filled my imagination with dazzling dresses and jewels, all twirling in an elegant synchronization. But, my heart also possessed some trepidation. Soon, we were going to be let outside of this room and get to see the world beyond the locked pine portal. The planet that our Momma and grandparents resided on. So, when scratching off the glamoured crust of its surface, what would we find?

Chapter Text

As December began, I think that Carrie and Cory could tell that there was an odd energy coming off of Christopher and myself. We were both having trouble going about the normal day and concealing our nervous excitement. Every task, every activity performed, had a jittery bounce to it.

After Momma’s latest visit, I had secretly filled my brother in on what she had agreed to do. At last, the two of us were going to be able to venture outside of this room, at least for a short while. Though the idea of keeping this a secret from our younger siblings for a whole month felt strange, what else could we do? Revealing our plan to sneak out and spy on the Christmas Day ball would only have upset them and made them jealous over the fact that they couldn’t come too. Therefore, we remained silent about the future affair.

During one of her visits of thirty minutes, Momma and I watched as Christopher played Monopoly with Carrie and Cory. While holding fists full of colorful cash, the twins began to point and giggle at their older brother, who had no money of his own. Christopher responded by balling his hands into fists, placing them under his eyes, and faking a sob over being bankrupt. Of course, that only made them laugh and taunt even louder.

While they were distracted, I leaned in closer to Momma and whispered to her as though the two of us were co-conspirators involved in a dangerous espionage. “So, what time will the party be at?”

She looked somewhat startled by the question. As though it had pulled her from a daze. “Oh, it’ll begin at about two p.m., and last until roughly midnight.”

That scheduling surprised me. The gears within my parietal lobe locked up and ground against each other as the math didn’t quite work itself out within my brain. Finally, I asked, “If the ball starts that early in the day, then when are we getting together and opening presents? Are we going to celebrate Christmas first thing in the morning then?”

Immediately, Momma cringed and guilt flooded her countenance. Her legs crossed and recrossed themselves while her upper body shifted awkwardly with a new visible discomfort. It was a couple of minutes before she answered me, “I’m sorry, my love. But, I’m not going to be available to celebrate the holiday with the four of you until a couple of days AFTER Christmas.”

“What?!”

“BUT, but,” she began to scramble. “Mother has agreed to give me DOUBLE allowance payments during this month. That means I’ll be able to supply you all with an extra amazing Christmas this year! It just won’t be until the twenty-seventh is all. Only two extra days of waiting. That’s it! Then, you will all have the most amazing presents imaginable. I PROMISE!”

Hearing that, my eyes turned back to my siblings and observed them for a few moments. A smile slowly stretched across my lips while watching Christopher whine with humorous exaggeration at having to go back to jail. Clearly, he was letting Carrie and Cory win for comedic effect. Then, my mouth dropped into a more somber expression. “What am I supposed to tell the twins?” I eventually asked.

A confused look sprouted on Momma’s face at my question. “What do you mean?”

“I mean about like Christmas and Santa Clause and stuff,” I then clarified with a sigh of mild exasperation.

Courtesy of my bratty big brother, I found out that there was no Santa at the age of nine. When he made a point of telling me that it was silly to reach my age and still believe that ‘a jolly fat guy could stop at every house in a single night using nothing but flying reindeer.’ However, I wasn’t ready to have that conversation with my younger siblings. They were only five.

As Momma sat there in thought, irritation crackled under my skin toward her. Had she seriously not stopped to consider what the twins might feel before this moment of me mentioning it? I couldn’t help but wonder. And sourly, I thought to myself that if Momma was so determined to not have Christmas happen on the twenty-fifth, then she should get to be the one to tell Carrie and Cory the news and watch them cry, not me OR Christopher.

But, with a light shrug, she replied, “Tell them that Santa came and talked to you privately. Say that he’s feeling overwhelmed this year and asked for a couple of extra days. And in return for waiting patiently, he’s promised to make the presents extra special.” She then reached over and squeezed my hand reassuringly. “Don’t worry. They’ll be fine. I promise.”

And with that, it was time for her to leave. Momma stood up, brushed off her skirt, and gave me a peck on the forehead. Next, she sauntered over and did the same to each of my siblings. I then watched her transform into a circus ringmaster. With a showy twirl, she announced to the three of them about how the grandmother was paying her a double allowance for the month. So with that money, she was going to come up here this weekend with LOADS of decorations. There would even be a large Christmas tree for us to enjoy!

Carrie and Cory gasped with increased enthusiasm toward their favorite holiday, while Christopher’s eyes bulged in amazement. “Wow, Momma! That’s so awesome. Thanks!” he exclaimed.

And once that exciting information was revealed, she disappeared. In observing it all, there was a slight twinge in my heart as I wondered to myself if Momma had somehow done that on purpose. If, just to avoid awkwardness and negativity, she had given them the good news, while leaving me the responsibility of later delivering the bad.

In truth, I was slowly becoming aware of something. Honestly, I think that I had noticed before, but things really crystalized during Thanksgiving. This place was changing Momma. Or maybe, it was just revealing a different side of her. A side that our life with Daddy had kept buried. Either way, as the months had worn on, I increasingly understood that I LOVED Momma. And no matter what she did or became, I always would. At all times of my eternity, our connection of blood and family would remain a pumping burden within my breast. It was a loyalty that would consistently allow her one more pass, one more chance. And sometimes, Momma would reward my heart’s gamble. Other times, she would disappoint. However, what I was truly starting to understand was that while I loved Momma, I was no longer certain of how much I LIKED Momma. Life has a tragic way of clarifying those distinctions.

A few days later, Momma arrived with tons of large boxes. It took her multiple trips to bring it all up the attic steps and into the garden. As we started opening them and marveling at everything that was inside, Momma went back downstairs for one last item. Inside those containers were ornaments of every color, small Christmas village buildings, a large nativity set, a plug strip, the longest extension cord on Earth, an odd tan square box with a grid of coils across the front, and quite possibly more lights than the four of us had ever seen in our young lifetimes. All of which had never before been used. True enough to her word, Momma had outdone herself with shopping, and it made us even more excited for December twenty-seventh. Would we wake up to an entire mountain of presents to open?

Suddenly, we heard Momma’s voice, “Christopher, Cathy, can you both come down and give me a hand?!” Immediately, my older brother jumped up and practically ran downstairs, while I followed behind more slowly. Once I made it to the bottom, I was greeted with an enormous cone-like shape that was completely wrapped up within a sheet. Momma had on work gloves and tossed an extra pair to Christopher. She and my brother then lifted the large cone together. Christopher took the pointed end while Momma insisted on handling the large part. “Grab the fire extinguisher. Would you, Cathy?” she asked me as they grunted their way up the stairs. The bright red canister was cold and heavier than it looked. I found myself having to hop it up the steps as I ascended behind the two of them.

When we got to the attic, Christopher assisted as Momma stood the thing back upright. Then, with a wink, she unwrapped the object and yanked the sheet free with gusto. The thin white blanket caught the air and floated to the ground like a giant swan. There was no denying that Momma had a way of making every possible human action look lovely. Her stage performance revealed an enormous and deeply verdant evergreen underneath. Everyone gasped but me.

“Alright,” she began to explain warmly. “I’ll help with setting up the big stuff. But first, some ground rules.” Momma then pulled out the tan box with the coiled front. “This is a space heater. The roof is new and well insulated, but the windows are NOT. So, this device will help take the edge off of the place as the weather outside gets colder. However, rule number one, it does not sit ANYWHERE near the Christmas tree. Understand, if a fire were to happen, it… it would not be good my loves. Therefore, we also have rule number two, when you are not up here, everything, and I mean EVERYTHING, must be turned off and FULLY unplugged for safety. Unfortunately, this old house doesn’t have a power outlet in the attic. I would pay to have one put in, but such a renovation will gather too much attention. So, we're just going to have to run an extension cord all the way up the stairs from an outlet within your bedroom. We’ll then use this…” Her hand then picked up the power strip. “...For plugging in all of the lights and stuff. Which brings us to rule number three. When you know that your grandmother or the monthly maid will be coming, it would be best to hide the cord. Simply unplug it from the wall and tuck it away behind the attic entryway door. Any questions?”

The twins blinked at the overload of information being given to them all at once. Meanwhile Christopher and I simply shrugged. What were three more rules to add to our daily routine? We both then looked at each other, and there was barely concealed exhaustion plainly looped within our stare. If someone had been able to somehow see only our eyes, I doubt that they would have any idea that we were but children of twelve and fourteen.

Momma then went over how to use the extinguisher, just in case. It was simple enough. Pull the pin and shoot. The canister was a CO2 version. Apparently, that meant it could handle an electrical fire without producing a powder that would poison us. Although, once the fire was put out, it would still be a good idea to open the windows and air out the Carbon Dioxide. Also, the container could potentially get VERY cold. Therefore, wearing gloves when operating was smart too.

With all of that out of the way, we finally went to work on decorating the attic. The first thing that Momma did was connect the power strip to the extension cord. Next, she ran the long thin neon orange snake all the way down those narrow attic steps and found a convenient outlet in the wall near our bedroom dining table. Forever after, we would have to be mindful to not trip on that tangerine line while going to and from our garden.

Afterwards, our thoughts collectively turned to the tree. Being the largest and most coveted part of our decorations, its location took priority over everything else from the boxes. Afterall, our belated presents from ‘Santa’ would be set underneath. Due to limited attic space, we decided to place the evergreen in our theatre area. At first, the dramatic actress within me wanted to complain. “It seems a shame to have our stage blocked for an entire month,” I whined.

“Nah!” Christopher interjected. “We’ll just perform around the thing. I think that it’ll make a great backdrop once it’s fully lit up and everything.” He then traipsed over, stood in front of the emerald arbor, and posed like Hamlet holding Yorick’s skull. “Alas, poor Catherine. I know her well. A lady of infinite glass half empty,” my brother teased. A giggle burst from my mouth as I shook my head at his light taunting.

Lights came next. There were so many! We started by straightening out the never before used strands of all their packaged bends. They were then each plugged in to make sure that all of the bulbs worked. Lastly, we wrapped them around the tree and all of the ceiling beams. It took time as we had to use a ladder throughout the process.

But, when that step was all finished, you were hard pressed to see a prettier place. It reminded me a little of when Daddy used to decorate the outside of our house every year. Except that this was all enclosed within the attic’s interior and utterly dwarfed the amount of bulbs that he used in those days. Until our necks grew stiff, the four of us marveled at the many spirals of rainbow light that filled the room with a kaleidoscoping glow. We looked at our hands and arms and delighted in the multitude of colors changing our skin pigment. It was an artificial northern lights that was all ours for the season.

After we were done ogling, Momma and the twins laid out the Christmas village pieces all around the attic, wherever they made sense. All along our bookshelves and tops of our dressers, little glowing houses, bakeries, candy shops, and even a small train were rested upon glitter-covered cotton-snow. Tiny people were scattered about. They ice skated, built snowmen, made snow angels, and did any number of other outdoor activities that were forbidden to us. My eyes briefly caught the sight of a happy couple kissing over by a miniature Christmas tree. I smiled and decided that they were my favorite out of all our holiday Lilliputians.

While they did their task, Christopher and I pulled out ornaments and hung them. They were easily the most glamorous tree orbs that either of us had ever laid eyes upon. We blinked in amazement and admired each one. Every colorful sphere had a section cut out of it that exploded with even more candy-like hues. They were not dissimilar to a rock geode that showcases a sparkling crystal inside once split in half. But, at the same time, their beauty was only ceramic deep. Once completed with a spectacular star on top, it was a designer’s dream, but not much else. And even then, no one would see it, but us.

Admittedly, the Christmas trees of my early childhood were ornamentally cobbled together into a disjointed coordination. That was because every piece that hung on our yearly evergreen came with its own story. As we pulled them out each Christmas, Daddy and Momma would regale us with annual stories of how a friend had bought it for them, how happy they were when we had made it for them at school, or even how they had just happened to come upon it while shopping somewhere and had to have it. When all put together in entirety, our tree became a symbolic roadmap of the life that our family had lived together.

In looking at this new attic tree, my heart contradicted itself. It greedily splendored at what was easily the most stunning and expensive arbor that I had ever witnessed in my life. If my friends back in Pennsylvania had seen such a thing in our living room, it would have induced great envy among them. But, my bitterness also couldn’t help, but wonder. What price had Christopher’s, the twin’s, and my first Christmas ornaments fetched when all of our possessions had been sold? Did another family somewhere now hold a pink orb with the words ‘Catherine’s First Ornament’ printed on it in silver lettering? What would they even do with such a thing? Cross my name off with a Sharpie and write their own child’s upon the surface?

Lastly came the nativity set, which was laid out along our windowsill. We watched as Momma arranged and rearranged the pieces, until she was at last happy with the placement. My eyes stared for a moment at Joseph and Mary gazing down at the baby Jesus. They looked really happy. Mary had her hand resting on her baby boy’s head. Suddenly, Momma stood up, dusted off her dress, and spoke. “Well, now that everything is completed here, I've got to go get started on the arrangements for the ball. Hope that you enjoy everything, my loves. It’s gorgeous.”

As she began to walk, I blurted out, “You’re not going to stay?! At least to enjoy all of this work that we’ve put in?”

Momma stopped at that, slowly turned to me, and shifted awkwardly. “I’m sorry. I’ll… I’ll come back tomorrow. However, outside of my regular visits, I’m going to be extremely busy. But, I WILL be here when we celebrate Christmas.” Without another word, she left, evaporating like a beautiful dream.

Feeling her absence, I looked once more at Mary lovingly touching her child and thought, “If only…”

While waiting for the day, similar to the leaves that we had made in the fall, the four of us made snowflakes and then hung them from the rafters. While hanging there, the various lights caught the white of our paper fractals and turned them rainbow. Any subtle breeze would then twirl them around on their strings and cause them to change colors.

As we cut away at the fake snow, Carrie blurted out to Cory, “I’m going to ask Santa for a car so that Barbie can travel around the world more easily. What are you asking Santa for Cory?” In response, Cory mumbled out that he wanted Peter to have a playmate.

Hearing them, my heart sank a little and I sighed. I supposed now was as good of a time as any to break the news. Gathering my courage, I spoke, “Actually, Santa came by last night and had a word with me.” The twins gaped with unparalleled delight at that. Their big sister had just spoken to a celebrity?! Meanwhile, Christopher blinked at me with unparalleled confusion. Nervously, I continued my mother’s tall tale, all the while praying on the inside that my older brother wouldn’t speak up. “Well, you know how I have insomnia? So… I was up in the attic last night and Santa came right through the window.” The words felt strange in my mouth, and it was like my tongue and teeth were twisting unnaturally to form them. A nausea came to my stomach and my chest tightened. I had never lied before, and I certainly never imagined the first victims to end up falsely trusting me would be my own little siblings. “Unfortunately… he had kind of good, but also kind of bad, news.” Though it was for different reasons, all three of their faces changed into ones of concern. My eyes looked away as a foreign sense of guilt consumed me. “You see, he’s… he’s overwhelmed this year, and asked if we would be willing to wait until the twenty-seventh.” Cory and Carrie immediately gasped with panic. “But…” I blurted out. “But, he says that if we do, then he’ll make things extra special for us. So, we all just have to be a little bit more patient this year.” It was the twins' turn to have bewildered expressions upon their faces. So, I put on a deceptive smile that was far more confident than what I felt on the inside and declared, “It’ll be fine. I promise.”

All through the rest of the afternoon, Christopher’s eyes were on me, scanning me like a machine gathering data. It didn’t take long for me to realize that it was his version of worrying. Once the twins began playing Checkers in the toy area, my brother pulled me aside. “Okay, what’s really going on? Because obviously, you did NOT talk to Santa.” He then raised an incredulous eyebrow at me and the slightest bit of humor crept up into the curve of his lips.

With a sigh, I began to explain everything that Momma had told me to say. “I just… I didn’t want the twins to be sad,” I finally mumbled with awkwardness.

Once finished, I stood there anxiously wondering what my brother would think. He was no longer smirking. His countenance was instead serious like he was about to give me a lecture, and I winced in preparation for the onslaught. But to my surprise, he simply bent down and gave me a quick hug. “Well, it sounds like SANTA is going to spoil us a little late this year,” he said with a shrug before then joining Carrie and Cory at Checkers.

For three more weeks, we entertained ourselves patiently with many of our usual activities. Only they were Christmas themed. We sang Caroling concerts, read “A Christmas Carol” to the twins, and even performed a nativity play with Cory starring as the baby Jesus. But, our favorite activity was simply crawling under the large tree and looking up at it from below. We dreamed and joked for hours to the sight of glowing, multicolored yuletide branches. The lights twinkled their rainbows into our eyes as we wondered when a pot of Foxworth gold would one day be waiting for us.

Until at last, Christmas Day came and went into the late evening. Then night fell, and after the twins had long gone to bed, Momma slipped into our room. At first, I gawked at her. I couldn’t recall a time when I had seen her look so stunning, and that was saying something. Her form was tightly fitted into a full length pencil dress of green so dark that it almost appeared black. A slightly lighter green chiffon cascaded from her hips in a manner that reminded me a little of Audrey Hepburn’s ball gown from “Sabrina,” except the top was a sweetheart cut that showed cleavage.

As I stared at the dress from chest to toe, I missed my bygone days of cutting out my favorite fashions from Vogue, Life, and Mademoiselle. I realized that my time here was making me out of touch with the outside world and my former passions, because I couldn’t name who the designer was. However, the large mistletoe-shaped diamond and emerald earrings that pulled their weight upon her poor earlobes were most certainly from Tiffany’s. Enviously, I wondered to myself if I would one day be released from this room and finally get to dress like this. Would I become as beautiful as her? Then, another thought came to me. After all of this time, was emulating my mother what I truly wanted for myself? It was a foreign invasion of an idea that probably never would have occurred had we not come here in the first place.

I glanced over at Christopher, whose gawking was even more blatant than my own. Momma’s finger made a follow me motion and we obeyed. Her silver heels guided us down dark and vaguely familiar hallways that we had not seen in over six months. As we walked, she spoke, “When I was very little, there was a place that I used to sneak to and hide in order to watch my parent’s adult parties that I wasn’t allowed to attend yet. It’ll be cramped, but as long as you keep silent, you’ll be safe. Just be mindful to not watch for more than about an hour before returning to your room. If the twins wake up, they may wonder where you have gone. That will be disastrous for all of us.”

She took us to a long dry bar table that had cupboard storage built in underneath. It was currently empty. My guess is that space was normally where the bar supplies were stored. But right now, they were in use and therefore displayed along the counter. We crouched inside as small as we could make ourselves, and heard the cabinet doors close with a magnetic click behind us. Momma disappeared after that. More and more, she felt less like an important person within our lives, someone who we could turn to for love and support, and more like a spirit who occasionally haunted us.

Through a mesh screen that covered the back of our secret dwelling, we could see EVERYTHING. Far below us, a giant dance floor and numerous long white tables all appeared to sparkle within the light of three giant five tiered chandeliers. But, the showstopper was the Christmas tree. Standing at roughly twenty-feet, the enormous gold and glittering evergreen dwarfed the one that we had put up in the attic. More people than I had ever before seen within a single space all swayed, laughed, and blushed with an alcohol’s swagger. Each one seemed to competitively wear a dress or tux finer than the person next to them. Various Cartier rocks, that they all adorned themselves with, fractaled the light from the numerous candles. Meanwhile, darker-skinned people, wearing much plainer outfits than those giggling, buzzed around like worker bees to keep champagne refilled and silver food trays full. Dazzled by it all, I couldn’t believe that all of this splendor was for Momma.

Although, what truly stopped me were not the sights, but the smells. My mouth salivated as the finest of hot and fresh cooked food wafted their scent upward and tortured my nostrils. Drawing my attention even further from the main party were two small boys standing by the buffet tables. They appeared to be roughly the same age as the twins. Except that, unlike my little gremlins, their behavior was perfect. Neither one of them spoke a word despite all of the busyness around them. Instead, they just stayed in that spot and ate from their silver trays. Perhaps Cory would have respectfully stood alongside them, but Carrie… no way.

For a moment, my imagination wistfully envisioned the four of them laughing and playing together within a real garden outside, and not an attic. I yearned to watch them run alongside Carrie and Cory within the innocence of sunshine and freedom. But the longer I observed those boys munch in pedigreed indifference, the more jealous rage swirled within me and poisoned my daydream. Their already hard and spoiled eyes never once moved to the marvel before them. And a darker side of me began to hate them for it. I thought, how dare they not care? Why did these two get to eat and be a part of such privilege, while my family, and I had to hide away and consume the same things day in and day out? What made them so special? I wanted to tear through that mesh with my fingers, jump down to the table below, and wildly devour everything before me like a feral animal.

That’s when Christopher suddenly leaned over. “Boy, I guess money really CAN buy you happiness. Huh, Cathy?” he stated playfully.

His words startled me out of my furious fantasies. And while considering them, I looked around the room once again. Those who could barely stand, while holding a freshly filled glass, were arguably the most joyous. But all other smiles, from those plastered upon the servants to the ones grinning from the guests, were strange. The energy that came off of them wasn’t right. This wasn’t happiness, just the illusion of it. The servants pretended to feel contentment in service, while the rich patrons acted out a persona of perfection in life and self that was supposed to be the envy of all.

Suddenly, those old black and white photos that we had found in the attic started to flash through my mind. The miserable married couple, the mean landowner with the Bible, and the hot and sweaty slaves working the plantations; somehow, they were all here in this very room. I could feel their influence. Their presence was like a sickness in the atmosphere that wanted to infect anyone who was exposed to this environment for too long. And all at once, I didn’t like this Christmas party anymore.

With the excitement gone, I mumbled to my brother, “Uh, Christopher… I think that maybe I’m ready to go back now.”

“Hold on a sec,” he interrupted. His finger pointed to a spot on the floor over by the tree. “It’s Momma.”

I looked in the direction of where he was gesturing and saw her. With a fake grin forced across her face, she was standing behind a man in a wheelchair. Once I fully looked upon him, I gasped. The old-man was a dead ringer for our father in appearance. At least, if Daddy had lived another thirty years. Elements of him matched the Tin-Woman like they were part of a set. Age had dulled blue eyes into a serious gray, and thinning white hair was slicked back. His smile was inviting, but his eyes were visibly calculating toward all that was around him. In observing the man, I nervously couldn’t help but notice that, besides being in a chair, he didn’t look like someone on their deathbed. “I suppose that must be the grandfather,” I whispered to Christopher.

“Nevermind him, who is she?” he asked back with a mocking tone. I shifted my gaze in response. The grandmother was standing to the left of them. She smiled cordially at everything around her. But on her, a kind expression was almost more haunting than her normal judgemental sneers. A deep red velvet gown flowed along her form. Her hair was in an upward bun that sprouted a few curled ringlets in intentional places. Rubies and diamonds covered every inch possible. I then turned toward Christopher in confusion. To which, he teased, “What? It’s hard to recognize her when she’s not wearing gray.” His casual joke released a chuckle from my mouth and some of my body’s tension started to dissipate. If nothing else, I was glad that my brother was here with me.

Then, the grandfather snapped his fingers a couple of times. And almost on instinct, Momma came around to the front of him and checked to see what the old man wanted. After he spoke some words that were inaudible, she then walked over to the champagne flutes and grabbed one. Instantly, the behavior crystalized a realization within my mind. Even though this man looked like Daddy, he clearly was not. Whenever we had attended some form of gathering in the past, Daddy would always ask Momma if she wanted something and then get it for her. I couldn’t imagine him snapping his fingers at her, nor could I picture her being happy at him if he had tried.

Just when I was about to complain to Christopher, the voice of an older man spoke from behind our table. My brother and I impulsively ducked down even though there was no real possibility of him seeing us. “Malcolm has got the woman bouncing like a bellhop,” he scorned with a chuckle. “My, how the proud can fall.”

It was hard to make out details from the angle, but there was definitely a woman standing beside him. She sneered, “Oh? I distinctly recall how you used to fancy her.”

There was a pause before he replied, “The woman is as enchanting as ever, but I couldn’t possibly risk acquiring the ire of Malcolm Foxworth.” My eyes turned back toward Momma, who was now handing the champagne glass to the grandfather. She then resumed her place of standing behind him.

“Well Albert, it seems that Mr. Winslow is going to take his shot.” Curiosity took over and I searched for who the woman was talking about. Eventually, I noticed a tall man with dark hair and a mustache. Though I couldn’t tell what his exact age was, he appeared younger than my parents. He was staring intensely at Momma, like a wolf spying upon a delicious morsel of lamb. I didn’t like the way that he looked at her. I wanted to shoo him away as an undesired pest. Then, Mr. Winslow finished the drink that was in his hand, sauntered over to the grandfather, and spoke with him. With a nod of the old man’s head, Momma stepped around and began to dance with this man. My heart grew ever irritable at the sight of her in someone else’s arms besides Daddy’s. As he twirled her and whispered things a little too close into her ear, she laughed as though he had just invented the very definition of wit and brilliance. And watching the whole performance made my stomach ill.

“Well… I guess that Bartholemew is simply more ambitious than I,” Albert stated with a sour tone in his voice.

“I suppose that means you’ll just have to keep settling for me,” the woman jeered. She then added with a nasty giggle, “Did you hear that Corrine was gone for all of those years because she ran away with that orphan boy that the Foxworths took in? The one who Olivia insisted on renaming after her son?”

“Yes, and now she’s returned. I suppose in the end the Foxworth fortune was just too good to walk away from. Though, it’s surprising that Malcolm and Olivia even took her back. Neither one of them is known for forgiveness. I guess that it’s lucky for Corrine to be the only surviving heir. Equally fortunate that the scandal doesn’t seem to have produced offspring. That most certainly would have complicated things.”

Hearing Albert, Christopher and I instantly looked at each other with panicked expressions. The couple then went downstairs to rejoin the main party. Once they were gone, the two of us quickly snuck out of our hiding place and made it back into our room. Thankfully, the twins were still sound asleep. “Christopher…” I began nervously. “What do you think that man meant by our existence potentially complicating things?”

My brother looked at me and shrugged, “I think it means exactly how it sounds.”

“And does that worry you at all?”

His eyes turned toward the ceiling as he considered his answer. “It made me nervous at first, but I don’t think the information is new when we stop and think about it. It just corroborates what Momma has been telling us on why we need to stay here until the grandfather dies.”

“And how long do you think that will be?” I asked. “I mean… was it just me or did the grandfather not look very sick?”

Christopher’s face briefly blanched at my question, but then he shook the fear out of his head. “You shouldn’t fret so much, Cathy. You’re always overthinking things and creating a larger problem in your head than the one that is actually right in front of you.” His tone was a contradictory mixture of both comfort and mockery that I believe only an older brother is capable of achieving.

Then, his expression started to take on that Cheshire Cat quality. A telling face that always came about whenever Christopher knew that he was about to do something naughty. “Speaking of getting out of here… the door is still unlocked. Want to sneak out and look around? I mean, who knows what secrets we might find.”

Instantly, I recoiled at the suggestion and angrily snapped at him, “Christopher, no! NO! If Momma sees us, or worse, someone else, then we’ll all be in very real trouble! And what about the twins? We shouldn’t be away from them for so long.” Leave it to my brother to lecture me about anxiety and then suggest something that would cause me to worry even more!

“We’re not going to get caught,” he insisted with over confidence. “We’ll just stick to exploring this wing and keep to the shadows. And… oh! OH! I got an idea!” Before I could get a word in, my brother bolted toward the closet door. The sound of footsteps leading up to the attic followed. For a handful of minutes, I waited in a strange stupor of frustration. His assurances were doing nothing to calm my concerns. Just as I was about to come up and check on him, Christopher returned wearing the top of the blue dress suit with the sleeves rolled up, the gray cap with the black brim, and a brown paper mustache that was taped to his upper lip. The pajama bottoms that he was still wearing completely mismatched with the rest of the outfit. He then proceeded to make jazz hands and declare, “Ta da!”

“You look ridiculous,” I fired back.

“...True. But, I DON’T look like Christopher Dollanganger.”

Feeling a headache come on, I placed my fingers to my temples and massaged them, “Christopher, that’s not going to work.”

Put out by my pessimism, my brother crossed his arms in defiance, “If you’re so worried, then you can stay here with the twins, but I’m going whether you want me to or not.” He then began to stomp toward the door.

“Christopher!” I called and watched as he stopped with his hand on the doorknob. I sighed at the exasperating knowledge that there was no changing his mind from this. “Look, just be careful alright.”

In listening to those words of concern, he turned around and the look that he gave froze me in place. There was an unusual softness to his cerulean eyes that seemed to glow in the moonlight. His mouth curved upward into a small foreign smile that did something strange to my heart and made my lungs forget how to breathe. If a gaze was capable of caressing skin, then this would have been the one. And with an uncharacteristic sweetness that was presenting itself even inside of his voice, he said, “Of course! I mean… I have to make it back to my family. Don’t I?” Then, like a dream, he was gone. I stood there, relearning how to inhale and exhale within a moment of strange unknown feelings.

Once things seemed to settle down within myself, my body dragged its way to the bed. I didn’t realize how utterly tired I was until now. But as I looked down upon my little sister, something occurred to me that I hadn’t considered before because there had been nothing much to compare with. However, in seeing the healthy, well fed, bodies of the little boys at the ball, I realized that Carrie was starting to get a little thin, and so was Cory. My arms hugged the covers as I wondered whether or not these new worries would give me insomnia. But ultimately, exhaustion won out over troubling fears.

Some time later, there was a familiar sensation of terror as violent hands fiercely gripped down upon my shoulders and fingernails dug into my skin. At first, I thought that my dreams were shifting into some kind of nightmare, until those hands shook me fully out of my slumber. As my fuzzy vision cleared, my fearful mind expected to see the Tin-Woman above me, to have me trapped and pinned to my bed. But when the figure before me became clearer, I gasped. It wasn’t the grandmother, but Momma. Never before had I seen her face so full of rage as she seethed out, “Where is your BROTHER?!”

Immediately, I looked over to his spot in the other bed. It was still empty. Oh God, I thought. He had stayed out too late, and that understanding of the situation turned my blood into liquid nitrogen. Under Momma’s cruel and furious stare, I squirmed to try and break free. For the first time in my young life, my mother was scaring me. Not just worrying me or making me concerned, but frightening me to the point where I felt a powerful need to run away from her. But all my effort to get away only made her fingers tighten. Eventually, my mouth panicked out, “He went to explore this wing of the house.”

But that response only appeared to anger her further and she shifted on top of me. Her knee was now on my stomach as she continued to squeeze and shake me within a crazed rage. “Just for this, I will NEVER let ANY of you out of this room again until everything has been made final! I trusted you both and you BETRAYED me for it!”

Beside me, I could hear Carrie starting to whimper. Our commotion had woken her up. With Momma’s weight on me, I could only manage shallow gasps of air. I tried once again to wriggle and bend my way out, but could hardly move. Desperately, I cried out, “Momma please, you’re hurting me. And I… I can’t breathe. Momma please, STOP!”

Then, a small voice that barely even audible husked out a “...Momma?” We both looked to see Christopher standing in the doorway. He had returned, and what he was witnessing stunned him beyond belief. Normally, whenever our mother was near, my brother’s eyes would light up with adoration. But right now, his small blue pools swirled with confused pain.

On seeing him, Momma’s body shifted off of me, and my lungs instinctively took in the opportunity to expand with a great breath of fresh oxygen. She then let go of me and started stomping toward Christopher. I sat up while continuously inhaling and exhaling. Beside me, I could hear my little sister’s fearful whining and placed myself protectively in front of her. As my eyes took more in, I noticed that Cory was also awake. With shaking fingers, he held his blanket up to his chin like a forcefield.

As Momma approached Christopher, he stood there in shock as her right hand went into the air, and came down upon his cheek with all of her might. The thunderous crack of her slap echoed off of the very walls from the force that was put into it. She then shrieked, “You stupid, selfish boy! Do you have any idea what your actions could have done to this family if you had been discovered?!” Before my older brother could respond, her left hand then came down with the same ferocity as the right. Momma then screamed out. “Pull a stunt like this again, and I will whip you myself! Do you hear me?!”

At the threat of whipping, Cory began to wail with terror. He was all alone in that other bed. So, I reached out to him. “Come here, Cory,” I called, summoning my little brother to safety. Not needing to be told twice, the five-year-old lept off of the mattress and ran straight into my arms as fast as his small legs could sprint. I could feel his wet cheeks upon my neck as the little boy wept softly. My lips kissed the top of his head and my voice cooed to him, “It’s okay. You’re okay.” Once he calmed down somewhat, I sat him behind me next to Carrie, and watched as Christopher stood there in a daze. Dark red marks revealed themselves on his cheeks as he remained in place like a lifeless manikin. Though he was facing Momma, his eyes focused in and out.

There was a graveyard of silence in that room. Only the nervous whines of the twins could be heard as they clung to each other behind my back. Then, breaking his stillness, Christopher began to tremble. His chest shook, and tears started to fall like healing rain trickling down upon his ripe tomatoes for cheeks. My own eyes bulged and my mouth gaped. Ever the tough guy act, I couldn’t remember the last time that I had witnessed Christopher cry. “M…Momma,” he pleaded.

Seeing her son cry, Momma’s rage immediately evaporated and sanity returned to her features. “Oh, God,” she whispered before dropping to her knees and throwing her arms around him. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m SO sorry!” There was a desperation to Momma’s voice and grasp as she repeatedly apologized. She then released him and wiped off his face. “I love you, I love you, and I would NEVER hurt you! I didn’t mean what I said. You know that, right?!” Her lips then pursed together and her tone became much more even as Momma spoke her next words. “But, what you did. My love, that… that could have cost us all dearly. And because of your actions, I now realize that I can’t trust you anymore with such a high level of responsibility. Okay?”

Christopher glanced over different parts of her face. There was a defeated flatness to his expression as he did so. Something had broken in him. And with a voice that matched his appearance, he responded, “I understand Momma and I won’t do it again.”

A gentle smile came to her lips as she nodded in satisfaction with his words. “How did I ever get so lucky as to have such a wonderful son,” she uttered as her lips gave his forehead the lightest peck. After that, Momma stood up and said with a new sheepishness and hesitancy, “Merry Christmas, my loves. I’ll be back with all of your presents in a couple of days… Good night.” And with that, she walked out, closing the door behind her, and locking us back in.

With his eyes staring straight ahead, Christopher continued to stand there for a handful of breaths before ambling over and crawling into his own bed. He didn’t say a word to any of us and his body was turned away. I glanced at Carrie and Cory to check on them. They were still holding onto one another with quiet rivers flowing down their cheeks. Gazing at them, I made a soothing sound with my tongue and teeth, before reaching over and grabbing Cory by the sides of his ribs. “It’s late. We should probably go to bed and just try to focus on getting back to sleep,” I suggested softly.

“NO!” Cory shrieked back before wrapping his arms even more securely around his sister, who was strangely quiet by comparison.

I recoiled in slight surprise at my little brother’s boldness, but didn’t argue. There was nothing left in my body to lecture scared five-year-olds with over a propriety that I didn’t really believe in. So, I opened the covers and told them to go ahead and lay down. At first, they looked at me with disoriented stares. But, once I repeated the permission for them to sleep beside each other, they nervously crawled under the blanket and got comfortable. After tucking them in and giving them each head kisses, I grabbed “Peter Rabbit” and started to read. The words blurred in and out, and I realized that it was from my own exhaustion. Luckily, I only needed to get about halfway through the book before they fell asleep

I set the book down and tiptoed to my older sibling. Not wanting to wake the twins, I quietly whispered, “Christopher, are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he responded in a pouty voice.

In observing him, I knew that he was putting on a brave front. Trying to be comforting, my fingers cautiously stroked through his hair. But, Christopher flinched at the contact. So, I pulled away. “Do you want to talk about it? Or maybe, you could tell me about the house.” I offered, wanting to cheer him up.

His shoulder moved up and down in a sigh. “No, Cathy. I really just want to sleep. I’ll tell you about the house tomorrow. Alright?”

Sadness took my heart at how my attempt to perk Christopher up had failed. So, I just softly answered back, “Sure.” Glancing at the other bed, Carrie and Cory were passed out right in the middle of it. There wasn’t enough room on either side of them for me to comfortably crawl into the bed. I rubbed the weariness from my eyes before yanking the blanket back from beside Christopher, and climbing in. There was the slightest reaction of surprise to what I was doing, but he said nothing out loud. Our alarm clock was set well before the grandmother would be arriving in the morning. But if for some reason she did catch us… Well, then I guess we were just going to suffer the consequences and take the beating. I closed my eyes. And for the first time, since our very first night here, boys and girls slept together in the same beds.

The next day, I approached him again wanting to know about all that he had discovered in regards to the old house. To my relief, his temperament had clearly improved. But, he insisted that we save the conversation for when the twins would be in bed. So, we spent the day together like normal. It was Christmas Caroling Thursday. As Carrie and Cory pounded nonsense into the piano keys, Christopher and I wailed out “Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer” and “Frosty the Snowman” at the top of our lungs in an attempt to drown out the awful pianos.

That night, I tucked the twins into their beds and went back up to the attic, where Christopher was waiting. I discovered him lying under the tree, looking up at it. His head then flopped over to face me. “Are the kids asleep?” he asked. I chuckled at his choice of words and nodded. He grinned at that, “You know, Cathy. I’m REALLY glad that they don’t seem to have trouble sleeping yet. At least, not the way that you and I do.”

“Nope, they sleep like logs,” I fired back before situating myself down onto the floor next to him. The two of us gazed up at ornaments and lights of every color for a handful of comfortable minutes. The branches of the tree wove a verdant texture in between the decorative objects. Finally, my brother spoke. “Honestly, what I saw wasn’t really that interesting,” he admitted.

I smiled. “I’d still like to hear about it. As long as you don’t mind talking about it that is.”

Christopher shrugged, indicating that he didn’t care one way or the other. “I’m not sure how much you remember from when we walked through the hallways in our socks or from when we followed Momma to the Christmas party, but this place is HUGE. Honestly Cathy, it reminds me more of a beautiful hotel than a house. In just the wing that I was exploring, I counted FOURTEEN rooms. And I think that I even missed a few. Like our own bedroom, each one is fully decorated with what you can tell is really expensive furniture. But, no one seems to use them. I guess people must not stay over much.”

Thinking about everything that Christopher described, I could easily picture all of it. Somehow, it was like I had been there exploring with him. A large house, filled with the most extravagant pieces imaginable in order to impress any visitor. But, after the initial gasp at all of that gilded glamour, an oppression within the air starts to take hold and you can’t wait to leave. What was interesting was that our old house in Gladstone hadn’t been even half as fancy, but unlike here, it had never made me want to run away. In considering my past, the answer then came to me on why that was.

“It’s because there’s no love in this house, Christopher.” Happy memories of Daddy and an unbroken family played like a movie in my mind as I talked. “Love is something that you can sense. It practically glows right off of the drywall. Makes you feel welcomed and protected. But this place just doesn’t know how to love. All it knows is how to control others through money and threats. And I bet that it's been that way since the house’s beginning, from the very first shovel that broke ground to create the foundation.

“When I grow up, I want a house that’s full of love. A place where people will come over and experience such welcoming joy that they never want to leave.” My head then rolled over to find that Christopher was staring at me. There was a strange intensity to his gaze as our eyes locked. “And maybe it’ll have a real garden in the backyard for children to play in.” I then added joyfully.

A sweet smile formed across Christopher’s lips at that last sentiment. It was not unlike the look that he had given me before leaving to investigate the mansion. And seemingly out of nowhere, he stated, “I have something for you. I put it together as a thank you for all of your help with my nightmares. I was going to wait until tomorrow… but I think that maybe I would like to give it to you now. If that’s alright.”

My eyes fluttered a little. He had gotten me a present? How? Yet sure enough, as soon as I nodded, he handed me a simple white box with a lid on it. The thing wasn’t wrapped, not even with a bow. I crawled out from under the tree and sat up in preparation for opening it. Christopher followed me with excitement. Sitting there, my shaking fingers lifted the lid and my breath was gone. Inside was a silver music box with multiple hairline fractures along its mirrored surface. As I opened the top, a ballerina twirled with a bent axis on a stage of pink cardstock. The familiar sound of Tchaikovsky comfort tinkled its way into my eardrums.

In the background, Christopher explained his process for repairing it. “I felt bad when it was broken. So, I asked Momma to buy some super glue. The felt was absolutely trashed. So, I color matched the fabric as closely as I could with the cardstock that we had on hand from our art supplies. Which was good because that gave me something to glue the sides down onto. And DON’T EVEN ask me how I got the music mechanism to work again!” A look of horror crossed his face as triggering memories flashed through his mind when he said that last sentence.

When he finished, I just sat there dumb founded and speechless. Patiently, he waited for me to say something. But when no words of gratitude came, my brother then rubbed the back of his neck in awkwardness. “Anyway, I know that it’s not all shiny and pristine, but I still hope that you like it.” Looking disappointed, Christopher then claimed that he had to go to bed, and left me in the attic with a quickened pace of embarrassment. I remained there, too struck by what he had just done for me to move.

Until at last, my hands clutched the music box to my heart and my body began to rock back and forth. I wrapped myself protectively around the precious object as a muling sound hyper ventilated itself from my lungs. And all at once, it was like the crying that I had set aside last night to focus on the safety and sanity of my siblings was now being unleashed. Hideous snot dribbled down my nose beside gushing faucets of tears that were filled with both joy and despair.

The fact was that my relationships were evolving. And for several minutes, I marked this moment as my time to let go on behalf of that. My eyes wept in honor toward the growing closeness happening between myself and my siblings. Our shared happiness and pain was forging a concrete connection that even back then I knew would define a part of me for the rest of my life. At the same time, that salty water was grieving for the loss of a woman who I had once deeply loved. A mother who visibly died a little more each day right in front of us.

And Christopher, if you ever get around to reading this memoir, I want you to know that while celebrating all of those holidays within that hell. The most loving bright spot, the thing that made them not just bearable, but enjoyable, was always you.

Merry Christmas, Christopher.

Chapter Text

The next morning, my mind scrambled as it was shaken forth from its rem-sleep state. In the background, a pretty voice excitedly sing-songed out “Merry Christmas!” at the top of her lungs. Groggily, I rubbed blurry images out of my tired eyes. Once the conscious world came into focus, my body then tensed as my brain registered Momma in full. The recent memory of her pinning me to the mattress and hitting Christopher was still a fresh horror in my nightmares.

She was wearing a deep burgundy dress with a white fur collar looped around her sleeves and wide neck line. The hemline cut itself just below the knees. Her bare legs curved themselves into stilettos that resembled the Ruby Slippers from “The Wizard of Oz.” Large silver crosses, with garnets set into them, hung from her ears. While the earrings color-matched with the outfit, I found the jewelry and the dress to be strange together. A Santa hat completed her disjointed beauty, and I noticed four more yuletide chapeaus in her left hand. I supposed that us kids would be expected to each wear one as well.

“I peeked upstairs and I gotta say that Santa absolutely SPOILED y'all this year! But these are from me!” she bragged. Gripped in her right fingers was the mouth of an enormous sack. The corners and edges of box-like shapes poked about the entire surface area of it.

Momma then jubilantly handed out the Santa caps and made her way to the attic. Even taking into account that it was Christmas, there was an odd level of manic bounce to her steps and a saccharine to her voice. Perhaps I was over thinking things, but the extraness of her energy seemed almost apologetic. As though she hoped that her hopping and skipping would somehow make us forget the other night.

Cautiously, Christopher and I glanced at each other, put on our hats, and followed her. Again, I took the front, while my older brother stayed in the back to help the twins up the steps. Luckily, they had grown a little over the past six months. So, hiking those stairs was easier now.

While looking back at the three of them, I asked nervously, “Um… shouldn’t we prepare for the grandmother’s visit first?”

“She won’t bother you today except to drop off your food. I made an arrangement with her,” Momma explained without any hesitation in her stride.

Making it up to the top and into the attic felt strange. The creaky hardwood transformed into egg cartons underneath our feet. As we played along to Momma’s Christmas enthusiasm, we nervously feared what misstep would cause a crack. Part of what had made our garden such a paradise was the freedom away from the grandmother’s presence and overwhelming expectations. She couldn’t just come up the stairs and terrorize us. But theoretically… Momma could at any time. With the way her character had been changing, our sanctuary no longer felt like a sanctum.

However, much of that apprehension evaporated the moment we saw the PRESENTS. They were in a pile that peaked half-way up our tree. We then watched with an excited gasp as Momma pulled out even more boxes from her bag. In all of our Christmases past, we had never received even a quarter of this. “Like I said, Santa was mighty generous this year,” she declared while giving Christopher and I a knowing wink.

We spent much of the day unwrapping packages. I never knew before then that I was capable of becoming worn out from opening gifts. But as morning turned into lunchtime and found us still discovering more things under the tree, my eyes started to feel heavy and I was getting hungry.

Among our new things, there were numerous books for us to add to our library. In fact, just about anything that could be thought of from every genre conceivable was in those boxes. Though romance was my favorite, I equally squealed in delight at covers for stories like To Kill a Mockingbird, James and the Giant Peach, and Flowers for Algernon. Some of them were things that I had read before, while others were entirely new. Nevertheless, I was ecstatic to consume each and every one. Afterall, what else was I going to do with my time up here?

Besides books, we had many other presents as well. Christopher opened up things like an encyclopedia set that he had been eyeing since before we came here, a chemistry kit, and Operation. Cory got a Light Bright and what might have been a lifetime supply of Play Doh. Carrie received an Easy Bake Oven and every accessory for Barbie possible, including an entire dream house. At last, it seemed that my little sister’s favorite doll was no longer cursed into a plastic eternity of perpetually going to the beach. Among all of those beautifully wrapped packages, we even got a technicolor TV set!

When it came back around to my turn again, Momma pulled out two boxes and insisted that I open both. The first container had beauty supplies. I gazed upon a variety of eye shadows, blushes, and lipsticks. Things that I hadn’t been allowed to touch before. They’d been stated as being strictly for an adult woman, not me. Yet, here they were, waiting to be used. I looked up in shock at Momma, who grinned back at me with glee. She then motioned in encouragement for me to open the next box.

It was a strange shape, large in length and width, but not depth. My fingers pulled apart a beautiful cloth silver bow and then tore at the emerald paper. Once the lid was removed, I gasped at a stunning ball gown. It was navy blue. Silver lace wrapped around from a sleeve, into the bodice, and down into the skirt. I pulled it out and held it at length. My arms had to raise it slightly higher than my neck in order to keep it from touching the ground. There were also matching sapphire earrings and even a tiara. I trembled, unable to conceal how dazzled I felt by all of the unprecedented splendor being lavished upon me.

In the background, Momma’s smile grew even wider. “It’s the dress that your grandmother had made for my seventeenth birthday. The one that made it difficult for your father’s eyes to keep from staring at me,” she explained with joyful pride. “I’m not entirely sure why. But when I was placed back in my old room, it was still there hanging in the closet. I thought that you might like to have it, my love.” While pointing to some tall bookshelves that would provide privacy, she then suggested, “Why don’t you go and try it on, Cathy.”

Feeling uncertain, I went to where she directed and did as told. At first, my body froze in place. A strange mixture of delightful awkwardness came over me for wearing something so fine. Then, my ears heard my mother’s voice insist that I come on out and show them all. I felt clunky and unworthy as I toddled out from behind the shelving. The dress was a little big. My fingers had to hold up a few inches of fabric in order to keep the bottom from dragging along the floor. Yet even with that, everyone’s eyes widened at me in captivation. Momma’s hand patted the seat next to herself. The box of makeup was now resting in her lap. Obediently, I sat down where she indicated.

“Close your eyes and don’t move,” she instructed softly.

The lowering of my eyelids was followed by the sensation of a small paint brush swiping along my lashes, a soft bristle tickling my cheeks, and lastly some kind of stick caressing my lips. Unused to the sensation of makeup, my skin felt dirty. Keeping my eyes closed, I then sensed various tugs at my scalp as my hair was twisted and pulled every which way. Lastly, a circle was placed upon my head. The whole thing was a process that must have taken any number of minutes. And yet, I couldn’t hear Christopher talking or the twins fidgeting out of increased boredom. The silence compelled my imagination to picture them all being completely transfixed upon my transformation. When everything was finished, Momma whispered into my ear, “You can open your eyes now, my love. Go see how pretty you look.”

There was a full length gold mirror over in the costume area. We used it whenever we tried on different clothes. A large crack breached clean through the glass, but the thing otherwise worked perfectly for our needs. I gazed at myself through the fractured image and gasped. I was a vision, even within a dress that didn’t fit. The makeup made me look abnormally mature. I touched the foreign, adult-like beauty of it. Upon a diminutive body, my face appeared more like a girl of eighteen than one who was nearing thirteen. Then my hand trailed down to the richly colored gown. I basked within the temptation of it all, remembering what it was like to envy Momma as she got ready in the morning. It had been a long time since I had fantasized about becoming something of a princess within the Foxworth estate. Yet, here the fiction was standing before me. One day the grandfather would die, my siblings and I would be freed from this attic dungeon, and I would enchant everyone around me as I waltzed within ball after ball.

Coming up from behind me, Momma wrapped her arms around my waist, rested her chin upon my shoulder, and gazed at the both of us in the mirror. Her silver cross earrings sparkled in the light as pride glowed off of her. “The gown doesn’t quite fit yet, but it will before you know it Cathy. You look… EXACTLY the way that I did at your age.” She then gripped me even tighter. “My little lady, it won’t be long before we’re talking about bras, boys, and all kinds of things,” she stated with excitement.

While listening to her, I shifted and noticed Christopher staring at us with his mouth gaped open. The intensity of his eyes reminded me of the way he had looked after walking in on me dancing to Tchaikovsky. And something about it gave me a new sense of internal power. At the time, I didn’t quite understand what the feeling was. But as an adult, I now know it to be the kind of womanly confidence that would have led the grandmother into beating me back then.

After that late Christmas, the rest of Winter went by more tediously. We kept the holiday decorations up for quite some time. The Winter view from our window was always a dreary gray. So, at least the decor gave us something pretty to look at. And besides, who was going to stop us? It didn’t help that Momma came by less and less often. By March, her visits had reduced to only once or twice a week. And with her absence, the dream of becoming a Foxworth princess faded into fiction once again.

Our interaction with the snow was limited. Most of it floated down just beyond our reach. Sometimes, the four of us would carefully climb outside onto the patch of roof by our dormer windows. Out there, we ate freshly fallen powder and made the littlest of snowmen. Other normal Winter activities involved Christopher and I getting creative. We took crumpled up paper balls and had snowball fights. The whitest among our stored sheets were pulled out to build snow forts with. But despite our efforts, it wasn’t long before my brother and I had to endure Carrie and Cory’s tumultuous whining about not being able to play outside.

But the greatest help for our ever growing boredom was easily the television that Momma had gifted to us on Christmas. Sometimes, I wondered if she had gotten the thing just for that very purpose, to keep us from losing our minds. Through our twenty-one inch rectangle, the four of us were finally able to see glimpses into the outside world as we observed stylish people living dramatic and zany lives. A small smile always came to my lips as I witnessed Samantha and Darren together during my favorite show, “Bewitched.”

More and more often, my wistful imagination zoned off into stirrings over romance and couples. One morning, while the twins played in the toy area, Christopher and I laid beside each other on top of the reading area mattress. My eyes tried to focus on the words of my book, but my thoughts were elsewhere, wanting things that like the snowflakes were just beyond my attic dwelling grasp. Finally, I just started asking questions. “Christopher, do you ever think about marriage?” He raised his head from his tome in a mild confusion. “Or like back when we were in school, did you ever think about girls at all?”

His eyelids blinked at me and he grumbled out, “What brought that on?”

I paused for a moment. Because truthfully, I wasn’t entirely sure why I was asking Christopher this. I supposed that it was just the lack of options. In the past, I probably would have gossiped with my friends about any cute boys who they liked, not my own brother about girls. “I guess just some of the things that we have been watching on the television,” I finally answered.

Christopher nodded in understanding and then faced forward to consider his words. “Honestly, I was a Freshman. And by the time that I felt settled in enough to even start to think about things other than schoolwork and the new environment, Daddy had died. That gave me a whole new list of stuff to worry about. So, I haven’t really had a moment to consider what I might want for… myself.” I sighed at that. It seemed that my unfortunate brother was doomed to be boring until the very end. At the same time, an odd relief at Christopher’s lack of prospects washed over me. Then, he added, “But, I remember back in middle school, I would sometimes notice a really pretty girl. The only problem was that when I then tried to talk to her, she would turn out to be like… I don’t know… just not very smart. And from there I would quickly lose interest.”

“So, do you think that you might one day ask someone out?”

“Oh yeah, I’m sure that I will,” he replied with a flippant shrug.

“And, will you even know HOW to ask a girl out?” I then teased.

A defensive chuckle escaped from his throat over my light mocking of him. “It’s not exactly brain surgery, Cathy,” he retorted back. “You ask a girl if she’ll go out with you. If she says yes, then you take her to dinner and maybe a movie.”

I sighed at him in exasperation. My poor Christopher, he needed so much help. “You’re hopeless,” I said. “If you ever come to fancy a girl, then you should make an attempt to figure out what SHE likes. That way, you can tailor the experience to her and make a stronger first impression.”

He scoffed at that while shaking his head at me in disbelief. “Okay, miss expert. What’s your dream date then? Seeing as how you OBVIOUSLY know so much about dating and relationships.”

My eyes squinted their annoyance at his ridiculing of me. My lips then pinched together in a dual motivation of being aggravated over the fact that this discussion was slowly escalating into an argument, but also wanting to answer his question. “Well, I think that my date would have to be outside, like a picnic,” I responded curtly. “I’m so sick of being indoors. I want to touch grass and feel the sun. If a boy asked me on a date that was inside somewhere, then I’d probably just reject him on the spot.”

“Yeah. Somehow, I doubt that,” he sneered.

I stuck out my tongue and listened to him chuckle at it. I was beginning to regret starting this conversation. “So, if these poor middle school girls lost your interest so quickly, then what would it take for someone to keep it?”

There was a pause and I watched the gears turn in his head. Answering took him an odd amount of time, but at last, he spoke, “Well, I guess she’d be intelligent, with top notch grades. Beautiful to look at… no… stunning. Not to mention a fantastic cook, a great housekeeper, and good with kids. Lastly, she would be incredibly supportive of me. Proud of just about everything that I do.”

Listening to his wish list, I could feel myself becoming even more irritated. “Christopher, this person even sounds like she’s imaginary,” I stated, making zero effort to conceal my contempt over his ridiculous set of female expectations. Yet, I knew that this was indeed the kind of girl that boys would be looking for. In being locked away in this attic, my own cooking skills and house training were limited. And I wondered in some fear, if I stayed up here for too long, would I end up like Momma? Would I become a woman who would need to learn homemaking later in life?

To my cutting reply, Christopher grumbled. “Well then, what exactly would make a guy interesting for you?” His voice sounded as exasperated as I was feeling.

As I considered the question, memories of my parents came to me. The way that Daddy used to so openly adore Momma and treat her as though she was permanently positioned on top of a pedestal that existed far above himself. “He’ll be handsome and unendingly kind. He’ll care deeply about others and be a good father because of that,” I began. “And despite my flaws, he’ll treat me like I’m perfect and completely spoil me.” There was a wistful and dreamy grin across my face as I described this unknown boy who I casually longed to be right here beside me.

That is, until Christopher spoke, “You mean like the way that Daddy was with Momma?”

My brother’s statement instantly horrified me. Growing up, I had always envied my parent’s relationship. Their devotion had been the ideal for everything that I wanted in my own life’s romance. But now that I knew their love to be a wicked thing, what was I supposed to use as a model for my own marriage? It seemed that my ideas about affection were going to require a new definition.

“Of course not!” I nearly shouted back. In a protective scramble, I then added, “Because he will also have brown hair and brown eyes. Momma frequently used to say that people with brown hair and eyes are as grounded as the Earth itself.” It was true. She said it all the time. But back then, the words had made me feel sorry for Daddy. Why be with a man who has blonde hair and blue eyes if she thought that brown was somehow better? Only within this house had I come to understand the real motive lying beneath her words.

Unfortunately, something about my last sentiment seemed to wound Christopher. He sat there with his mouth gaped open in angry shock. “Says a girl with blonde hair and blue eyes,” he then mocked viciously.

“Well, boys are different from girls,” I fired back.

At that, he scoffed one last time and stood up. “Alright, I’m gonna go read somewhere else because I’m DONE with whatever this weirdness is.” As I watched him walk over to the table and chairs in the gaming area, a confused guilt needled at my heart for somehow making him upset. For whatever reason, Christopher was irritable for the rest of that day.

As Spring eventually rolled into Summer, it turned out that Daddy had been right all along about Christopher’s eventual growth. In what felt like only the span of a couple weeks, my brother shot up by nearly ten inches. All at once, his clothes didn’t fit. So, he had to make do with wearing the adult male apparel from our costume area storage until the day when Momma would eventually visit us and see that he needed an entirely new wardrobe.

His favorite thing to wear was the blue dress suit. The one with the bottom hemming that was coming undone. And honestly, it was easy to understand why. While the thing was far from tailored, the sleeves no longer needed to be rolled up, the belt now fit around his waist, and the blue was still a lovely compliment to his eyes. In seeing him, a voiceless part of myself had to admit that Christopher no longer looked ridiculous. He obviously knew it too because an uncanny swagger would add itself to his movements as he sauntered about the room and attic.

At one point, while practicing my ballet moves, my body bent itself backward into a cambré. And as I then twirled around, my brother was standing right there before me. His mouth was shaped into the most wicked smirk imaginable. Completely startled, I halted my movements so violently that I worried for a moment about possibly throwing my back out.

Once I stopped, Christopher took a step closer. He was strangely close. Luckily, I had been growing as well, just more gradually. So, I wasn’t completely childish in height myself. However, the fairly new experience of having to look up at him, rather than being eye-to-eye, consistently added an intimidating intensity to our dynamic that I was not yet used to.

With our bodies now only a few inches apart, my brother raised his hand to the top of his head. He then thrusted it straight out to nothing but air above my own, demonstrating our difference in stature. “Who’s the Dwarf Dollanganger now?” he taunted. That Machiavellian grin of his seemed to burrow into my skin as he teased.

“I… I suppose that I am,” I replied weakly. My tongue found it difficult to be witty and sassy, while my heart thundered a distracting form of excitement that was almost fearful.

Christopher must have sensed something too because a softness immediately crackled itself into his eyes. It contrasted with his mouth that still maintained a proud smug. We stood there for a few silent inhales as his warm gaze hooked itself into my nervous one. Then he broke it by looking away while rubbing the back of his neck. There was an ever so slight dusting to his cheeks as he mumbled out, “I’m gonna go check on the twins.” He then walked away, leaving me there breathing and bewildered. Once my senses came to, I put on Tchaikovsky. The exchange gave my energy a foreign electricity that now needed to be expelled.

Passing a year within this attic, all four of us had aged with it. But, Christopher and I were changing in ways that were different from our younger siblings. At night, I started having a recurring dream. I danced “Swan Lake” with a shadowed over partner. A tall male silhouette held me in his arms and guided my body through various positions. Through it all, a rising pulsation would climb within me that left me wanting something, but I didn’t know what. I woke in the morning up frustrated and throbbing with an unknown longing that I somehow knew would be fulfilled in some way if I could just get out of this attic.

Meanwhile, Christopher read every single medical thing that we owned like a young man possessed. At one point, he had asked Momma for these texts. More than just “Gray’s Anatomy.” I observed Momma give him a sweet, yet saddened, smile in response. Then she asked him something odd that caught my attention. “Christopher, my love,” she began. “I know that I’m not your father, but would you still like to talk in private sometime? You can ask me any questions that you might have.” To that, a blush came over his cheeks and he adamantly shook his head no. Momma nodded with some kind of innate understanding that I myself had lacked at the time. And a handful of days later, she brought what he requested. Not all were full novels, some were articles or journals, but all of them were obviously of a medical nature. I rationalized that his new obsession must simply be due to his want of becoming a doctor, but there was a strange desperation about him. He was searching for something.

Hair started to grow on parts of my body that hadn’t before. Wirey, amber colored strands marred an otherwise clean and streamlined appearance. They sprouted up and aggravated me until I plucked them away. But, for everyone that I culled, two more seemed to emerge the next day in its place. I stood in front of the bathroom mirror. My left arm raised above my head. My face winced as I yanked out the first of three new hairs. That’s when Christopher’s voice sneered out from behind me. “What the Hell are you doing, Cathy?”

My eyes rolled at his condescending tone. Without turning around, I responded flatly, “I’m removing these gross hairs. They’re utterly impossible to deal with.”

My brother sighed at that. “Cathy, those hairs are normal. So, you might as well start getting used to them because, soon enough, you’re just going to be growing more.”

“No. They’re disgusting,” I snapped back.

Christopher scoffed at that, and a few seconds passed before he spoke again, “Whatever. You do what you want I guess, but I’m going back upstairs. My own armpits are starting to hurt from watching you. Just be quick with this nonsense because I have to use the bathroom.” He then stomped out. As he walked toward the closet entryway, I heard him grumble out a ridiculing “The Battle of Little Puberty. Cathy’s Last Stand.”

By far the worst situation was when I changed the sheets. It was my job to make the beds and keep the grandmother from discovering Cory’s messes. Each morning, I would check for moist spots. Regardless of finding one, I would fix the bed anyway, concealing the evidence long enough for the Tin-Woman to go through her morning routine. When she finally left and the latch clicked, that’s when I would quickly rip apart the sullied thing, wash the linens in the bathtub, and hang them up to dry. They needed to be hung as soon as possible in order to no longer be damp by bedtime. Christopher would then help me fix the bed in the evening.

During the first nights of our lives here, Cory would have maybe one accident a month. However, now it was about once every couple of weeks. Despite my little brother’s growing age, his bladder control wasn’t improving, it was getting worse. When I voiced my concerns to Christopher, he appeared as worried as I was and began recording our little brother’s mishaps in a journal. I had my suspicion that it was somehow due to our time here.

Though in different ways, both Cory and Carrie were slowly regressing. On top of that, every few months, they became noticeably thinner due to their stubbornness with eating.

To add even more exhaustion, I was now beginning to find stains on Christopher’s side of the bed as well. They were small splotches of an off white color that contrasted the deep rouge of the sheet. My thirteen-year-old attic cloistered brain strained itself trying to figure out what they could possibly even be. After the third occurrence, frustration took over. I stomped over to the closet, threw open the door to the attic, and shouted up the stairs, “Christopher, come here!”

A few heartbeats later, he came into the room bewildered over why my tone sounded so upset. My right hand was fisting the covers out of the way, while my left pointed at his mess in response. “Christopher, are you eating in bed or something? I mean, what even IS this?” As his ocean blues located what I was indicating, his face completely blanched. He became like a ghost version of himself. I then added in a scolding manner, “This has been the third time that this has happened. It’s one thing for Cory to make messes in the bed, but another for you to.”

Despite his now six feet in height, his body appeared to shrink right in front of me. His feet shifted awkwardly and his gaze was clear to the floor as he avoided looking at me. A humiliated voice then stuttered out, “Cathy, it’s… it’s not that kind of mess. And this is normal for a man my age.”

My eyes squinted at that. I then responded incredulously, “Yeah, sure.”

All at once, Christopher’s expression shifted into visible rage. His coloring changed from white to red as he then snatched the bedding right out of my hand and yanked it all off of the mattress. “Here! I’ll just wash the damn blankets from now on! Problem solved!” he fumed out.

The irritability within my own body dissipated and shifted into concern. I had only wanted to know why these stains were occurring. So, my brother’s response seemed like an over reaction. I had expected him to say some bratty brother retort before explaining what it was and then promising to never do it again. I had not thought that he would become blatantly furious and take my job from me. Suddenly, I felt guilty for committing a crime that I had yet to learn the laws of.

“Christopher, are you okay?” I asked.

“No Cathy, I’m mad now,” he screeched back. “Because clearly, I have ZERO privacy in this place.” I thought that he would stop there, but he kept going. His voice grew ever louder as a flood of previously silent pent up frustration released itself from his mouth. In many ways, he was shouting more at the world than at me. “And I have no one to talk to about what’s happening to me. Things that I’m thinking and feeling. I mean… I have to hole up in the bathroom to take care of stuff. Or, God help me, I go upstairs and I read and read and read until it all finally just goes away!”

Though I didn’t know what exactly my brother was referring to, I felt his pain and struggles in my own heart. Whatever it was, the lonely burden of it was muralled and displayed all along the sad tension of his muscles. Feeling empathetic sorrow, I warmly teased, “Come on, Christopher. You know that you can always talk to me. Right?”

Christopher’s mind and body came to a full halt. My offer had broken his tangent. Those sapphires of his started to swirl as they looked me over. He was considering it, playing the scene out in his head of what confessing all of his teenage secrets to me would be like. He then sighed and responded flatly, “No, I can’t.” With that, my brother wadded the rest of the bedding up into his arms and began to carry them to the bathroom, but he stopped at the doorway. “Cathy, you should probably talk to Momma. Your time for making messes will be coming soon as well. And I don’t want you to freak out when it does.” He then added with a dry sass that sounded almost jealous. “Just be grateful that the sheets are all red.” With that, Christopher entered the bathroom and I heard the tub faucet turn on. I froze in place as my feelings raced through confusion, sadness, and anxiety.

Several days later, Momma came and surprised us with a second visit in the same week. There was a large box under her arm. I watched as her and Christopher exchanged nods. He then grabbed each of the twin’s hands and herded them into the closet. When they were gone, Momma sat down at the table and patted the space across. “I think it’s time that you and I had an important chat, young lady,” she suggested.

Usually, the phrase “young lady” meant that I was in trouble, but the sing-songy tone was inviting and her frame was relaxed. I sat down cautiously. “Did Christopher put you up to this?” I asked. Suspicion dripped off of my tongue due to the head nods that they had exchanged, Christopher taking the twins upstairs, and the oddly close timing to when my brother had advised that I speak with Momma.

She laughed joyfully at my phrasing and demeanor. “He did suggest it, but hardly had to twist my arm. I’d actually been meaning to have this conversation with you for a while, but things have been busy downstairs. So, I was grateful for the reminder.” Her happy expression then became serious. “My own mother never gave me this talk. So, when things started happening, it… it wasn’t good.”

The sudden stiffness of her behavior increased my own nervousness over what this conversation was about to reveal. “What happened exactly?”

Her lips pursed together in thought at my question. “Let’s talk first, and then I’ll tell you the story.”

I nodded in agreement and listened intently. It wasn’t long before my nose scrunched at the grossness of the info, and more than once my mouth let out an “Ew!” Apparently soon enough, once a month I would experience pain in my lower stomach area and then BLEED for roughly four to five days. Not from an open wound, but from God’s design for women’s bodies as preparation to have a baby. The experience was called a period. Not only that, but this was supposed to regularly occur until I was about fifty!

I sat there incredulously as Momma then began to explain the anatomy behind why periods occur and where babies came from. Who would have guessed that human infants originally come from fertilized eggs? “You mean like a chicken?” I blurted out in disbelief.

Momma’s eyes closed and her chest started to rapidly rise and fall in a silent chuckle. “Sort of,” she finally answered. “Although I think that human beings are just a bit more complicated than chickens.”

The box that she had brought with her was laying on top of the table between us. Her delicate fingers reached over and pulled the lid straight up off of the container. Inside was a plug in heating pad, which Momma explained would help with the monthly discomfort. Then, she pulled out a white elastic belt, with two snaps attached. Last was a large supply of pads. On herself, she demonstrated to me how to use all of this stuff. You put the belt on first with the snaps facing the front and back. Then, changeable pads clip onto those snaps. Once put together, the whole set up was like wearing a second pair of underwear. When she finished, she sat back down and asked me if I had any questions.

I processed it all through a mildly overwhelmed sense of adolescent repulsion. “Momma, I’m studying and practicing to become a ballerina. So, I’m not even planning on having any kids because they would only get in the way of that. With that in mind, can I just NOT do this?”

A knowing smile broadened itself across her face. “You’re still young, my love. One day, you’ll meet someone and then you might change your mind about children. But regardless, Cathy, periods aren’t optional.” She then added with a humored giggle, “Believe me, if they were, then women all over the world would be ECSTATIC.”

Momma’s face then dropped into a sadness that completely contrasted the light-hearted aura that had been glowing off of her mere seconds before. “Like I mentioned before, my own mother never told me about this stuff. She… she worried that the conversation would bring about evil thoughts. So, when I inevitably experienced pain and bleeding, I became terrified. I thought that I was seriously injured, and even possibly dying. Luckily, a maid found me before I made too big of a scene, and it was her that explained all of this to me. Afterwards, I swore that things would be different with my own daughters.” Momma then reached over and clasped my hand encouragingly. “Becoming a woman isn’t always fun, but it is perfectly natural. And I promise that there’s nothing to be afraid of.”

While reflecting on it all, my mind recalled the bedding confrontation that Christopher and I had. He’d made an off hand comment about being grateful that the sheets were all red, and I realized then that he must have been insinuating about the blood. An irritation over my own naivete began to take over. How frustrating it was that my older brother knew more about the things that were going to happen to me than I did. I supposed that it would help if I poured myself into a couple of his medical books, but nothing about that endeavor sounded fun.

“Is Christopher going through something similar?” I finally asked. Afterall, Momma was an adult. Therefore, she probably knew.

“Boys have their own concerns when becoming a man, but they’re different from what girls go through. For example, soon enough, Christopher will have to start shaving nearly everyday.”

“What else do they go through?” I then insisted.

Momma’s lips curved sweetly before her eyes glanced at the clock. She then responded in a tone that told me it was final. “Another time perhaps.”

I leaned back into my chair with mild disappointment. Unless I wanted to wait for whenever Momma was available to talk about my brother and boys, it seemed that I would have to find the information out for myself from one of Christopher’s boring books after all. So much for doing things the easy way. Then the image of him desperately reading those texts flashed through my mind. It made me wonder. Was this the reason? All this time, had he been seeking out answers for his biologically destined path into adulthood?

The two of us were growing up. Becoming a woman, becoming a man, all while trapped within this cramped room and attic. So then, were we one day going to wake up and be full grown adults? Would Carrie eventually sit where I am now and have this same conversation with Momma? Our already overextended time here now planted those fears firmly into my mind.

I looked at Momma, scanning her features. Her face was beaming back at me with a motherly kindness. But, I could tell from a slight edginess added to her posture that it was almost time for her to leave. Despite the awkwardness of the topic, I couldn’t remember the last time that I had had my mother all to myself for so long. It was nice. But, these new worries and realizations forced a question out into the open that I had been holding back for a while now. “Momma, it’s been over a year. When are we going to be able to leave?”

Instantly, her expression dropped into exhaustion. “I already told you that we’ll be free when your grandfather dies,” she then replied with a cold curtness.

Her sudden change made me pause, but I wasn’t ready to back down. “Momma… why don’t we just go. Forget about the money. We’ll all get jobs and just be happy with being together.”

After hearing my hopeful suggestion, Momma’s eyes began to blink rapidly in a fight against tears. Her gaze then turned completely away from me and her lips pursed as she ruminated within an unspoken sadness. Finally, she said, “Cathy, sweetheart, I’m sorry. But… life is not often that easy.” There was a pause long enough for her throat to swallow with a hard and unpleasant nature before she then declared, “I have to go.”

“Wait!” I cried out as I watched her once again walk out the door, close it behind her, and lock the latch.

That exchange with Momma had made me unusually quiet for much of the afternoon. A thousand thoughts were repeatedly circling within my brain. Meanwhile, my siblings were all entertaining themselves while sitting on the floor. The twins played Checkers, while Christopher refereed their game in between reading passages from his newest book. I think that my older brother could tell that something was off with my mood and behavior because he kept asking about how the talk went. And after the third time, I realized that he wasn’t going to accept my brush offs as an answer. So finally, I admitted to what was truly on my mind. “Christopher, I… I think that we need to seriously consider running away. I just don’t know that we’re ever going to leave this place otherwise.”

My brother’s mouth gaped at first, but then his eyes just rolled and he taunted, “Come on, Cathy. Be serious.”

“I am serious, Christopher,” I snapped back while feeling a sting of wounded pride.

His head shook at that, “And where exactly would we go? What would we live on? I’m only fifteen. So, how am I supposed to provide for some kinda fully formed insta-family?”

Listening to him, my cheeks immediately grew warm with both anger and embarrassment while my gaze fell to the floor. “Christopher… it doesn’t have to be all on you. I’d help as well. Happiness is the entire family’s responsibility, remember? Whatever we can put together, it HAS to be better than this attic.” As that hopefulness left my lips, my body felt like it was becoming small. Those words sounded stupid and unrealistic even to me. Nothing but a little girl's fancifulness. However, I said them anyway because the last thing that I wanted was to admit that my brother had a point.

As if I didn’t feel ridiculous enough, Christopher then sneered the obvious at me, “Oh yeah, I’m sure that employers are lining up to hire thirteen year old girls. So, tell me Cathy. Are we going to survive on babysitting or paper route income?”

That jab shredded the last sliver of my fake optimism, and I stood there as a hollowed out carcass of adolescent helplessness. The truth was that while Christopher had his facts and research, I had my own abilities too. Even back when I was the twin’s age, I had this gift. My gift was an innate talent of walking into a room and reading what others thought and felt beneath their pretending. It allowed me to even see oncoming scenarios with uncanny accuracy. Within their motivations and situations, human beings will frequently repeat cycles of madness again and again. Once that’s understood, the future is often scary-easy to foretell.

But, it was a double edged burden because rarely could I do much about the dark things that I understood. Life to me was observing a series of obvious approaching train wrecks that decimated entire families. And this time, it was my siblings and I who stood upon the tracks. I suspected that the train was coming. No! I KNEW that it was coming. If we stayed here too long, eventually something terrible was going to happen to us. And yet, Christopher was right. We were trapped.

Even as an adult, I still don’t know which is better. To see the train coming and therefore be able to make preparations that mitigate some of its impact, but all the while feeling the terror of it. Or to just be happy and naive until the very moment that the locomotive takes you out.

Slowly, a rising tide of rageful grief came and filled all of the empty spaces inside of me. And through bitter moistening eyes, my wrathful teenage mouth then mumbled out, “It should have been Momma...”

“What?”

“Daddy would have never made us come here! He never would have suffered these people. It should have been Momma who died, not him!”

At that, Christopher bolted straight up. Fury wallpapered itself all throughout the tension of his body. “That may be true, but that’s because Daddy was a man with a JOB!” he shouted out at me. “Momma applied for DOZENS of jobs. CLEARLY, she was trying to avoid needing to come here. Yet, despite the fact that she can speak four languages and do arithmetic in her head, no one gave her so much as a chance. Why?”

Christopher’s arrogant aggravation then dropped into apologetic sorrow. “And what about our neighbors? Half of our stuff was gone from our living room and Momma’s bedroom was completely empty. I mean, Cathy, they had to KNOW that we were in trouble. But, they did nothing either. They just… made us a bunch of casseroles. At every turn, nothing and no one was there to save us.” His shoulders then shrugged their exasperation. “So, here we are, just trying to save ourselves… alone.”

I stood there as an internalized mess of anger. My fingers even trembled at the sensation. That terrible tide that had filled my spaces was now attacking my heart and polluted the rest of my bloodstream with it. Overcome by its influence, my mouth venomed out, “I hate this.” And once that poison finally started to release itself, I couldn’t keep it bottled within. “I hate this! I HATE IT! I HATE IT!” I screeched out. “I hate the attic! I hate this room! And sometimes Christopher, I even hate YOU!” My teeth then gnashed at the twins, “I hate ALL of you!”

Those last terrible words weren’t true, but my unleashing rage needed victims. And neither Momma nor my grandmother were there to scream at, which transformed my siblings into opportune surrogates. A cruel grin of satisfaction stretched across my face when my brother’s expression turned to one of saddened shock. Meanwhile, the twins began to quiver. Any moment longer and they would probably start to cry, but I couldn’t stop. “I hate this life, Christopher! I hate it so much that sometimes I wish that I was dead, because I think that would be better than having to be stuck here for the rest of my days!”

Before my brother had a chance to respond and ruin my shameful triumph, I then sprinted to the closet door, up the attic steps, and into the garden. Guilt was beginning to creep its way in over what my intentionally hurtful words had done to my family, especially Carrie and Cory. But right now, I didn’t want to feel bad. I wanted to be angry. So once more, I laced on my ballet slippers, slid into my leotard, and placed the record tonearm on Tchaikovsky. My body absolutely ached for a distracting release, and this was the only way that I knew how to get it.

If it was possible to turn a tantrum into a dance form, then that’s exactly what I was doing. There was nothing dainty and graceful about my movements. Within my mind’s eye, my clothes were no longer a worn out and dirty blush pink, instead they were obsidian. Dark and mature, everything that I wanted to be right then. My jetés, pirouettes, and attitudes consisted of flailing arms and kicks that thrusted out like wrathful karate moves. I twirled and thrashed my body into a desperately needed exhaustion and insensibility.

Through my personal means of escape, the fake floral world around me disappeared into a raging red. I had a vague awareness of another presence in the room with me, but I didn’t care. Within my stage queen fantasies, fire consumed everything with imagined pyrotechnics. When the high at last kicked in, I cackled joyfully, worshipping my way of attaining freedom inside of this prison.

I made a promise to myself right then. While I still wanted love and romance, I swore that I would never NEED a man. When I grew up, I would have my own career and income. This new motivation made my movements even more forceful because I was going to become a ballerina. Ballet would be my means for escaping this terrible cycle. Whatever it took, I would find a way. Never would I allow myself to enter a position of being forced into begging an awful family for help and confining my own children into misery. All of that would just die on the family tree with my mother. With everything inside of myself, I vowed that while I might look like Momma, I would never fully become her. In the end, my life would be something entirely different and therefore filled with happiness.

Then the image of Momma saying, “Life is not often that easy” violated my dancing dream. And with the shock of it, I twisted awkwardly and fell to the floor. Bitter and shocked tears formed at the corners of my eyes as I laid across the hardwood slats, and a fresh pain throbbed around my right ankle.

Suddenly, Christopher was right there, knelt down right in front of me within the span of a single blink. “Can you stand?” he asked in a stern voice. I stared at him in surprise for a moment before nodding that I could. But as my prideful foot supported itself against the floor’s surface and hoisted me up into a standing position, a sharp pain shot through my ankle and caused me to fall back over with a whimper. Luckily, Christopher caught me before I tumbled down completely. It was like a knight in armor rescuing a pathetic damsel. He then gently lowered me into a sitting position with my back leaning against the wall. While doing so, he grumbled, “Must you always be so stubborn and dramatic?”

Before I could defend myself with a retort, Christopher quickly ran downstairs and came back up with a wet washcloth. He then laid it over my ankle, the freezing cold terry cloth made me jump a little. “I think that you’ve sprained it,” he explained curtly. “There’s no swelling or bruising. So, it’s probably mild. That’s good. Unfortunately, this is the closest thing that we have to an ice pack up here.” My brother then sat beside me and leaned his head against the wall in an exhausted sigh. “Rest it for a couple of weeks and you’ll be dancing again soon enough,” he concluded optimistically.

I pulled my legs up to my chest, making sure to baby the right one. “I don’t care,” I pouted.

Christopher huffed at that before responding dryly, “Yes, you do.”

I sighed, hating the fact that he was right about me. But, it struck me how quickly my brother was able to come to my side after I fell. So, I then asked, “How long were you standing there?”

“Well, it took a few minutes to resettle the twins. What you said REALLY freaked them out.” At first, his tone with me was harsh, but then it relaxed. “I came up quickly after that because you had me worried too. So, I probably saw most of your dance.” The way that he said that last sentence caught me off guard. It was as though he had purchased tickets to a real stage performance of mine and then accidentally had been late for the opening number. Those blue pools of his shifted about the room as he spoke again. “You know, Cathy. You’ve gotten really good at that ballet stuff. Whenever you really get into things, it almost seems like you're in another world. So, where do you go when you dance like that?”

Feeling a little dazed by the direction of this conversation, I just shrugged. “Anywhere but here, I guess.”

He nodded in understanding. Then his lips pursed together. A body language display indicating that he was about to shift gears and dive into what he had really come up here to discuss. “Cathy… about what you said before. I’m going to give you a pass this time. But if you ever say things like that again… I mean about hating us and wishing that you were dead. Then, you and me are going to have a much more serious fight.” After saying that, his body shifted with a discomfort that confused me at the time, like he was about to confess to something embarrassing. “Cathy, you’re the only one who I can really talk to in this place. Granted, there’s also Momma, but she’s only here for some of the time. So basically, you’re the reason that I can still sometimes go to bed with a smile on my face, even knowing that I might fall asleep to nightmares, and also how I’m able to wake up in the morning and not go completely mad over having to do…” His pointer finger circled through the air in a gesture at everything. “All of THIS again for yet another tedious day. And somewhere in all of our time here, you became more than just my sister…” He paused and his eyes darted about. The gears of his prefrontal cortex were seeking something, a new definition for what exactly I was to him. Finally, his mind visibly landed on a word that satisfied him. “You became my best friend. So, if something happened to you, I think… I think that I would follow you. And without the two of us, the twins would surely die afterwards.”

My heart dropped into my stomach. The burden of his words overwhelmed me and my face rested itself into my palms, unable to look at him. “That isn’t fair! That isn’t fair to put that on me!” I snapped. I didn’t want the responsibility of having to carry my family’s sanity upon my back. What if one day, I crumbled under the weight of them all? To know that it would become the lynchpin for such unthinkable dominoes. I wasn’t strong enough for that.

“Cathy, I’m not telling you all of this to be fair!” he fired back.

At that, my head leaned back against the wall. I felt exhausted. Almost deliriously, I then sassed, “I don’t know, Christopher. We sure do seem to argue a lot for being best friends.”

All at once, he broke out in a total guffaw and nodded with emphatic agreement. “Yeah, we do!” The tension in him was now mostly gone as humored tear drops rested themselves in the corners of his eyelids.

Once his laughing calmed down to occasional thrumming, Christopher finally suggested, “Let’s go back down to Carrie and Cory.” And that was the end of things. My brother helped me limp all the way down the stairs and rested me onto my bed. He then placed a pillow under my right foot to elevate it and a fresh washcloth on top. From my prone position, I tried to apologize to the twins, but they were too interested in their game to notice or care. It was as though, to them, my outburst had never happened. Boy, did I envy that ease.

That night, I dreamt again of performing “Swan Lake” with my wonderful dance partner. As our bodies twisted together, I knew that he was the black cob to my white pen. That shadowed-over-silhouette of a man whose face I couldn’t see. Somewhere out there, he was waiting for me. That perfect prince who would be united with his princess whenever she finally managed to escape from her locked tower.

Chapter Text

Momma’s visits decreased to barely even once a week after our talk about impending womanhood. It made me wonder if that was somehow my fault. Had my asking about us being able to leave the attic during that discussion caused her increased absence? An irritating sense of guilt twisted at my aorta. I hated the notion that I could be culpable for any part of our beautiful warden’s behavior. The fact was that I was angry at her and wanted to be. So, these undesirable feelings of shame and liability just made me even madder toward everything, and I found myself smiling less and less as the weeks ticked by.

I had also been completely spoiling the twins with nearly non-stop attention since then. The memory of yelling out that I had hated Carrie and Cory formed a different guilt than what I felt toward my mother. Unlike my emotions in regards to that woman, I wasn’t upset or confused at all about the shame with my siblings. On the contrary, I had rightfully earned these feelings and deserved them.

Although admittedly, in my manic attempts to make the little gremlins happy, I did start to understand Momma just a little bit more. This was why she had been going out of her way to get us things over that past year. It was guilt. And somewhat nervously, I considered the opposite to also be true. The reason that she was not visiting as often was that her sense of remorse over our state of living waned. So, in the end, what would that mean for the four of us when it was finally gone? My pestering about freedom probably hadn’t helped things, but I couldn’t stop myself. I just wanted out of this place so badly.

However, spending time with Carrie and Cory produced a completely new anxiety. Something about their slender frames didn’t seem quite right for children well past the age of six. For comparison, I thought back to the two boys that I had witnessed at the Christmas party. I recalled that they had definitely seemed larger than my younger siblings. But, perhaps they had simply been a little older than the twins or I was just remembering things wrong? Either way, as Carrie’s skinny fingers moved her red plastic disc across our checker board, I couldn’t stop worrying about it.

Eventually, I brought my fears to my older brother. “Christopher,” my voice trembled nervously. “Do the twins seem… small to you?”

He looked up from the book that he was reading with a surprised grunt. At first, his face seemed confused as to my meaning. But then, the clarity of understanding started to dawn across his features. His eyes then glanced over to the twins and scanned them in that robotic way of his that appeared to gather data. “Hmm, maybe,” he eventually replied. “But, it’s hard to tell since we don’t really have anything to compare with.” My head dropped at that and nodded in a defeated despair. From his words, it sounded like we would just be left to wonder about Carrie and Cory’s health.

Christopher then looked me over. Those blue lasers swept me from head to toe while his lips pursed themselves together into a worried crevice. And with a sigh, he stood up, got the twins over to the attic wall by our costume area, and took their heights. My brother then walked back over to me with a more relaxed stride. “We’ll have to take their measurements again before we’re able to know anything. But, that’s not going to be for another several months if and when we do,” he explained gently. “So, try not to worry until we have more information.”

Hearing that, uncontrolled emotions began to burst forth. The idea that our time here might be disfiguring the twins was yet another terrible straw piling upon my overwhelmed back, threatening to break it. I placed my hands up over my eyes in an attempt to push back in my rage, exhaustion, and grief, but it was too late. I sobbed. As tears and snot gushed, there was a pause before I heard Christopher mumble out an exasperated and caring, “Come here.” His long arms then wrapped around me in a hug. I don’t know how long I spent crying while he held me, but it felt like forever. His comforting fingers combed through my hair as he whispered, “You know that I’m going to do everything that I can to take care of the three of you, right?” Hearing that, my shaky breathing calmed, my weeping slowed, and I forced my feelings back down into the ever darkening trenches of my soul. Once there was nothing left but weariness, I wordlessly pulled away from him and trudged back over to the twins for more board game time. From that day on, we never had another food fight, and everyone had to finish their plates even if they didn’t like it.

Roughly another week after that, I experienced my first period. And now that I was finally forced to wear my crimson absorbing harness, I was pretty sure that whomever had designed these pads must have hated women. The snaps uncomfortably pinched at my skin whenever I twisted incorrectly. There was also the awkwardness of the thing itself. The thickness of it gave the new and unpleasant sensation of a small pillow being stuffed between my legs. As I read Sense and Sensibility to distract myself from it all, I begrudgingly considered changing careers from ballerina to inventor, if only to create a contraption that would make women feel less ridiculous and unattractive each lunar cycle. Then, every female in the world would rejoice with a glory hallelujah!

By contrast, the plug in heating pad was a God send. While it didn’t completely eliminate the crampy pain, it did alleviate it significantly. During those handful of rough days, I had the thing practically glued to my lower stomach like a lifeline. The only struggle was that, even with the extension, the power cord couldn’t reach all areas of the attic. So, instead of my usual spot laying across the mattress, I had to read at the game table next to the twins main playing area. A difficult and distracting task to say the least as flying Legos and game pieces occasionally invaded my space.

For some reason, even though Christopher could have read anywhere, he was sitting across from me. Some sort of history book was lodged into the crook of his right arm. And while intently following along with the words, he occasionally used his left hand to pick up random pieces that the twins had accidentally tossed our way and threw them back into their area.

“Why are you reading at the table when you could have the mattress?” I finally asked.

“Well, I thought that you might like the company, but I can always move if you want,” he fired back with a light humor.

My body squirmed a bit with discomfort. I was sore, bloated, and wearing a rig that I was unused to. Not only that, but the idea that I was bleeding from the most awkward place imaginable made my nose pinch. “So, you don’t think that what is going on with me is like… weird or icky?” A mild disbelief wove into the tone of my quizzing him. Afterall, I certainly would have gotten far away from this if I was able to.

He shrugged nonchalantly and then turned the page. “Roughly half of the world’s population gets periods. I think that I’d make a pretty lousy future doctor if that’s all it took to gross me out.”

A curve came to my lips at my brother’s response. Something about his words and lack of reaction made me feel just a little bit better about myself. I then looked at his book. It was one that I hadn’t read yet. Even with our attic dwelling days, where the minutes frequently dragged into infinity, my reading had slowed down due to all of my obsessive ballet practice. “What’s that book about?” My curiosity eventually asked.

A small mischievous smirk crept into the corner of his lips as he answered, “It’s about Catherine the Great. She was the longest reigning ruler of Russia. And by many accounts, quite good at it. Hence the nickname.” His eyes gave me an impish side glance as he said that last sentence.

“Of course she was,” I declared jokingly. “With a name like Catherine, how could she not be?”

Christopher chuckled. “Yeah, I kind of thought something similar when I picked it up.” There was an unusual lilt to his voice with that reply that made my cheeks suddenly grow warm. I looked away from him, embarrassed by the uncharacteristically sweet compliment that he was giving me. Internally, I formed a mental note that after I finished Sense and Sensibility, I would then have to read about Catherine the Great for myself. My smile widened.

Christopher’s own smirk transformed into a full grin as he observed me. From the expression, he appeared pleased with my flattered reaction. His body then leaned closer onto the table and he opened his mouth to say something more. But he stopped, cleared his throat, and took a moment to rub the back of his neck. “I also wanted to ask you something,” he said, attempting to change subjects. “Whenever you feel better Cathy, I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind teaching me how to dance. You see lately, I’ve been thinking that if I want to eventually be with someone, then I should know how to. At least the basic steps anyway. And obviously, I… I don’t really have anyone else that I can ask.”

His request immediately confused me. My brother had always sneered at dancing. So, why the sudden interest? But even so, I shrugged indifference and nodded in agreement. Our parents had always wanted him to learn and it seemed like a productive way to fill up some of our time. What else were we going to do up here?

Not long afterwards, Momma disappeared altogether. With her decreasing visits, my mind had been preparing for her eventual absence from our room and attic. But even with that foresight, there was still a pain in my chest. I missed her. After all that she had done, or more accurately hadn’t done, I STILL missed her. My unwanted sorrow made me feel aggravated and stupid. And as another day passed without her presence, Christopher and I would exchange wordless glances with one another, frustrated and tired by our situation. When would she return to us? Was she even going to come back at all?

The best distraction from all of that was teaching my brother how to dance. Because, my God, he was terrible at it. Even after four weeks, we were still working on the basics. His stiff and awkward missteps kept crushing my feet until I eventually forbade him from wearing shoes while practicing. Yet, despite my exasperation with him, I also giggled in amused delight over his clunky footwork. I tauntingly basked within the knowledge that my skills in rhythm were obviously superior to his own.

While growing up, Christopher always beat me when it came to learning new things, and school in general. There was a time when I used to be determined to get better grades than him, to utterly defeat him in his own arena. It motivated me into pushing myself until I had the top grades in my class. But, if I got a B+, then he got an A-. If I got an A-, then he got an A. And if I got an A, then somehow, he would manage to get an A, plus extra credit. I could NEVER win against my brother, and he never let me forget it. His braggadocious test scores had paraded themselves all over our old refrigerator. Eventually, I grew weary of unending failure and quit. So, it felt good to finally be better at something than he was. He was in my arena now.

Yet, an odd deja vous permeated the fibers of my muscles and the marrow of my bones. This situation felt familiar in a way that I couldn’t quite place. I halted our practice with a chuckle. “Okay, stop, stop, STOP!” I belted out. “Christopher, it’s been roughly a month and we are STILL working on the box step. At this rate, this future mystery girl of yours is gonna think that you’re the most boring man alive. And she’ll never find out that you can actually be funny and charming.”

Christopher blinked at that for a moment and then asked, “You think that I’m funny and charming?”

An embarrassed gasp escaped as I realized what I had just admitted to. Stumbling upon the words, I immediately backpedaled, “Well, I mean sometimes… yeah, at least in a kind of obnoxious and jerkish sort of way.” My brother scoffed and rolled his eyes at me. I continued, “My point is that if you want to get good at dancing, then you need to learn how to shut off your brain. Let yourself FEEL the music. Because you keep trying to dance with this.” My finger poked Christopher in the forehead for emphasis. His head flung back in an attempt to dodge it, but failed. His eyes then squinted their annoyance at me. “But, you need to dance with this,” my hand moved until my palm placed itself over his chest and started to gently pound out a rhythm. “That’s what feels the beat,” I explained while doing so. “The other part of your body that senses rhythm are your hips.” As I stated that, my fingers repositioned themselves and briefly patted him where my words had indicated.

But to my shock, Christopher responded to my brief touch like a panicked cat and jumped back by a good two feet away from me. “Maybe I’m just not cut out to be a good dancer then,” he snapped defensively. I then watched as he stomped down the attic stairs in an over reacting huff, leaving me bewildered and gawking.

A few days later, Momma finally returned to us sporting a healthy tan. It was an absolute contrast to our own pale skin. Her sapphire eyes sparkled and her large grin carried a delight that I had not seen from her in the past year and some months. I wanted to be happy to see her and throw my arms around her in an embrace. But, all I could feel at the moment was anger. “After all this time, Daddy has finally allowed me to start going out with friends,” she explained enthusiastically. “So, I got to go on a short trip to the coast and went sailing with a few of them.” Christopher and I exchanged glances because when the Hell did she start calling the grandfather, ‘Daddy?’ On top of that, our mother sounded strange. Her voice was more like a delirious teenage girl getting an amazing gift from her father than it did a woman who was approaching forty.

It made me furious to just listen to her. Sailing? Sailing?! Jealous rage consumed me at her words. How dare she run off and have fun while we were still not allowed to take even a single step outside? How dare she look fresh and happy while we grew ever more pale and thin? I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs.

“Why didn’t you at least tell us that you were going to be gone before you just up and left?” I eventually seethed out.

The reaction to my sharp words was immediate, like violently waking up from a dream. Her face blanched and her lip quivered. Then she trudged over and slumped into one of the chairs at our dining table. “I… I’m sorry, my love. I was so excited to get to do something fun that I didn’t think…”

“No, you clearly didn’t,” My tongue snapped back with an ugly and cruel tone. I wanted to wound her and relish in that guilt. I then lashed out, “Momma, when are WE going to be able to leave? We’re sick of this place! We want our freedom NOW!”

Momma’s body shrank before us and her eyes became glassy. I smiled at the thought that she might cry. My mind wondered for a moment as to what she would do next. Would she run away from us, simply make an attempt to escape from these inconvenient emotions that I was forcibly laying down at her feet?

But to my surprise, she suddenly stood up and threw her arms around me. And in the shock of it, all of my self-righteous rage evaporated. With my arms dangled at my sides, I stood there as a stiff, life-sized doll within her embrace. “Do you hate me, Cathy? I imagine that one day you may come to hate me, but can it please not be today?” she pleaded.

Those questions left me stupefied, and my mind became a now incoherent mess that stumbled around upon conflicting internalized emotions of familial love and anger. “Of course I don’t hate you, Momma,” I replied with a strangely automated tone. It was as though she had reached into my back and maneuvered a ventriloquist mechanism in order to make me say it. Even so, those words were true. I wasn’t capable of hating her. To this day, I wish that I could. Life would have been much simpler that way.

A relieved smile came upon her face as she spoke again. “I’m sorry that I haven’t been around as much lately. Things are… really chaotic downstairs. But know that I miss you all every second that I’m away. Each day, I climb upon my father’s carousel, plaster on a Noh’s mask for a smile, and lose my mind a little more. But whenever I come up to see you, I gain a little bit of myself back. Because in all four of you, I see HIM, my eternal beloved… my Christo.”

Her words seemed strange, but any deeper meaning simply washed past. Having her hug me felt good, not just around my body, but also deep within my heart. As though being operated by treacherous marionette strings, my arms started to go around her as well, and my eyes closed themselves.

In the background, I heard Christopher’s voice. “Momma, I think… I think that maybe we just need another project. Something that will occupy our minds and our time. You know before, we worked on the attic and that kept us busy. Now, we’re just getting more and more stir crazy up here.”

Hearing what my brother was saying, her arms let go of me and I felt a slight loneliness from the loss of her embrace. She nodded in understanding and then thought for a moment. A couple of minutes passed before a light bulb flashed its idea across her expression. “Well, since it’s August, the twins would normally start school in the fall,” she admitted somewhat timidly. “So, you could begin homeschooling them,” Momma then offered.

Not long after making that suggestion, her time with us was up and she left. With the familiar sound of the clicking latch, I tiredly went upstairs and put on the blue dress that Momma had gifted me for Christmas. Several months had passed since that day. The bottom hem of the gown still swept the floor, but just barely. Had I been wearing heels, it would have cleared the hardwood by roughly an inch.

I sighed at the bodice. It was still too big. While my upper body was starting to develop small peaks, they were nothing close to what Momma had. I supposed that I was going to have to wait longer for that. It also probably didn't help that I exercised every gram of possible fat right off of my body with my endless ballet practice. Not that my lack of a chest was going to motivate me into stopping that daily effort. I was determined to become a ballerina, whatever it took.

I placed the tiara on top of my head of long flaxen locks that hung unbound. My hair had been passed my shoulders when we arrived. But with well over a year of never having been cut, the golden threads now flowed down in a river of waves well past my waist. The youthful milk skinned beauty of my reflection looked like something out of a Grimm fairy tale. I wondered. Was I Snow White or Sleeping Beauty? Would my one true love come and plant true love’s kiss upon my lips, before then whisking me off to happily ever after? If so, how long would he be? All the while, here I was waiting like a lovely ghost who haunted this castle… waiting… waiting.

My eyes then caught Christopher in the reflection. He was leaning against one of the bookshelves with his arms crossed, watching me. It seemed like more and more, the moments where I noticed him glancing or staring in my direction were increasing. Originally, these odd looks had left me confused, concerned even, but now I was getting used to them. In fact, I was even starting to enjoy them. There was something extra inside of his gaze. A quality that somehow had the power of making me feel even lovelier than I did from simply admiring myself. But, by strange contrast, it also made me embarrassed, awkward, and clunky. Ignoring the latter of my emotions, I spun around playfully to face him and bragged with a girlish excitement, “The gown fits better and better all the time.”

A soft crescent came to his lips and his eyes scanned me from my toes to the top of my head as he replied with a light tone, “I can see that.”

My happy expression then dropped as thoughts of the events that had just transpired with our mother circled within my mind. Now that Momma was gone, the distance allowed me to reflect on things more clearly. I doubted that any other parent in the world would have looked upon our malnourished, porcelain doll-like features and not become immediately concerned. They certainly wouldn’t have started talking about how wonderful their own day had been. No, they would have stopped and taken care of us. Whatever was happening to Momma on the other side of our pine cell door, it had changed her, maybe forever. She could no longer see us. While her unclear ocean eyes were aware of our existence, they simply looked past us toward a horizon beyond.

“Christopher, I really think that we need to talk about running away.”

“Not this again,” he griped back with a groan.

“I don’t trust Momma to let us out anymore, Christopher. Something is obviously wrong with her. How bad do things need to be before you’ll allow us to have this conversation?” I turned back and looked at my reflection. This gown was by far the most beautiful dress that I owned. But still, it was just that and nothing more… a dress. “We don’t need all of this.” I then stated. “The fancy clothes, the expensive toys, this house… they’re not love. All of this. It’s just… it’s just stuff!”

“Oh yeah, then tell me Cathy, is the roof over our heads just stuff? What about the food in our mouths or the clean water, huh? We keep having this argument, but we cannot get over the hump of how exactly we’re supposed to survive outside of these walls! You might think things are bad now. But believe me that they can get much worse!” he shouted back at me. While clenching his teeth, my brother then stomped out the door. I stood there fuming. Until, in a fit of anger, I ripped off my tiara, threw it against the wall, and basked within satisfaction as I observed the glittering jewels scatter and clink upon the floor.

About a week later, Christopher made a request for books on how to teach, and Momma brought them to us. Over the next few days, my brother rapidly devoured roughly eight textbooks while taking notes. I always knew that he was a fast reader, but seeing the skill being fully utilized was still impressive to behold.

While our attic library had grown quite extensive, there was more than one occasion where I noticed a title reemerge within his hands. It made me wonder if he had perhaps finished everything that we owned and was now having to reread them all. I myself had completed the majority of our collection as well in between my numerous hours of stretching and ballet formation.

After Christopher was done with the books, he began to create a daily schedule for the twin’s education. Luckily, we already had that uncanny space for school in the attic, which made the set up easy. But, to say that our little gremlins were less than enthused with their new situation would be a significant understatement. For over a week, Carrie wailed, “I don’t want to do this! I shouldn’t have to do this! You’re both mean!” Meanwhile, Cory cried silent and bitter orbs that rolled down his cheeks.

Through that, we discovered the adult need to sometimes be the bad guy with children. Feeling exasperated, I eventually took all of the twin’s favorite toys and games and placed them up high where their little arms couldn’t reach. I then scolded, “From now on, the two of you will not be able to play with these until all your work is finished. Either Christopher or myself will take them down for you only when you show us your work and prove that it is completed.” My bold forcefulness toward them even surprised Christopher. At first, the little gremlins tried everything to reach the precious objects, even climbing on top of the shelves like monkeys. Until finally, with sour faces, Carrie and Cory sat down in their little wooden desk chairs and fully submitted to their new circumstances.

When that happened, Christopher laughed. Hearing him, my hands went to my hips while my eyes gave him an inquisitive glare. “What?” I asked accusingly. The last thing that I wanted was any condescension from him.

At first, his head cocked back at my tone. However, he seemed to read my mind as he gave a dismissive wave with his right hand. “It’s nothing. Just that you’re really good with them… the twins I mean.” He paused for a moment and seemed to purposefully look away from me before adding, “So, sometimes, it’s kinda fun to see you with them is all.” Christopher then looked back at me with an amused curve to his mouth.

I felt my cheeks grow warm in response and it became my turn to glance away from him. “Thank you,” I then mumbled out.

From then on, each morning after breakfast, we went upstairs and the twins were expected to practice writing all of their letters, both uppercase and lowercase. We then recited all of the alphabet names and sounds. Once all of that was completed, we split up, Cory with Christopher and Carrie with me. And over in the reading nook, we each read a book with our designated younger sibling, swapping back and forth between fiction and non-fiction while explaining what they were. At first, Christopher and I read while modeling with our fingers on how to follow the words. Afterwards, Carrie and Cory would then practice and repeat the process. But, it wasn’t long before they were reading to us without that strong guidance.

For the last part of the morning, they were each provided a notebook. With our help, they were expected to write their name, the date, and one sentence about what they had read. It required a capital letter, space between words, and a period at the end. An illustration was then drawn to go with it. On non-fiction days, Christopher and I showed them how to label their drawings in order to transform them into diagrams. Only after their writing was finished were they allowed to take a break and play with their favorite toys.

After playtime, and then a lunch break, it was their math block. They started by sitting at their desks and practiced writing the numbers one to one-hundred. When finished, the twins would then move to the front of the blackboard for calendar. Christopher had taped off a grid pattern upon the slate surface for that very need. We just had to update the dates with chalk as time wore on. Each day, we practiced days, months, counting, adding, and subtraction. Afterwards, we gave the twins practice problems to complete at their desks and helped them whenever they needed. Once their problems were finished, our little school was done for the day.

While the months passed, Carrie and Cory visibly improved in their lessons. By February, Carrie could read books that used simple phrases and write roughly three sentences completely on her own. Her work often looked like this:

There was a tree.
I liked the tree.
The tree was a evrgreen.

However, when it came to reading and writing, Cory was in a league of his own. Oftentimes, when observing him, I couldn’t help but see a little version of Christopher. Always reading things that were well above his classmates. Even though my little brother was only seven-years-old now, he sat with his big brother each day and comfortably drifted into the text of a chapter book.

Honestly, it wasn’t long before I became somewhat jealous of Christopher. Having to read Dick and Jane stories with Carrie day in and day out was incredibly tedious. And soon enough, I complained to him about her reading skills.

At first, he was confused as to why I was bringing it up. “She’s doing fine, Cathy,” he replied with a shrug. “In fact, she’s right on track. Cory is just really advanced in those areas for his age, but that’s not some kind of a poor reflection on Carrie.”

“I know that, Christopher. That’s not the point!” I snapped back. When he continued to blink his bewilderment at me, I then elaborated, “The point is that if I have to hear ‘See Jane run.’ one more time, then you’re going to see Cathy run right out the window.” My finger pointed to the direction of the dormers to further illustrate my meaning.

The features of his face shifted into understanding as he burst into laughter. I pursed my lips into a small scowl. My mind started to fortify itself into the idea that he didn’t take my problem seriously, and prepared to have an argument. But, as his guffaws calmed, Christopher gasped out in between titters, “Alright. Alright. Then, how about this? You can partner up with Cory tomorrow and then we’ll just trade off each week. That way, you won’t be forced into listening to Dick and Jane all the time.” At that last sentence, his mouth formed a playful and somewhat taunting smirk.

“THANK YOU!” I declared exhaustedly. “I REALLY appreciate that. You have no idea!” My expression must have been half crazed because he giggled even harder at me while shrugging indifference toward the change in routine. As he then walked off, I gratefully shouted, “I love you, Christopher!”

“Yeah, I know,” he answered back nonchalantly.

It was strange. He never said ‘I love you’ to me anymore. I found myself testing him by announcing those words more and more frequently, and then waiting for the same response in return, but it never came.

The next day, I grew excited for partner reading time. At first, Cory was a little stunned when it was me who pulled him aside and not Christopher. His baby blues glanced in the direction of our older brother, who was currently getting settled in with an equally surprised Carrie.

I smiled at his endearing uncertainty. “Cory, since this is our first time reading together, why don’t you pick out what we get to read today?” I then suggested encouragingly. His azure gaze shot back up at me with timid excitement. “Seriously, grab whichever book you want.” I reiterated. At my insistence, Cory stood up with an uncertain slowness. But then suddenly, he bolted to the bookshelves with an elated decisiveness.

As I happily followed him, my mind half expected to have Peter Rabbit presented to me, but I was mildly shocked to look upon a cover that featured the image of a boy looking up at a gray colored tree. An orange peach grew from its branches and absolutely dwarfed the arbor. It was James and the Giant Peach. Cory then sat down on the floor somewhat expectantly, and I shook off my stupor before relaxing beside him and teasing, “What happened to Peter Rabbit?”

A blush came to his cheeks as he stumbled out, “That was before I read very much.” He then added, “But, I do still like it.”

“Fair enough,” I replied with a grin as I handed the book back to him. So, what’s made James and the Giant Peach your new favorite then?”

Cory gazed at the cover affectionately. The way that you might expect a person to look upon a beloved best friend, who understood him both inside and out. His eyes studied the lines and details all about its surface before he finally answered, “James is sad because the women in his family aren’t very nice, but then he runs away with a new family and they live happily ever after in New York.”

My smile dropped upon hearing that. Instinctively, I glanced in Christopher’s direction. Being only a few feet away, he must have overheard us because he was staring right back at me. An entire conversation took place between the two of us with just our worried gaze. This was the first indication that the twins were receptive to any part of what was going on. Carrie and Cory had been so young when we first arrived here. So, apart from that first summer of no longer going outside and a distaste for the food, they behaved like things were normal. To them, this attic was a perfectly normal human existence. Afterall, they knew little else to the contrary.

I broke contact with Christopher first. My lips then forcibly curled upward at my little brother, but my eyes still felt heavy and sad. Without even thinking about it, I scooted closer, wrapped my arm around Cory, and kissed the top of his head. “That sounds like a wonderful story and I can’t wait to hear it,” I stated warmly. And with a beaming grin, my little brother began to read his new favorite book.

Like with reading, once Cory learned how to write, he excelled. In fact, it was difficult to get him to stop. A deep obsession would consume the boy while writing. If Christopher and I had let him, my little brother would have spent all day flying through page after page in his notebook. He normally had such a quiet disposition, especially compared to Carrie. So, while watching him scribble without end, a part of me wondered if the written word was his way of finally talking. His own unique method of having a voice. And based on how much he wrote, the screams of his pen were thunderous.

In the afternoon, it was Carrie who excelled with mathematics. In contrast to Cory, who was much slower and often had to redo problems, Carrie breezed through her math work. Except that, she had a habit of only jotting down the answer, eager to get back to playing with her favorite toys. At that, Christopher or myself would sigh before reminding her that she needed to write down her steps and show her work. To which, her response was always the same. After giving us a slow blink, she would ask in a bratty tone, “Why do I have to write down all of that extra work for something that I can easily do in my head? That’s just dumb.”

Winter turned into spring with a full schedule of teaching the twins during the day and then giving Christopher dance lessons in the late afternoon. Sometimes, he hummed Cheek to Cheek as a joke, causing me to burst out with fits of giggles. While he would most certainly never become a Fred Astaire, at least we had gotten past the box step basics. My brother could now dip and twirl me without stepping on my feet. But even as he knew the steps by heart, his greatest struggle was still seemingly an inability to fully relax, making his movements cumbersome. And as another full year within our attic garden approached, all four of us grew older, paler, and thinner with it.

In May, while taking an afternoon nap on our reading mattress, I bolted upright to the sound of Cory shrieking. Frantically panicking, my eyes searched around for the seven-year-old. Christopher then burst through the door into the attic while adjusting his belt. He must have been using the bathroom the moment that our little brother screamed. I stood up and rubbed crust from my eyes before looking around once more and finally discovering Cory’s small body hunched in the corner of the room with Carrie standing next to him. In observing that they seemed uninjured, Christopher and I looked at one another and relaxed with a relieved sigh.

As we then approached the two of them, I groggily asked, “What’s wrong, Cory?”

The little boy turned to face us and his already pale complexion blanched even whiter as he blurted out an obvious lie. “Nothing!” While speaking, he used his form to hide some kind of object behind him. Christopher and I exchanged incredulous glances before taking a couple more steps closer to investigate. Suddenly, our little brother shouted out, “Please, don’t kill him. Oh PLEASE, don’t kill him! He’s my friend!”

Yet again, my older brother and I briefly turned toward each other and blinked in surprise. Then, looking back at the twins, I replied reassuringly, “We’re not going to do anything, Cory. We just want to see what the commotion was about.” Nervously, our little brother fidgeted in guilt. His eyes were staring at the floor as his anxious gears visibly rotated their options. Until finally, he got up and handed us what it was that he had been protecting.

Even to this day, I am absolutely convinced that young children would all make excellent stage magicians if they simply had the discipline for it. Somehow, within the one minute time span between scream and our coming over, the twins had managed to find a shoe box, trap a creature inside of it, and cut air holes into the lid. I couldn’t even detect any scissors lying nearby to explain how they had made those holes. Curiously, my fingers lifted the top and it was my turn to squeal. My startled hands nearly dropped the entire thing, scaring both of the twins in the process, because inside of the box was a small gray mouse.

“Can we keep him?! I promise that I’ll feed and take care of him.”

With a repulsed shudder, I thrust the container into Christopher’s grasp as quickly as possible. I then forced a smile onto my face that felt more like an appalled grimace. “Cory, it’s not that we don’t want you to have a pet,” I started to explain as warmly as my voice could fake. “But, a mouse isn’t really the kind of animal for that. For one thing, we don’t know where it’s been. So, if it scratches or bites you, then you could get really sick.”

Beside me, Christopher was lifting the lid and taking his own peek. “Yeah Cory, I’m not exactly sure how long the thing has to live anyway. Honestly, it looks kind of old and slow,” he then stated factually.

“Please don’t get rid of him! I love him! I promise that I’ll be careful!” With that, desperate tears began to weep down Cory’s small cheeks.

And once her twin started crying, Carrie flew into a protective tantrum and began to beat at Christopher and I with her small fists. As she pounded away at us, our little gremlin screamed out, “You guys are mean! You never let us have anything that we want! We never get to have any fun! All Cory wants is a friend and you won’t even let him have that!” Surprised by her, Christopher’s long arms held the box high out of reach for the safety of both it and Carrie.

My eyes squinted incredulity at my little sister. From the way that she described things, you would think that Christopher and I didn’t spend most of our waking hours playing and reading with the two of them. However, I could feel my resolve start to crack like an egg at the sight of Cory bawling and Carrie defending him. Finally, I sighed and groaned out, “Alright… But, he has to stay up here. If Momma, or WORSE, the grandmother, finds him, then we’ll be in for it. Also, you are not to physically handle him until we’re sure that he’s not going to hurt you.” As the words left my mouth, my body cringed all over. Without saying a word, Christopher then gently handed the box back to the twins.

While holding the container, Carrie and Cory began to jump up and down with childish enthusiasm over the new family pet. “Careful not to shake the thing!” I snapped. “Remember that there’s a… living creature in there.” I wasn’t sure what was giving me greater anxiety at that moment. The fact that I was actually capitulating to keeping a mouse or the idea of the twins sobbing after accidentally killing the poor little thing right on day one!

Instantly, they stopped jostling the object before Carrie then blurted out, “Where should we keep it, Cory? The box is kinda small for a proper house.”

My little brother thought for a moment before suggesting, “How about the birdcage, Carrie? It’s plenty big enough.”

Her eyes widened with excited agreement before they then ran over to a large golden cage that was missing a wire. It was one of the items that we had sat off to the side because we were not entirely sure of what to do with it. Sometimes, we used it as a prop for one of our plays. But until now, the gilded thing had never had a consistent use.

In watching the two of them, my fingers started to rub my temples in an attempt to fight off the oncoming headache. Meanwhile, still standing beside me, I could hear Christopher chuckling.

“I canNOT believe that I have just agreed to this,” I complained to him.

At my whining, his laughter grew even louder. Teasingly, he said, “I’m going to go help them put the mouse in the birdcage.” Then suddenly, his lips pecked me on the cheek and he started to walk backwards toward the twins while giving me a dopey and taunting grin. I don’t even think that the now sixteen-year-old fully registered what he had just done. It left me in shock. Instead of sassing back, I touched the spot on my face. The sensation tingled as though his spirit was still kissing me there. That’s when his expression shifted as realization dawned. His countenance became one of embarrassed panic as his lips clamped tightly and his throat made a large uncomfortable gulp. He then immediately spun around and went to offer his assistance to our siblings. And for the rest of the evening, it seemed like Christopher purposefully avoided me.

That night, Cory made sure to leave bread in our new pet’s wire spun home. And as the twins jumped into their bed, his small voice asked, “What do you think we should name him?”

“How about Charlie?” I offered. I had recently finished reading Flowers for Algernon and became temporarily obsessed with the book. Also, since the name of the main character started with a C and the story had featured a mouse, it seemed fitting.

At my suggestion, Cory’s grin beamed and I knew that it would be the name that we would go with. With a roll of my eyes and a small upward turn to my lips, I watched my little brother get settled into the bed while I pulled the comforter up over his shoulder.

And with a contented smile on his face, the happy seven-year-old tiredly mumbled out, “Goodnight, Momma.”

I stopped. Instantly, those words sunk their burdenous responsibility into me. My hands shook from them. At only the age of fourteen, I didn’t want this! I wanted our Momma, our REAL Momma. Not that imposter downstairs who went sailing while her children wasted away in the dark. And yet, I knew that it was true. Through the sweet voice of a little boy who adored his mother and knew that he was cherished in return, the honesty of my situation had finally been exposed to the open air. The twins were no longer hers. They were mine. In fact, they had been mine for a very long time now. Mine… and Christopher’s. So, with new tears in my eyes, I bent down, kissed the top of Cory’s head, and said the only thing that I could as my reply right then. “Goodnight, my love.”

Chapter Text

As our third Summer within the attic rolled along, four rectangles started to show themselves upon the wood floor in front of the dormer windows. The paper flora, that were continuously touched by the pouring in sunlight, began to bleach and wilt. Ideally, we might have taken up a flower craft to change out the paling blooms with. But without Momma’s regular visits to replace our art supplies, we were stuck with them. Slowly but surely, our garden was transforming back into what it had been before, a dingy place of hopelessness where all things were left to be forgotten.

Once the temperature grew hot and uncomfortable, it seemed like Christopher and I fought nearly every single day. In these arguments, I insisted that we all run, leave this place before things got worse here. But my brother claimed that it was better for us to stay. He insisted that surviving on our own would be even harder than life in the attic, and that our patience would ultimately be rewarded once the grandfather died and Momma released us. The two of us got absolutely nowhere with each other as things just aggressively devolved into shouts and near screams.

And when we weren’t fighting about running away, we had strange arguments. These were not our usual affectionate tauntings and bickerings that passed back and forth between us, but mean spirited insults. Oftentimes, it was my brother who would start things. Whether it was not wanting to join me and the twins during our sunbathing time or me changing into various costumes for our plays, just about everything that I did seemed to aggravate Christopher and trigger him into snapping at me. And at the time, I couldn’t understand why.

One morning after the grandmother got her Bible quotes and dropped off our food, I pulled myself into my leotard and began performing routine ballet stretches. Meanwhile, Christopher was lounging in his usual reading spot upon the mattress. I hadn’t so much as glanced in his direction when he then sneered, “I swear Cathy, do you do ANYTHING besides just practicing ballet?” Hearing him, I stumbled for a moment before shaking my head and continuing. Internally, I warned myself to just ignore him while positioning my body through the basic forms. But to my even greater irritation, he spoke again, “I mean. You should at least think about covering up. Unless of course, you want to give guys the idea that you’re easy when we eventually get out of here.”

That stopped me completely, and instantly turned my mood foul. Spinning around to face him, my voice defensively shrieked out, “Excuse me! This is a normal ballerina uniform. So, what do you mean by ‘covering up?!’ Also, you’re one to talk with how often you parade around in nothing but your boxers!”

Now angry, Christopher bolted up and stomped over until he stood right in front of me. “Well, what am I supposed to do, Cathy?” he protested. “It gets annoying to constantly have to go to the closet or bathroom just to change clothes.”

“And what exactly makes you think that my situation is any different?” I yelled back.

Even with the attic, our living quarters were just so small. The four of us bumped into one another almost daily as privacy was mostly just something that existed in our library’s fiction. Two years of unfulfilled threats had dampened our concerns over the consequences of any rule breaking. So, constantly trying to maneuver ourselves into not having boys and girls be indecent in front of each other became a greater hassle than its worth as the horror of our mother’s whipped back faded within long-term memory. But we should have remembered it.

For a handful of infuriating seconds, Christopher and I stood about a foot apart and fumed. His teeth clenched while his eyes glared. After the way that he had spoken to me, I had even more trouble controlling my own temper. And eventually, unable to contain my rage, I began to furiously smack him in the chest with my hands. Not hard enough to cause any severe injury, but just fiercely enough to make myself feel better. “You have been SUCH an insufferable jerk lately!” I complained while beating at his upper torso. “Seriously, what has been wrong with you?!”

His angry blue storms gave way to shock at what I was doing. Instinctively, he took a step back, before snapping out of that initial bewilderment and protectively grabbing my wrists in order to halt my movements. “Stop HITTING me, Cathy!” he shouted.

Like a shackled animal, I attempted to twist and pull myself free from his two vices. His grip was tight enough to hurt. “Let go of me. Let go of me!” I gnashed out before thrashing a couple more times. He reacted to my wrenching for freedom by yanking me back until my body accidentally flew forward and slammed into him. An audible puff of air escaped from his mouth in the collision, but he somehow managed to maintain a standing balance.

With my face and hands now upon Christopher’s chest, I stood there awkwardly. Embarrassed feelings of blushing foolishness cascaded upwards along my neck and into my cheeks. They kept me in place. Until slowly, I forced myself to un-statue as I looked up at his countenance. My lungs then inhaled and exhaled with a new feeling of panic because our eyes quickly locked. His fingers were still looped tightly around my wrists, keeping me pinned to him.

There were times when I could sense a strange pull between the two of us. A double edged desire to be just a little bit closer, that was always then followed by discomfort and confusion. My heart drummed with this and I think that Christopher could feel it too. I watched as his own terrified blues went from my eyes to my lips. They lingered there and started to change from nervous to appearing sad… lonely even. A creature hungry for something just out of his reach. Then his whole face changed into a grimace, like he suddenly found himself to be in pain. And with a final grunt of exasperation, he threw my arms down, walked over to pick up his book, and started to head for the door.

“Where are you going?” I called after him.

“I’m taking a shower and then reading downstairs! So just stay away from me, Cathy! God!” he yelled back.

After he was gone, I grabbed the nearest pillow off of our reading bed and screamed into it with all of my lung’s might. Once I felt more calmed down, I walked over to the full length mirror with a crack in it and looked upon the fractaled image of myself. My shabby and stained leotard was proof that Momma had not replaced my ballet clothes for some time. The fabric shaped itself upon my form just a little too snuggly. It was probably time for me to go up a size.

Normally, I went through my leotards as quickly as others went through Kleenex while suffering from a cold. Having become more holes than stretchy blush colored fabric, my tights had long been thrown into the trunk that we set aside to use as our attic waste bin. So, it was now just my bare legs sticking out of the uniform’s main piece. On top of that, the cloth of the leotard itself was also beginning to wear thin in some otherwise immodest places. Observing it all, I couldn’t help but consider that perhaps Christopher had been right. My appearance had become indecent. I sighed in exhaustion. It wasn’t my fault that I hadn’t gotten any new clothes recently. So, what was I supposed to use?

I walked back over to the game table and slumped into one of its chairs. My elbow rested upon the object’s smooth wood surface, while my face leaned against and sulked into my hand. So many different forms of frustration existed within me that I no longer had the ability to separate them out or even understand where they came from. They mixed themselves all together into a messy tie dye within both my head and my heart. Soon after, tiny fingers poked at my thigh, wanting my attention. Cognition slowly emerged from my self-pitying stupor as my eyelids blinked upon the twins standing beside me. Beaming grins stretched across their two eager faces as Cory held a folded piece of paper.

Within the boy’s shirt pocket, I could detect the small movements of Charlie wriggling around inside of it. Cory often kept food in there for the bijou rodent to snack on as he travelled around with his small human. For weeks after catching him, my little brother had worked hard at earning the little critter’s trust. The seven-year-old constantly fed the mouse cheese and bread until it practically lived on Cory’s shoulder and in his shirt pocket. Occasionally, the joyful sounds of my little brother giggling filled the room as Charlie skittered across his arms or snuffled at his neck and hair, tickling the boy in the process.

“Cory and I made a card,” Carrie explained. “We thought that it might cheer you and Daddy up. So, please don’t fight anymore, Momma.”

My reaction to Carrie’s words was immediate. “Stop calling us that!” I lashed back at her without thinking. “It is CATHY and CHRISTOPHER!”

After that first night where Cory had called me Momma, it wasn’t long until my little sister started doing it too. From there, Christopher soon became Daddy. I winced whenever they said those designations. They tore at my soul. On the one hand, I experienced a loving adult flattery. The title signified what I meant to the twins, a mother. But I also experienced an immature desire to reject the attached responsibility that came with it. I wanted to protectively maintain the dream of eventually gaining back my carefree youth. Ultimately, they made me yearn for a Momma and Daddy who were long gone.

At my harsh tone, the twins immediately drew back and tears of confused hurt started to form within their eyes. “We’re sorry,” Carrie mumbled.

Seeing the twin’s saddened faces, guilt quickly took over me and I backpedaled away from my angry demeanor. After all, my kaleidoscope of bitterness wasn’t their fault. “No, I’M sorry,” I corrected. “Come here, you two,” I then called as my arms guided each of them closer before my lips apologetically pecked the top of their heads. Continuing to imitate what I pictured a good mother would do, I graciously took the twin’s gift and looked it over. The object was less a card and more just a picture. As far as I could tell through twig fingers and straw hair, it was a depiction of the four of us. We had somehow managed to make it to the beach by way of a giant flying peach. My lips burst forth a giggle at the adorable absurdity of it.

“We worked on it together,” Carrie declared ever so proudly.

“This is so thoughtful,” I stated before handing it back to them. “Go ahead and show Christopher as well. He’ll love it too.” I watched as the two of them then scampered down the stairwell.

All during those days of fighting with my brother, I was still having that dream of the tall, shadowed over dance partner performing Swan Lake with me. In fact, it was occurring every night. Wanting and longing overtook my soul as the ballet went on. And in the morning, I always woke up unfulfilled to the sound of an interrupting alarm. A device that informed me of how it was time to ready my Bible quote and deceitfully present myself as the kind of lady who didn’t have such dreams. It was ironic. Supposedly, these practices made us less sinful. And yet, I couldn’t remember ever lying before we came to this place. Morally speaking, all that I seemed to be learning about was the need to keep secrets from adults.

However, the rouge colored triptec that hung upon our bedroom wall served as its own lesson. Sometimes, careless actions can have dire consequences.

It had been my turn to clean the schoolroom that week. While dusting the erasers, my mind was distracted as I smacked the fuzzy black surfaces together just a little too close to my body. When chalk particles tickled my nostrils, I snapped back into reality. Looking down, there was now a white powder fog all over the front of my watermelon colored sundress. While listening to the sounds of the twins giggling at me in the background, I sighed. “I’m going to go down and get changed,” I then announced at a careless volume. As my feet trudged down the stairs, I didn’t notice that Christopher never so much as raised his head from his book in response.

Inside of our closet, I pulled down my parakeet dress with a thin emerald belt off of the hanger. I then went over to the vanity and held the replacement outfit in front of my body in order to admire the different look. The verdant coloring of the silk fabric gave my naturally blue irises a turquoise-like appearance. After two years, all of our cotton wardrobes had been replaced with the best clothes that money could buy. And within our finery, the four of us truly looked like porcelain dolls, only thinner. Setting the new outfit aside, I pulled my current sundress up over my head and let the thing splash onto the floor.

Normally, I changed in and out of clothes as quickly as possible for a sibling would often be waiting right outside the door for their turn to use the bathroom or closet space. But right now, I was completely alone. No one was standing by or standing in line. So, before putting on the new dress, I paused to admire myself. The vanity mirror was much larger than the one set into the bathroom medicine cabinet, which allowed me to see much more of my body than usual. Curiosity then got the better of me. Somewhat nervously, my eyes briefly checked around to reconfirm my solitude before I then unclasped my bra and removed my underwear.

Standing there naked, my eyes gazed over powerful legs first. Playfully, I stood up on my toes and watched as hard calves flexed under strong thighs that slightly bulged. I then lifted lean, muscular arms above my head into a fifth position that was on pointe. A giggle escaped from my mouth at the reflection of myself. My mind couldn’t quite decide if I looked really pretty or just a little bit silly while doing this. So, I lowered my arms back down and took a second look at my middle. Hills of rigid abs sat below a slightly visible rib cage. My fingers touched that muscle structure with a narcissistic pride. Lastly, my eyes moved upward and looked upon my chest with a contrasting emotional mixture of vanity and disappointment. My two mounds had continued to grow, but were still not as big as I had wished them to be.

Then, resuming my playfulness, my toes went back on pointe as I spun around into numerous pirouettes. Beginning to feel dizzy and lightheaded, I then stopped with a showy flair and bent my body into a cambré. Looking into the mirror, my gaze became dazzled by the way that my form twisted and contorted within that backbending state. My neck stretched itself into a womanly, submissive pose while my chest was thrusted upward into the open air. Lastly, my lips gaped open ever so slightly to complete the look, and in that small moment, I felt truly beautiful.

But, within the mirror’s reflection, I caught the dark shape of another human being and spun around with a panicked gasp. A pounding thundered in my chest as my sight looked upon Christopher lurking beside the closet. Time stopped as the two of us stood before eachother like frozen deer about to die. The jaw dropped stare that he gave me was frightening. A starved madness invaded his eyes as those azure lasers visibly scanned from the top of my head all the way down to the tips of my toes.

My thoughts raced at the same speed as my heartbeat. What was he doing here? After I had expressly stated that I was going to change, had Christopher come downstairs on purpose? Beginning to regain my senses, a humiliated, and somewhat angry, rouge overtook my entire face. My hand then went for the parakeet dress in order to cover myself.

“Don’t!” he shouted, sounding delirious. I halted with the silk fisted in my grasp. After that verbal slip, Christopher’s mind returned into some sanity as he forced his gaze to look away from me. Agony grimaced all over his features and his breathing shuddered as he internally warred within himself about propriety, responsibility, and sinfulness. But, losing the battle, he slowly gave my body another glance. Yet, as he did so, his body trembled violently and shame poured off of him like the ocean’s tides crashing upon a rocky shore.

Inside of my heart, I was confronting my own version of guilt. I felt like this was a little bit my fault. And feeling vulnerable, I wished to sheath away my body. But strangely, I also didn’t want to do that.

It was right at that confusing instance when the sound of the latch completely chilled my blood with a new fear. Quickly, I grabbed the dress and threw it over my head. But, my reaction could not move fast enough. By the time that my arms made it through the sleeves and the skirt finished flowing down to my ankles, the Tin-Woman stood in our room. Her heartless glare was repeatedly bouncing suspicion between Christopher and myself. Then, her expression transformed into a sneer of righteous superiority. “I knew that I would catch your wickedness sooner or later,” she declared triumphantly. Her words poisoned the air as she spoke. My body shook in terror at them and I wanted to cry.

“Oh please, you didn’t CATCH anything!” Christopher then snapped back.

“Your sister was naked and you claim that it was nothing?” her voice boomed in warning.

“I accidentally walked in on Cathy while she was changing. That’s all that you saw,” Christopher replied irritably. His face then shifted into haughty arrogance. The expression that he often developed whenever he got mad, but didn’t want to show it. “Man, you are so obvious,” he then sneered at her. “You’ve kept us locked in this one room for over two years and thought that we would never see each other? NO… you’ve been waiting for something to happen, wanting it to even, because then you think that all of your mean spirited hatred will be justified if it does. But, this isn’t even about us. All of this fake piety is just you acting out some sort of a personal vendetta that you have against our parents. The fact is that you’re nothing but an ugly and vicious person who is only capable of feeling any joy in her life when she’s tormenting helpless kids, her own grandchildren even!” With that, Christopher paused for a heartbeat and smiled an absolutely devilish grin. “And if I can understand that much, then what do you think GOD can see? Face it Granny, you’re going to Hell!”

“Christopher!” I started to scold, but stopped. My tongue was petrified and cumbersome in my mouth. I watched in horror as the old woman stood there with her fists and teeth clenched tight. Had she been a real mechanical Tin-Woman, fresh steam or smoke would have probably escaped from her ears. I half expected her to pounce and beat us both right then and there. Christopher had taken things too far and now I was unsure of what the grandmother would do in retaliation. But, to my relief, the old woman just stormed out the door without saying another word to either of us. A moment passed before I felt calm enough to whip my gaze back to the direction of my brother. “What were you thinking in saying those things to her?” I chided out at him.

“Oh please, you know full well that everything I said was completely true,” he sassed back defensively.

“That doesn’t mean that you should open your big mouth, take an already bad situation, and make it even worse! You idiot!”

His eyes bulged at that, “Yeah! Well, I wasn’t the one prancing around naked right in the middle of our shared bedroom. So, what were YOU thinking?! Idiot!”

“I said that I was going to get changed. Knowing that, why did you even come down at all?!” I then shouted accusingly.

Confusion blinked into Christopher’s eyes, “Okay, all I knew was that when I looked up from my book, you had suddenly disappeared. The twins just said that you had gone downstairs. So, I was only coming to check on you. I had no idea that you were getting undressed.”

As though they could hear their older brother talking about them, Carrie and Cory poked their heads through the closet. I supposed that they must have been waiting upstairs for us long enough to get bored and curious. However, the familiar sight of their older siblings arguing instantly put pouty faces on them both. It wasn’t long before my little sister then approached me, tugged at my dress like a bell pull, and pleaded, “Can you two stop fighting?” Hearing her words, Christopher and I sighed at each other, embarrassed that our little gremlin was having to advise us on how to behave.

That’s when we all heard the latch turn again and fresh terror shot through my bloodstream. Recognizing the possible meaning to the sound, Cory ran behind me in a nervous state, followed by Carrie. A couple seconds later, the grandmother entered and confirmed my fear that it was her returning, and not our mother. The fact that the old woman had come back was not a good sign. Protectively, I repositioned the twins even further behind my back. My eyes glanced at the closet door. It was possible that I could grab the two of them and make a run for the attic stairwell. But from where everyone was standing, the Tin-Woman was closer to the door than we were.

A green willow stitch was clasped firmly in her hand. The barbed branch must have been plucked fresh from her garden. While seething at Christopher, the Tin-Woman ordered in a tone that was solid ice, “Take off your shirt and get into the bathroom, boy. A lesson clearly needs to be learned here.” Now scared for my brother, my eyes darted away from the closet and stared at him instead.

But, with a teenage overconfidence, Christopher dared back, “Oh, I’d like to see you try it.” At his current height, he was now a couple of inches taller than the Tin-Woman. If he wanted to, he could at least put up a good fight against her.

The grandmother’s back straightened at his defiance. “You brought this upon yourself, boy. I’ve been needing to teach you the importance of respect for quite some time. So now, do as you're told!”

“No!”

Her chin then rose in a peacocked display of her clear superiority to the four of us. “If you continue in your refusal to obey, then I shall not only whip you, but the others as well.”

She then looked at the three of us. I gasped. “Christopher…” my voice whispered as I took a step back from her. My hands nudged the twins into doing the same. I was scared. Would we be able to protect Carrie and Cory from the grandmother’s wrath if she truly set her sights upon them?

Christopher’s head followed her line of sight until his gaze hooked into my own. I’ve never witnessed the eyes of a Stallion as it breaks, but I imagine that they look something like the way that his did right then. All of his youngblood strength shattered into despair. I could tell from his grief that he was picturing it in his mind. Me and the twins being whipped, and just the mental image of it made him twitch in a fight against forming tears. I don’t know how long our eyes spoke to one another in that wordless conversation. Speaking a silence that was sad, scared, and sorrowful. The whimpers of the twins were the only noises that broke the stillness between the two of us.

Finally, with his head hung low, Christopher turned around, trudged toward the bathroom, and began aggressively yanking his shirt apart. I half expected to hear the buttons of it land upon the floor with little plastic thuds. “Let’s just get this over with,” he sneered out bitterly. While following him into the bathroom, the Tin-Woman’s grin widened with victory as she closed the door behind them. That smile made me want to grab her willow switch and lash her across the face with it.

“What’s the grandmother gonna do with Christopher?” Carrie then cried out.

My eyes observed the bathroom door. I would have given nearly anything to intervene, but I couldn’t risk the twin’s safety. “It’s gonna be okay,” I lied. Then, as I guided them onto one of the beds, I soothed, “Just hold onto me, close your eyes, and think of something that you love.” Their faces were nervous, but they did as they were told. Afterwards, I held their heads tightly to my chest to cover one ear and placed my hands over each of their other ones.

It didn’t take long before the sound of lashes, followed by Christopher’s grunts of pain, could be heard through the door. I flinched each time that I heard him as the rising ache in my heart longed for the ability to cover my own ears, but my hands were full. My fingers tightened upon the twins with every whip crack until it became surprising that I wasn’t accidentally smothering them.

In hearing Christopher’s pain, a devastating empathy took hold of me. It was as though I was the one in the bathroom and experiencing the barbs of the willow switch. With each snap… snap… snap, my body became increasingly hot, tears stung at my eyes, and my teeth clenched ever harder until I accidentally bit my cheek and tasted copper pennies in liquid form. This was the agony of having to sit back and do nothing while someone you love is on the line. It hurt. More and more my soul cried within me, feeling like it was catching on fire. Burning in a Hell that was unlike the one that the grandmother referred to so obsessively often, but a hell nonetheless. Time ticked by seconds that felt like minutes while I forced myself to endure. Until ultimately, my mouth quietly mumbled out, “I can’t do this.” Then, my voice found its metal as I declared even more loudly, “I CAN’T DO THIS!”

Immediately, my hands released the twins' ears and I grasped each of them by their small fists. Their faces gave way to scared surprise as I led them over to the closet. Standing in front of the door, I then knelt down before them. “Carrie, Cory, I need you to listen to me right now, okay? This is REALLY important! I want the two of you to go upstairs and STAY in the attic. No matter what you hear, don’t come back down for ANYONE, except Christopher or myself.” I then grabbed the picnic basket and handed it to Cory. “Take this with you in case you get hungry.”

“Are you leaving us?!” Carrie whined in a panic.

“No, I’m not leaving you,” I replied. “I promise. I’m gonna come for you as soon as I can. Just play with your toys and keep eachother safe until then.” I kissed their cheeks and the top of their heads. Right then, I think that I could have given them all of the kisses that exist within the world and it still would not have been enough. But I forced myself to stop, opened the closet door, and cried out, “Now, go! Go! GO!” With worried jitters, the two of them ran to the secret door within the walk in, opened it, and slowly ascended up the steep steps. I watched them until they were out of my sight before closing the closet door.

My focus immediately pivoted to the bathroom. The sounds of the lash were STILL cracking into Christopher’s flesh. How long did the Tin-Woman intend to beat a teenage boy? How many marks were supposed to be displayed upon his back by the end of this? Was she even counting?

Without further wait, my feet flew to the door and my fists began to frantically pound against the pine surface. The portal shook and banged upon its frame from the force. The hinges creaked. “STOP HURTING HIM!” I then screamed out with the lungs of a powerful banshee. “Just leave him alone! It was me! It was my fault! I was the wicked one! Punish ME! Do you hear me? I did it! It was ME!”

I then started to use my whole body in order to slam into that locked wooden barrier. I was completely feral, determined to break the thing down and get to Christopher. The sound that boomed forth from my crazed and animalistic might was thunderous. Its strength echoed my own determination. Even though the noise was loud, I no longer cared about who might hear it. Let them come! Let them all come and SEE! Let the grandparents experience the humiliation and gossip of high society as the truth exposed itself that the four of us had indeed been born! That we dared to exist in the world!

In response to my calamity, the grandmother immediately opened the door in an absolute rage. My eyes quickly caught sight of Christopher. He was leaning against the side of the tub for support and appeared to be an absolute ghost of a human being. Through labored breathing, his eyes squinted at me like he couldn’t fully register what was going on around him. Until his shaky voice husked out, “Cathy…?”

It was then that the Tin-Woman lunged and started to repeatedly hit me with her switch again and again. This wasn’t the controlled, rhythmic whips that she had been giving Christopher, it was a frenzy of wrathful flailing. The barbs of her whipping tool scratched at my face, my arms, my neck, anything that could be reached to thrash upon. The old woman’s eyes bulged and her teeth nashed. Her normally immaculate bun sprouted numerous flyways that curled from the humidity of her own perspiration as she beat me as fast and hard as she was able. Slowing down only as signs of fatigue began to show, but still not stopping. She was more like a demon than a human being.

I quickly fell to the floor and curled into a protective ball. I used my arms as a shield for my face and head as I felt a flurry of unending stings all over. Then, I heard Christopher shout, “Don’t touch her!” At his voice, my eyes cautiously looked up to see him shakily jump at the Tin-Woman, grab the willow stitch within her hand, and attempt to free it from her grasp. The force of them both pulling on it soon caused the thing to break. With fresh blood now marking his palm, he visibly winced as it snapped before falling backwards onto the bathroom tile from his unsteady footing.

I quickly got up, wanting to run to him. But, with her whip now destroyed, the Tin-Woman thoughtlessly grabbed the nearest object, which happened to be the small red vase that sat upon our dining table and held dried yellow chrysanthemums inside, and swung at me with it. Strangely enough, the porcelain striking my head didn’t hurt right then, it just made the world fuzzy and unfocused. And as I went down, even though my eyes were fully open at the time, all I can recall is the sound of Christopher screaming my name and the faint sunny color of dead flowers falling to the ground with me. Then, everything went black.

At first, I was alone in the dark. I stared at myself. My form had changed into the white angelic tutu of Swan Lake. A laurel crown of snowy feathers wrapped around my tightly pinned up hair. Wistfully, I began to absentmindedly dance, enjoying my beautiful outfit and the feeling of being romantic within these clothes. I danced and danced until my body started to experience relaxation. My limbs became damp with sweat as my mind released all stress and memory of the horrible events that had brought me to this place. But it was also lonely. Longing began to take over my heart as my mind pondered over where my shadowed over partner could possibly be. It wasn’t like my silent Prince Charming to make me wait and wonder. My eyes searched into that eternal dark void.

Initially, it seemed as though he was nowhere to be found. Until at last, his form stood a short way off. His face yet again darkly cast over. Had he been watching me this whole time or had my wanting caused him to appear out of whatever thin air it is that dreams are made of? Without a word, he stretched his hand out to me.

I gasped in delight and ran to his arms. Elation took my soul as he grabbed my waist and lifted me high into the air. My arms stretched out like wings that were about to take flight. Then, I was slowly lowered back down within his strong and stable grasp. Instinctively, my hands looped around his neck and the thought crossed my mind to give my gentle princely suitor a kiss on the lips. As my pointed toes once again touched the ground, the black pearls of my ocean blue eyes locked onto his invisible ones. Even though I couldn’t see them, I felt them. He was gazing back at me.

Then, breaking our connection, his swift movements twisted me into a fish dive and he began to whisper, “You haven’t changed at all. After all this time, you are still the most beautiful of dancers.” Having experienced variations of this dream many nights, never once had my dancing prince spoken to me. It nearly startled me into losing form. While bending and twisting my body with his own, he continued to speak, “From the very first time that I saw you dance, I knew right then that I needed to learn how to as well. I wanted to have you, to keep you dancing in my arms for all eternity.” Listening to his words, confusion gnawed at me. A bewilderment that was eating away at the dream’s spell of beautiful, unending dance. The voice, it was familiar. A sound from a faded memory locked deep inside of my heart. “Corrine, let me keep you. Please, dance with me forever,” the voice then pleaded longingly.

I stopped my movements and briefly froze after being called by Momma’s name. No longer dancing, I slowly turned around to look at my partner, REALLY look at him for the first time. No longer shadowed over, the face that was smiling back at me was my father’s. Suddenly, I felt ill. All of this time, the dancer of my dreams had been Daddy?

Horrified, I took several steps away until I accidentally tripped. Continuing to try and escape, I then crab crawled as fast as this unconscious realm would allow. As our distance from each other slowly widened, Daddy’s arm stretched out for me and his face contorted into one that showed pain. Not a realistic sadness, but the acted out, beautiful version of sorrow that ballet performers used whenever they mimed the grief of having to be parted from their lover.

Then, right in front of me, his form began to get slightly smaller and change. It was growing younger. Until at last, the dancer was no longer Daddy, but Christopher Jr. standing before me. His youthful lips were stretched into a grin that beamed softness and gentle teasing. A common expression of his that could never quite decide if it wanted to taunt or compliment me. I knew that smile so well. It was a face that he gave me almost every single day. One that made my eyes roll and cheeks blush at the same time. My heart thundered within my chest as I watched his mouth then utter the words, “I love you, Cathy.”

Suddenly, my eyes opened into a much brighter world. Everything was fuzzy, but I could swear that I sensed a hand caressing my cheek. Then, as my vision cleared, I caught the sight of Christopher gazing down upon me. At first, I jolted in a panic, but then relaxed. This was the real Christopher, not something frightening that my subconscious had formed into thought. I quickly realized that that Christopher had only been a dream.

“Oh, thank God!” he gasped out while hovering over. The first thing to catch my notice was that his scleras were bloodshot and the lids were pink. Had he been crying? I started to sit up, only to feel an oncoming headache so severe that my eyesight blurred in it. My head soon fell back onto my pillow with a groan. “Easy!” Christopher scolded. Feeling an odd dampness on my forehead, I then reached up and touched a wet washcloth. “Here, let me freshen that up for you,” he offered somewhat frantically. “I also got a bucket by your bedside in case you need to throw up.” He then grabbed the terry cloth, went to the bathroom to rinse it in cold water, and laid it back on across my forehead. The blissful relief was immediate.

Then, Carrie and Cory’s frightened faces popped into memory. “The twins!” I shouted while attempting to sit up a second time. But once again, my head ached like an axe was splitting it open.

In reaction, Christopher’s hand came down upon me, forcing me back onto the bed. “Stop trying to push yourself!” he shouted. Then, with a sigh and a calmer voice, he added, “The twins are fine. I’ve been checking on them periodically while taking care of you.”

Feeling relief over their safety, I turned over on my side. My stomach was starting to feel nauseous and I wondered if maybe I was about to need that bucket. While laying there, I grew conscious of the fact that not only did my head hurt, but my arms ached as well. I glanced down at them and noticed that they were wrapped in gauze. “What happened to the grandmother?” I then asked with a groan.

There was a short pause before he answered. “After you were knocked unconscious, she left. I think that what happened… might have scared her too,” he then speculated. Soothing fingers then raked themselves through my hair and my throat whimpered with appreciation at the affection. “Why did you have to go and do that, Cathy? It was only supposed to be me that got beat up,” he chided. His tone was sad as he did so.

With a defensive exasperation, I started to argue. “You would have done the same thing if it had been me in the bathroom.”

“Yes, but I’m a man.”

“Oh please, hardly,” I grumbled mockingly.

Christopher sighed at that and I expected him to say something snide back. But instead, he surprised me as I felt him grasp my hand. “Cathy, can we not fight?” he then pleaded. Mildly confused, I shifted in order to better observe him. His lips were pursed together and his fingers started to tremble as they laced themselves within my own. His voice was shaky as he spoke, “It’s just that I’m… I’m really happy that you’re awake and… going to be okay. I don’t think that you fully understand how truly happy I am right now.” It was still difficult to fully focus and notice details, but I saw him wipe his face with his free hand. A bandage had been securely tied around it.

Eventually, Christopher released my hand and laid down beside me. I in turn rolled over in order to face him. He was quiet, so unusually quiet as we gazed at each other. Minutes went by within that calm silence. There was no need for words. Because this moment wasn’t about talking, but just breathing and being alive. Then, he winced in some pain, and our connection broke.

“Has your back been taken care of?” I asked, feeling a little bit concerned.

Shifting uncomfortably, he replied, “Well, I took care of what I could reach.”

“Hmm, in that case, I could help with the rest if you need,” I then offered.

His eyes scanned me for a moment, considering the situation and its options. Finally, he answered, “Okay, but stay laying down on your side. You’re not well enough to sit up yet.” Christopher then got up from the bed and started walking toward the bathroom. For the first time since waking up, I noticed red lines across the back of his shirt. He also hadn’t tucked it in. The fabric simply hung loose over his pants. A pain choked at my chest from the sight of it.

A few minutes later, he returned with a bowl and a washcloth. “I had to dilute some of our antiseptic in water. Otherwise, we would have run out,” he explained. With that, he started to undo his shirt buttons. Which was easy because he hadn’t fastened them all to begin with. He had only done just enough to keep the top closed. While pulling the sleeves off of his shoulders, he flinched before then dropping the article to the floor.

Once his shirt was removed, Christopher laid back down on the bed with his back facing toward me. Numerous red scratches were all over, making an eerie grid pattern upon the pale surface. Streaks of blood had visibly seeped from a number of the cuts for who knew how long. And having yet to be washed off, the mess had all dried and turned brown. The image of it left me wishing that I had tried to break down the bathroom door sooner, and I wondered if any of it might scar up. I dipped the washcloth into the solution and began to gently pat at the marks. At first, he twitched at the contact. I stopped, nervous over the possibility of causing him more pain.

“Sorry if it stings,” I mumbled guiltily.

“It’s fine,” he replied calmly. “I mean. It hurts a little, but it also… feels nice.” His body appeared to shrink within itself after saying those words. “This was all my fault,” he then lamented.

Hearing him, my eyes went downcast. “No, that woman has been waiting for a reason to hurt us. Honestly, I’m amazed that she even held back for this long. Besides, I was the one who was reckless with my changing dresses.”

“No, Cathy,” Christopher countered. “What you were doing before… in front of the mirror, that was normal. It’s normal to be curious and want to look at yourself. In fact, sometimes I… I do it too.”

“You do?”

“Yeah but, I wait until you’re all in bed and go upstairs into the attic to do so.” He then added with a light humor, “I guess that I’m just sneakier than you are.” I rolled my eyes at his teasing. But then, Christopher’s demeanor changed and my happy smile dropped with it. “However, what’s not normal is to be in a situation where your own brother could accidentally walk in on you at any moment…” His body grew tense as an angry aura came off of him in waves. “OR for some absolute BITCH of a grandmother to then come in and beat you for it!.”

“Christopher…” I whispered in a mild worry, hoping to calm him down. I then cleared my throat. “Uh, I’m done cleaning off your back. So, would you mind grabbing the bandages?”

My brother stopped at that. “There aren’t anymore,” he then admitted. “At least, not until Momma comes back with fresh supplies. I made sure to put some gauze around my hand since that cut was pretty deep. But everything else, I used it on you.”

At that, I immediately inspected my arms again in shock. A multitude of bandages and gauze indeed completely covered them. In fact, it was far more than anything close to what I had needed. I sighed and briefly thought about scolding Christopher for being wasteful. He had recklessly used up important resources that we might need later, or worse, that the twins might need later. But as I gazed upon his already defeated form, his lashes, his sadness, I just couldn’t find it within myself to chastise him about it right at that moment.

“It’s funny,” he then added bitterly. “Because honestly Cathy, I’m not even sure that I really even believe in the Bible… OR about being sinful.”

“Then, why did you tell the grandmother that she was going to Hell?” I asked.

“Cause I was angry and I know that SHE believes in that stuff,” he answered with a voice that sounded pouty and embarrassed, like a kid admitting to stealing sweets from a candy shop. “So, I wanted to scare her and piss her off. I wasn’t thinking.”

Listening to that reply, I shook my head in disapproval over his recklessness, but said nothing. My eyes glanced at my arms once again in frustration while tears started to form that had to be blinked away. I was exhausted and utterly grief stricken. Then, in a weary delirium, my chest suddenly let out a couple of stress releasing titters as my mind and mouth defaulted back into my factory setting of sass and taunting. “I’m sorry to have to tell you this, Christopher,” I began with a click of my tongue. “But, I don’t think that you’re cut out to be a doctor.” I watched with a mischievous smirk as my brother rolled over with his jaw dropped in a wounded incredulity. “I mean, CLEARLY, you did not use enough medical supplies while caring for me.” At first, he scoffed, until realization that I was just messing around dawned into his features. His eyes then responded by giving me a massive roll. “I mean, just look,” I continued while holding out my over-padded arms to him. “You missed a couple of spots!”

At that, Christopher burst out in a healing laughter. “Seriously, Cathy?” he complained with a chuckle. “Shut up!” His feet then lightly kicked my own in retribution. But, I only giggled harder as I then kicked him back in turn. The whole room felt better after that.

For the next couple of weeks, Christopher drove me completely bonkers. It took three days before he would even let me get out of bed for anything but going to the bathroom. And even that was not without him standing right there in order to supervise my transition and make sure that I didn’t fall.

“Christopher, I’m fine! You don’t have to fuss over me this much,” I whined.

“You’re not fine,” he fired back. “You might feel like you are, but your body needs time to heal!”

“Says the boy who is currently wincing with every step that he takes,” I then sassed.

At that, Christopher stomped over, put his hands on his hips, and glared at me. “Good grief Cathy, why do you always have to be so stubborn and immature?”

I scoffed. “Well, if that isn’t the most prime example of the pot calling the kettle black, then I don’t know what is.” Both of us then grunted from our individual exasperating frustrations with one another. However, underneath my huffy aggravation, I silently admitted to myself that I liked all of Christopher’s worrying and attention. It melted my heart in a warming endearment and gratitude. I wasn’t about to tell him that though.

During that time, the Tin-Woman barely said a word to any of us each morning. Despite my not standing at attention, she said nothing. The old woman didn’t even demand any Bible quotes from us. She simply dropped off the basket and left with a silent chuff. I think that in her own way, she felt guilty over what had transpired, but her pride would never allow her to say so.

Then, one evening, our mother burst through the door, surprising all four of us because we hadn’t seen her in weeks. Also, it was after dark, so Christopher had been in the middle of reading the twins their bedtime story. Meanwhile, I had been lying comfortably between the two of them, attempting to further lull Carrie and Cory to sleep by petting each of their heads. “I am so sorry that it’s late and also for how long that I have been gone, my loves. But, I have the most INCREDIBLE news!” she declared jubilantly.

“The grandfather is dead and we can all leave now,” I guessed mockingly. In the past, I would have been ecstatic to have seen her face once again. But somehow, I felt more annoyed than grateful by her sudden, out of the blue-like appearance before us.

“No!” she snapped back irritably. My comment having stomped on some of her enthusiasm, Momma then restated in a calmer tone, “No. I… I’ve met someone.” Christopher and I wordlessly looked at one another. Momma had met someone? So, what did that mean for the four of us? We continued talking through our eyes while our mother went on to describe this oh so wonderful new man, who was apparently about to replace our father. “He’s handsome and SO SMART. He works as a lawyer, graduated from Harvard and everything! Even Daddy approved of him! His name is Bart Winslow.”

Upon hearing the name, the memory of the Christmas party recalled its way back into my mind. I remembered him. A young man with a thick mustache and dark hair. The way that he had been staring at Momma particularly stuck with me, like she was a tasty morsel needing to be devoured. Well, bon appetit, I guess.

Her cheeks started to show ever more color as Momma talked about him. “He… he says that he loves me, and… he wants to marry me.” A girlish giggle came to her lips after that last sentiment.

I closed my eyes, wanting to drown out that infuriating sound. Anxiety tornadoed a mild headache into my brain over this new update that had just been dumped into our situation. I sat there, mentally pouring over the possibilities for our future, few of which seemed good. Until finally, uncaring about masking my negative emotions, I asked, “Momma, does this man even know about us?” Immediately, she shrank into herself at the question. Awkwardness and discomfort invaded her formerly elated being. “I’ll take that as a no,” I answered sardonically. “So then, if your intention is to marry, then how exactly is this Mr. Winslow going to take four surprise children who have been fathered by another man?”

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about that, my love,” Momma insisted. “He’s going to love you all. I just know it!”

“And how do you know that for certain?” I countered.

We watched as Momma continued to get smaller right there in the room. Her expression became pouty and childish, and a part of me wanted to slap her for it. “I… I had hoped that you all were going to be happy for me,” she eventually whined. Desperately, Momma then turned to Christopher, the most loyal and doting of her kids. “You’re at least excited for me. Aren’t you, my love?” In response to that, his mouth opened and closed, but no words came. And that behavior obviously displeased her because she then shrieked, “This is NOT fair! Here I have finally found some joy in my life and apparently none of you can show even the slightest bit of happiness for me.”

Her expression then turned nasty and hateful as she glared at each of us, her four burdens, her crosses to bear. Looking upon her, if I hadn’t known better, I might have assumed that the Tin-Woman was wearing our Momma’s face as a disguise. “The four of you have it so EASY,” she sneered out at us bitterly. “All you have to do is stay here, eat the food that is provided, and enjoy all of the things that I have been CONSTANTLY bringing for you! Meanwhile, I have to suffer downstairs and do all of the work for this family! So, you can start whining to me about life only when you finally get some REAL problems!”

At that, Christopher suddenly bolted straight up from the chair that he had been sitting in. The look that he was giving our mother was furious. “Easy? EASY?!” he lashed out at her. Both she and I jumped at the tone. Never before had my brother spoken to Momma in such a manner.

Christopher’s fingers then began to frantically undo his buttons before ripping his shirt off and throwing it upon the floor. He then spun around and revealed the whip lines upon his back to her. “Does this look familiar to you, Momma? The grandmother did this to me. To your SON!” he started to scold. “And when Cathy got in the way to stop her, that woman took a vase and hit her over the head with it. Knocked her unconscious. And for four hours, HOURS, I didn’t know if Cathy would ever wake up again. Now tell me Momma, does any of that mean something to you? BECAUSE IT SURE MEANT SOMETHING TO ME!” his voice screamed out in an angry thunder.

It was one thing for me to question her, but another for Christopher to do so. Momma’s mouth gaped open and closed, unable to come up with a rebuttal. My brother then shook his head at her in a mild disgust. “Just go already. Leave us alone to our not real problems.” Without another word, she did exactly as my brother had instructed her to do and ran away, seemingly more ashamed for herself than scared for her children. Meanwhile, I sat off to the side and just blinked, unable to conceal my shock over the entire scene that I had just witnessed.

After all of that disruptive commotion, it then took longer than usual to get Carrie and Cory to sleep. But once they were, I watched Christopher climb up the stairs to the attic. It was an odd thing for him to do. Usually, he and I went to bed soon after the little gremlins. I climbed out of my own covers to follow him, worried about how he might be feeling over what had just transpired with Momma. As I reached the top, I found Christopher sitting on the floor against a wall with his face buried into his hands. “Are you ok?” I asked while sitting down next to him.

He shook his head before then rubbing his face with his palms. Weariness dripped from his body as a loss of faith spun its way into the fibers of his muscles. “You win, Cathy,” he eventually lamented in exhaustion.

Taken aback, I replied, “Okay… what exactly have I won?”

Christopher paused for a moment before answering in a voice that sounded just so tired, “We need to consider running away. With this new man in her life, it’s likely that things could get worse for us and… I just don’t believe that Momma is going to free us anymore.”

As those words left his mouth, Christopher’s body started to shake. Then all at once, tears poured out of his eyes. His arms then flung around my completely stunned form. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” Christopher wailed out almost incoherently. “You’ve been trying to tell me that Momma was getting bad, but I wouldn’t listen. I wanted to believe in her… because… because, while I know that I’m supposed to be a man. The truth is that I’m NOT. I’m just a boy. A teenager who just wanted to go back to having normal teenage problems, like completing homework on time or wondering where to take a girl out some Saturday night. But, I’m never going to have that. It was stolen from me! For as long as I live, I’m going to have to worry about whether or not we have enough food to eat or how we might all get sick and die. And I’m just not ready, Cathy! Oh God, I’m so scared! I know that I’m supposed to be better than this, strong like Daddy was, but I’m just so scared!”

For the longest time, I sat there awkwardly as my brother sobbed and sobbed while clinging to me. Until my arms then enfolded around him in return, unsure what to do except hold him comfortingly while he wept. Normally, it was me who was the crybaby. Christopher had been usually so analytical and composed, breezing through life with a boyish confidence. Inside this attic, the thought had never fully occurred to me that we could be the same. Two sides of a single coin that were bitterly enduring a premature adulthood which had been forced upon us. But in reality, he had just been hiding his pain better until now.

“STUPID,” I then name-called teasingly. “It’s the entire family’s responsibility to make sure that everyone is healthy and happy. Remember?”

With those words, slowly his breathing normalized as he pulled away from my embrace. For a handful of minutes he simply stared at me, studying every part of my face. There was something extra in his eyes as he did so. It was mixed in there with all of the weary sorrow. It wasn’t unusual. In fact, more and more with the time that we had spent here together, I had been noticing it, feeling it, that extra something in his gaze.

Then suddenly, Christopher rushed forward and placed his lips upon mine and my mouth gasped out in response. At first, I just sat there only receiving, completely stupefied by the moment. Until, surprising myself, I started to relax into things. My thin arms looped around his neck while my nose inhaled his scent. And when I lastly closed my eyes, it became my turn to shed tears. I cried for my brother… and for me.

I never again looked at myself naked while trapped inside that house. Lesson learned.

Chapter Text

After Christopher had kissed me, our fighting immediately stopped and reverted back into teasing and light hearted sass. It was as though the act had popped the cork of a champagne bottle and released a pressure that had built up between us. I was glad, relieved to have this fun-natured connection with him back in my life. The banter that we frequently shared just made so much about our existence more bearable.

With that shift of things back into some normalcy, the two of us tried to pretend that nothing had happened, but we did a terrible job of it. While spending our usual time in the attic, I would secretly glance at him every now and again. The memory of his kiss obsessively looped in my brain and played on my lips. And when I wasn’t looking at him, I could feel his stare upon me, like an energy beaming into my back. However, as soon as I turned around, he’d be focused on something else, and I wondered if the moment had only been my wishful imagination. Except that, more than once, we faced each other at the same time, before immediately looking away in mild embarrassment.

During brief moments alone, I would put my fingers together and touch my mouth with them, attempting to mimic the sensation. A blush would then bloom upon my cheeks over what I was privately doing. My secret little crime that filled me with both a thrilling excitement and a wrongful shame. “Sinner,” these feelings told me. Their whispers were a belittling taunt that conflicted my emotions.

In truth, Christopher had not been my first kiss, and I was somewhat grateful for it. That moment had happened when I was in first grade with a boy named Simon. I recall that he’d had light colored hair as well, but his eyes were brown. Back then, many of my classmates had been blonde. Then over time, their hair darkened, while our Dollanganger locks remained forever flaxen.

It had been early spring. Fresh bulbs had shot up from the ground while the buds had started to form among all of the trees. And it was during that time that Simon had one day grabbed my hand and yanked me behind a bush where the recess monitors couldn’t see us. While secretly hidden away, the young boy then sheepishly confessed that he liked me and asked if I wanted to try what Momma’s and Daddy’s do with him. The shocking whirlwind of it all had dropped the majority of childish jitters that I might have otherwise felt. So, I agreed, curious over what it would be like. It had been a tightly puckered peck. An awkward thing that had left the two of us briefly wondering about what all of the hullabaloo was among the teachers and parents.

Yet, despite that sobering experience, I still believed in love while growing up. That act hadn’t matched all of the kissing that constantly happened around me in the everyday. Whether the source was from books, television, or various adults, I was repeatedly exposed to it. Such kisses consistently activated my romantic sensibilities. Their inescapable presence whispered a seductive spell to my youthful self, telling my innocent naivete, “Even though you may not understand why yet, THIS is what you want.”

Christopher’s kiss had been an entirely different thing from Simon’s. There had been a pulse to it, a life force of its own. It had touched my lips with an excitement that craved for more, but lacked the experience on how to get it. A teasing appetizer that had twisted up my insides in the most beautiful way. It had fluttered my heart, quickened my breathing, and made me cry all at once. With it, something inside of me had at last unlocked and began to open up. These awakened sensations crystalized a garden’s worth of understanding within me. THIS was what poetry and media so often sang about. The distinction is desire.

Besides what was growing between Christopher and myself, there was also the matter of escaping this hellish house. Leaving the attic was now at the forefront of everything. Luckily, once my older brother made a decision, a seemingly insurmountable task had a way of transforming itself into a Rube Goldberg machine. To him, a difficult problem was just a series of solvable obstacles that needed to be worked out until all of the dominoes fell correctly into place.

“There are two ways for us to escape,” he started to explain to me one day while we sat at the attic’s gaming table. “Either we go through the door and sneak out of the house or we climb out the attic window. Whichever option we ultimately decide on, we’re gonna wanna leave at night when we’ll be less visible. The downside of going through the door is that we’re more likely to get spotted by people, especially once we make it downstairs. While I can’t say for certain yet, it won’t surprise me if some of the servants have night shifts.”

In the background, Carrie and Cory were busy banging away upon the instruments over in the opposite corner from us. Our voices remained low and secretive. We would certainly tell the twins of our plan eventually, but not yet. Not until things were further along. The risk of them exposing our scheme to Momma or the grandmother in any way was just too high.

As Christopher explained things to me, he showed a couple of diagrams and lists that he had put together while considering all of the escape details. Looking upon his work, it was as though my brother had splashed his brain upon the pages. It reminded me of when he’d designed the twin’s school day schedule, taking everything that he knew or learned and organizing it into a usable application. His crackerjack talent made me somewhat envious, but I wasn’t going to say as much out loud. However, the obnoxiously wicked smirk plastered on his face told me that he already knew.

“That said, going out the attic window would mean that we won’t be able to carry as much since we’d need to use our arms for the climb down.”

Suddenly, he paused and started to observe me patiently, waiting for an idea on how to solve this. It took me barely a moment before I then offered, “Well, what if we made straps and attached them to our suitcases? Turn them into something like backpacks or shoulder bags. That would then free up our arms for the climb. OR we could even just drop our suitcases onto the ground and THEN climb down.”

While making these suggestions, my tone became suspicious. The solutions seemed so obvious that it was odd that he’d been unable to come up with them himself. However, a bratty smile started to creep back into his lips and my eyes instantly rolled. Of course he had thought of all that! “Seriously, Christopher!” I whined, before taking one of his pages, crumpling it up, and throwing it at him. His eyes closed as the paper ball smacked him right between the eyebrows, before his chest then rose and fell in a chuckle.

“Just making sure that you’re paying attention,” he joked. “Anyway… we’re gonna need a key in order to escape through the door. And to get out the window, we’ll need some sort of ladder… a rope one will probably be easiest to make given our resources.”

“Well, in that case, it sounds like we should escape through the attic then” I speculated.

“Actually, I want to set up both options,” Christopher corrected. “That way, if one method fails for any reason, we’ll then be able to use the other one as a backup.”

My mouth gaped at that in disbelief. “Okay, how EXACTLY are we supposed to get a key to the door?”

“I’ll show you,” he said confidently before standing up, making a quick follow me motion, and heading downstairs. Stopping at the doorknob, my brother started to speak again, “I took a look at the thing after we decided to run away. And well, it’s weird.”

In staring at the brass object, it looked like a normal, albeit old-fashioned, bedroom knob. “How so?” I eventually asked.

“Well to start, it’s backwards,” he replied. “Most locks have the latch on the inside and the keyhole on the outside, the idea being to keep people out. But, THIS one has been flipped. The keyhole is facing into our room and the latch is facing the hallway side. So, basically, this doorknob wasn’t installed to keep people out, but to keep them in.

“At first, I assumed that it had been the grandmother who put it in like that… for us. BUT, I then realized that the thing is really old, an antique, and there are no signs that it’s been messed with as recently as two years ago. Meaning that it was likely originally installed that way… a REALLY long time ago.”

Hearing Christopher explain all of that, my eyes stared at the door as my mind wondered as to how many human beings might have suffered in the past before us, locked away in this one room and attic. Long ago, had young Foxworth ancestors been imprisoned here just like us? Feeling their pain through my empathetic imagination, I felt the sickness of history once again press itself upon me, just like it had at the Christmas party of our first year here. An atmosphere that moaned and howled its cruel desire to forever repeat a cycle of terribleness. It froze my soul. And even within that stifling August heat, I shivered and crossed my arms protectively.

In the background, I could hear Christopher continuing to talk, “However, the good thing about the doorknob being so old is that it will make duplicating a key MUCH easier. Newer locks are more complicated in design and difficult to fool.” Then all at once, he stopped speaking and I felt caring hands place themselves upon my shoulders. “Hey, are you okay?” he asked, now worried a little over my distracted nature.

Those words and hands shook me from my spiral. “Yeah, I’m alright,” I eventually fluttered out. “It’s just that… the more that I understand about this place, the more desperate I am to leave it.”

After a moment, his sad voice whispered, “I’m working on it.”

“I know you are,” I whispered back, and we stood like that for several seconds before ultimately breaking apart in order to hammer out more details for our plan.

Roughly two weeks later, the outside became colder and more gray, showing that the August summer was shifting into September fall. It was then that Momma finally came through the door and graced us with her presence. Truthfully though, Christopher and I could not have been more happy to see her because we needed the key. Both her and the grandmother each had one. And during our scheming, it didn’t take long for Christopher and I to realize that Momma would be the easier person to dupe. Where the Tin-Woman was always suspiciously watching us and keeping the key on her person, Momma was far more careless, prone to leaving her copy on top of a table, before then grabbing it again to leave.

Some of that was the fact that Momma’s visits of fifteen or thirty minutes were more casual in nature than the Tin-Woman’s. But honestly, this new version of Momma was also visibly missing a few steps. I doubt our old mother would have been so careless. She didn’t look upon us with the same degree of seriousness that she once had. At worst, we had become an obligatory nuisance to her. But at best, the woman found us to be absolutely adorable. The four of us were Momma’s darling little non-threatening dolls, her dearest loves. And as sad as that realization made me sometimes, I couldn’t deny that it was about to become a convenience.

The only downside was that, unlike the Tin-Woman, Momma’s visits didn’t come like clockwork. So, we had to wait and be ready to act out the first part of our plan whenever our mother capriciously decided to see us.

As the woman sashayed into the room, I couldn’t help but notice that the number of diamonds which dripped off of her throat and oozed from her earlobes had multiplied since the last time that she had stood before us. Upon seeing her, Christopher and I quickly exchanged glances in confirmation to one another of what we were about to do. Then, without another gesture, I bounced up, ran to her, and flung my arms around her waist in a jubilant hug. “Momma, I am SO glad that you are here!” I lied gleefully.

“You… you are?” she responded in a surprised tone. My guess was that she hadn’t expected such a warm welcome after her last awkward visit in telling us about Bart.

“YES!” I answered, “Because Christopher and I have thought of another project to work on, but we’ll need supplies for it. Can you come upstairs so that I can show you?”

She quickly glanced at the clock before responding, “Sure, my love… but just be mindful that I can’t stay for long.”

From her nervousness about the time, this must have been a fifteen minute visit, and not thirty. With that new information, I worried about Christopher’s part of our plan as the corner of my eye caught him dashing into the bathroom, grabbing the bar of soap that we had set aside, and following us up the attic steps. He would have to be quick.

As we entered the garden, I started to falsely explain mine and Christopher’s project idea to Momma. “We’re getting tired of the mattress and swings for reading spots,” I complained. “So, we’re thinking about taking the old blankets and repurposing them into hammocks. To do that, we’ll need a couple pairs of fabric shears, a sewing machine, and a book on how to tie quality knots.” As I spoke, my hands demonstrated exactly where the nets would hang and attempted to be as animated as possible so that the majority of her focus was on me and not Christopher.

At first, our mother stood there in a confused stupor. “Honestly my love, that sounds like an awful lot of work when I could just as easily buy you all hammocks. And of course, nothing but the absolute best that money has to offer.”

“Yes, and we would thank you for that Momma, but the work is part of the point,” I countered. “We’re looking for something that will occupy our time and minds as well as wanting the hammocks themselves.”

Behind her, I could see Christopher getting evermore nervous. The key was still in Momma’s right fist. She had not set the thing down yet. I needed to come up with something, and fast. “Since we have you up here,” I then blurted out. “Maybe we could also get your opinion on which blankets and sheets will make the best material for our project. Not just based on how they look, but also on how soft they are to the touch.”

At that, Momma’s uncertain eyes checked the clock on the wall before answering, “Alright, but I only have a couple more minutes.” Setting her key down on the game table, she followed me over to the reading nook. As I pulled out our four extra linens from the storage trunk, her fingers brushed over each one. She then began to give suggestions on how the Egyptian cotton fabrics would probably hold knotwork together better than the silk. All the while, I listened. I needed to be aware enough to respond appropriately and not raise suspicion. But in all honesty, some of her advice also wasn’t half bad. My mind filed her tips away to use for later, when our true intentions would come to fruition.

Meanwhile, trying not to be conspicuous, I watched Christopher as he pulled out the bar of soap from his pocket and attempted to press the key into it. My eyes could tell that the task was more difficult to do than our television shows had made the trick look. In hindsight, perhaps we should have softened the soap’s surface with heat or water. Trepidation over being caught grew inside of me as I witnessed my brother then attempt to silently hop on the thing, trying to get enough leverage to create a usable indent into the unforgiving waxy surface. His teeth gnashed with the effort. The silliness of his appearance would have made me giggle if the situation had been less serious.

Finished with her advice, Momma started to turn around. I panicked. “Wait! Uh… one more question,” I blurted. “Just one, I promise.”

To that, Momma made a harrumph motion and answered sternly, “Well, make it quick because I really have to go.”

“Um… after our hammock projects, assuming that my sewing improves, I’m thinking about getting fabric dye and making some doll clothes for Carrie’s Barbie. Which fabric do you think will be best for that?”

I didn’t hear a word of her response. My side glance was too focused on Christopher. Luckily, the improvised question was the extra few seconds that he had needed. I sighed inaudibly as his hand gently set the key on the table, shoved the bar of soap back into his pocket, and gave me the smallest of thumbs up.

Despite her initial concerns about going slightly over her allotted time limit, Momma walked out the door with a cheerful and excited smile over her children having another project. Perhaps in her mind, it would keep the four of us from criticizing her.

As the door closed and the latch clicked, Christopher gave me a mischievous smirk. “So, you’re going to make some Barbie accessories for Carrie?” he then asked mockingly. “That’ll make her happy.” I could tell from his incredulous tone that he was questioning my capabilities. Picturing within his mind the disasters for Barbie dresses that my lack of practiced skills would come up with. The fact was that neither of us knew a damn thing about sewing other than that it involved pushing the fabric through the machine and trying to keep it straight.

“Well, I had to think of something because YOU… were slow on your end,” I fired back while imitating the goofy little hop that he had performed with the key and bar of soap.

With a light chuckle, his tone shifted away from teasing to sounding impressed, ”No, actually, it was good. Some nice thinking on your feet there.”

Not long after that, Christopher began his attempts at making a replica key for our bedroom door. We had decided not to risk any possible suspicion by requesting a carving knife along with the sewing supplies. I doubt Momma would have given us that sort of thing anyway, even if we had lied and said that it was for a hobby. She would have understood that such an object could easily be used as a weapon. So, in the end, my brother ended up dismantling one of our paper crafting scissors by removing the pivot screw and using one of the blades for his carving tool. He then pulled up small chunks of hardwood flooring out of the far back corner that no one ever went to and started shaving a piece down into a wooden replica that matched the soap imprint.

Luckily, Christopher had been right about how the antique design of the key was far more simple than anything contemporary. However, that didn’t mean that the job was easy. The makeshift knife was awkward. It would frequently slice a wood shaving that was too deep and force him to have to redo the entire thing with an exasperated grunt. More than once, my brother’s hand would slip and cause him to accidentally cut himself. To solve the problem, he tried wearing gloves, but they greatly limited his dexterity. After three days of this, when he at last had a key that appeared correct, it didn’t work. In response, he cursed under his breath and started over.

A few days later, Momma arrived with the supplies that I had requested and handed them to us like a charitable queen waiting for gratitude from her servants. We thanked her in turn with as much feigned enthusiasm as we could muster. Honestly though, I truly was appreciative. Without this stuff, escape would have become much more difficult.

It was afterwards that I at last told the twins about what was really going on. Christopher and I had agreed by then that there was no way we would be able to hide it from them for much longer. Once we all sat down, I began, “Carrie, Cory, I need you both to listen to me because this is REALLY important! What I’m about to tell you, you cannot whisper even the slightest word to the grandmother OR to our mother.” Their expressions turned concerned and confused. When they had a second to process, I then continued, “Christopher and I are making plans to get out of here, and we’re taking the two of you with us. When that happens, we’ll all finally be able to play outside again!”

I thought that the freedom of being among real grass and plants would bring them joyous excitement, but it just visibly worried and bewildered them even more. They had been so young when we first arrived in this attic. So, gone now were the days of running in a verdant Pennsylvanian backyard. Our old house and time there was little more than a fuzzy dream to the two of them. School, television, and toys within claustrophobic isolation had become their reality of normalcy, while wide open fresh air was a foreign concept that only existed within story books and T.V. Looking upon their already nervous faces, I wondered if the large size of the real world would scare them now, but no matter.

“You trust us right?” I finally asked. While still uncertain of things, the twins nodded in earnest. “Then, believe me when I tell you that this is serious. Remember when the grandmother hurt Christopher and me?” They confirmed the memory with saddened faces. “Well, if anything gets back to her, then that will doubtlessly happen again. Or WORSE, that woman might come after the two of you as well. So silence is golden here, understand?” And with that new warning in their hearts, Carrie and Cory agreed to keep quiet.

With all of the supplies in hand, I started pulling out the cotton sheets and blankets from the trunk. The note that Momma had given me about knotwork holding together better with cotton fabric was still fresh in my mind. I used the sewing shears to then cut the cloth into usable strips, careful so as not to cut them too thin. Afterall, they needed to be able to hold the weight of human beings without risk of tearing.

While doing this, Christopher’s voice sounded off in my head from when he had explained this part of the plan to me. “While I haven’t been able to measure, I doubt the four blankets will be able to reach the ground OR that the knots will hold if we just tried tying them from end to end. So, we’re going to slice the fabric into long strips and create an actual rope from that material. After cutting, we’ll then want to sew the strips back up so that the fabric itself will run a much lower chance of the loose threads fraying and coming undone while the four of us are climbing down.”

Once I finished making the strips, I grimaced at the sewing machine. While I had seen these devices at friends' houses, I had never so much as touched one myself. The first thing I did was plug the power cord into our plug strip. That much was at least obvious. I then stuck the spool of thread onto a metal post that jutted out the top of the machine. The trickiest part was figuring out where to put the end of the thread. To this very day within my adult years, I’m still unsure as to whether or not I did everything correctly. But, as I placed my silk practice cloth near the needle and randomly turned dials until that thin silver dagger started to move up and down, I was excited to find a line of threading along my fabric. Despite my lack of experience, SOMETHING had clearly been successful! It was then that I placed my lengths of cotton down and went to work.

To say that my stitches were flawless would be a lie. The sewing machine pulled the fabric into threaded paths of snake-like waves instead of clean straight lines. Once I had finished my first strip, I sighed and nervously showed it to Christopher for approval. His own project was still proceeding in a frustratingly less than exemplary manner as well. In fact, he was on his fourth piece of wood for that day.

While inspecting my work, he yanked at the seam, testing the strength. “As long as it prevents the cloth from coming apart, then it’s fine,” Christopher stated with a shrug. “But if you’re worried, going over each strip twice would make it even stronger.” I nodded at that, appreciating the advice. “That said, I wouldn’t count on any future careers as a seamstress,” he then added teasingly. Which in turn earned him a rightful smack on the arm.

It was incredibly tedious work, sewing up each long strip of cloth twice. It went on and on, until it didn’t. I beamed with anticipation as the pile became noticeably smaller. And when the last one was finally complete, I sighed in weary triumph. Christopher noticed and temporarily put down his own project in response.

“This is perfect!” he declared enthusiastically. “Now all we need to do is go through that knotwork book Momma brought up and decide which one will work the best.”

My brother then took the better part of an hour thumbing through our new paperback tome. As he did so, his eyes looked especially tired and he frequently rubbed them with his fingers. Until at last, I could tell by his satisfied expression that he had discovered what it was he’d been looking for.

“This is called a Blood Knot,” he later explained to me with a demonstrative example of two strips intricately tied to one another in front of him.

“As in, it creates a bond that’s as strong as blood?” I asked jokingly. The name sounded a little bit silly to me.

“Yeah,” Chrstopher replied with an amused chuckle, acknowledging that he agreed. “BUT, it works really well for tying two separate leads together. Apparently, fly fishermen are known to use it as a quick repair when their line breaks. Basically, you loop each rope around the other roughly three to five times, feed the ends back through the center hole, and pull tight. Just keep in mind that three wrap-arounds form the weakest hold, while five makes the strongest.” His expression then shifted into a pensiveness. “Ideally, I’d like all of the knots to be five loops. That would be the safest for us, but that also takes up the most length. I’ve peaked over the roof a couple of times now. It’s really difficult to tell exactly how far it is to the ground, but I think we’ll be short if we play things so conservatively.”

Reflecting on that, I then suggested, “Well, how about four loops then? Split the difference.”

“That was my first thought,” he admitted. “But, I’ve since adjusted my thinking. Instead, we should use five loop knots at the top, four in the middle, and three at the bottom.”

While considering his words, I began to imagine what the experience of climbing down the rope would actually be like and most importantly, how the weight would pull upon the line itself. “In other words, you want to prioritize the strongest knots at the point where the rope will have to hold us for the longest amount of time, and place the weakest knots near the bottom where it will have to support our weight for the shortest amount of time,” I concluded.

While listening to me, a grin grew ever wider across his face. In reciting his logic without any need for explanation, I had impressed him. And for a moment, his eyes bounced to my lips before he then cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck.

With the two of us working on tying the knots together, it wasn’t long until our rope ladder was finished. We sat there in mild disbelief. Marveling at our great accomplishment while our hands felt the softness of the Egyptian cotton and tested the strength of the knotwork. Somehow, it hadn’t seemed quite real until then, but this was definitely happening. The four of us were getting the hell out of this place.

Since the rope was now done, Christopher ultimately sighed, walked over to his other project, and picked up the current half-finished wooden key replica. I’d stopped counting the number of attempts as his failures slowly filled up the trunk that we used as an attic waste bin. “Just gotta finish this thing now,” he lamented.

Seeing the frustration that was all over his face, I then offered, “Why don’t we just give up on the key? We have the rope now. So, we can run away at any time.”

“No,” he countered. “This is not just about having a second escape route. If we’re going to survive out in the world for very long, then we’ll need MONEY, as much as we can get our hands on.”

I gasped. “Wait! Are you planning to steal from the Foxworths?! Christopher, that’s gonna be dangerous!” I then scolded.

He nodded, confirming that theft was indeed his intention. “Not all at once, just a few small bills here and there that’ll be accumulated over time. And if it seems like they are starting to notice, then we’ll take as much as we can in one big go and leave immediately.” Hearing him, I sat there processing. That new information crept a fresh anxiety into my veins. “There’s another problem,” he then admitted. Words that raised my blood pressure even further and forced me to give him a look. The smile that Christopher reciprocated back was impishly apologetic before he then elaborated, “The train. We HAVE to be on it before the sun comes up. Otherwise, we’ll be caught for sure. I remember it stopping at that spot down the hill in the middle of the night. I just can’t recall when exactly.”

The memory of disembarking the train flashed before me. Had that really only been a little over two years ago? Seeing Momma within my mind was strange. The woman of that time floundered within her inadequacies, but she was still mentally sharp, caring, and always struggling to do her best. To this day, I sometimes wonder how much she had believed her own lies. The enticing homespun fantasy that the grandfather would quickly die, she would then claim her inheritance, and run away from this house once again. Except this time, it would have been with her children instead of a new husband. What had ever happened to that woman? Somehow, behind our pinewood veil for a door, the lifestyle of this Foxworth world had taken our Momma, chewed her up, and spat out a creature who simply shared her beautiful face.

Meanwhile, the children in my memory were small and younger in so many ways, Christopher especially so. I smiled at him, my Dwarf Dollanganger. Together, those four were sad, nervous, and exhausted, but not yet weary from existence.

In remembering them all, those five people didn’t feel like our past. As though the Dollangangers had died and been reincarnated anew. Not a completely different family, but not the same either.

Lastly, I remembered the conductor. A middle aged gentleman with streaks of ash breaking up black hair around his ears and beard. He had been nice, afraid to leave a woman and her four children alone in the middle of the night. I recalled his husky voice saying, “It’s… Are you sure that you and your kids will be alright Mrs. Patterson?” I scoffed at the words. My brain had forgotten about the alias that she’d used. Yet another lie.

But, I remember that there had also been a time mentioned. So, what was it?

In the background, I could hear Christopher continuing to plot and scheme. “I’ve been occasionally staying up all night to try and listen for the train, but we’re too far away. However, we’re up on a hill.” The suggestion that followed stumbled out of his mouth in worry, “So… maybe if I look through the drapes and watch out the bedroom window… then, I’ll be able to see it. I’ve tried looking from the attic dormers and roof, but the angle isn’t right.”

The irony of Christopher’s scared stutter was incredibly thick. Here he was discussing with me his future plans to STEAL from the FOXWORTHS, and yet, my brother sounded far more fearful over the idea of breaking one of our grandmother’s rules. Number four, no peeking through the draperies. It seemed that the Tin-Woman had done her work to us well. Or poorly, depending on how one assesses the situation.

I then did my best to tune Christopher out and focused on the memory. The kind hearted train-man speaking to Momma with concern, “It’s… in the morning. Are you sure you and your kids will be alright Mrs. Patterson?” Somewhat bitterly, I giggled. The man hadn’t even known half of what was about to happen to us. Still, what was the time that he had said? It was right THERE. So close, that frustration quickly took over all of my other emotions. How can two years be so short and yet so long? Seven hundred and thirty days to forget a detail that seemed completely inconsequential at the time.

Then, all at once, it came to me. My eyes burst open with the suddenness of the lightbulb and stared straight at my brother. “Don’t bother,” I sassed in a know-it-all high. “The train arrives at two o’clock in the morning.”

At first, his expression was stunned, but then a small smile of awe curved into his mouth. “Sometimes, you're incredible. Do you know that?” The nearly overwhelming compliment caused me to quickly blush. And while immediately looking away in order to hide it, I then used my hand to dismissively bat at the air and pretend that it was no big deal.

With that problem out of the way, it wasn’t long before Christopher went back to trying once more at making a key replica. However, the task proved ever difficult and exasperating. Weeks went by as he failed again and again, grunting curses under his breath while doing so. Eventually, the scissor blade that he used became dull and he switched to the other one.

“I don’t understand what it is that I’m doing wrong!” he fumed out after testing another defective key. Originally, he’d created copies well enough to fit inside the keyhole. They just couldn’t turn. But now, the duplicates weren’t even entering the doorknob. My brother’s carving wasn’t improving. It was getting worse.

Observing him for a moment, he looked more exhausted than ever, fatigued from continuous failure and self-flagellation. It worried me. “Christopher,” I coaxed. “It’s getting close to mid October now. So, why don’t you take a break and help me decorate the attic instead? Celebrate Halloween with us and get back to this after you’ve had a good rest.”

“I think that it should be obvious that I can’t stop until this is finished, Cathy,” he responded curtly. His tone was pedantic and bordered on rude.

Instantly, my hands went to my hips, my eyes glared, and my lips pursed themselves together. Had he been any less visibly upset with circumstances, I’d have given Christopher a piece of my mind for saying that. The boy knew that he was in trouble too. I could tell as he quickly started to give me awkward, guilt ridden side glances. But, he didn’t apologize.

Now mad and annoyed with his nonsense, I then sat beside him, grabbed the old blunted blade, and made a sassy show of haphazardly hacking away at one of the wood pieces that he had previously ripped from the floor. All without saying a single word.

“What are you doing?!” he lashed out unnecessarily at my behavior.

“If I can’t get you to slow down, then I’ll just work on this with you,” I declared in a voice that made it clear that this was not up for discussion.

As I cut away random bits that made no real sense, Christopher observed me in complete befuddlement. “You do realize that we’re supposed to be making a key, right?” he then sneered as the shape of my hardwood object took an unrecognizable form.

“That’s what I’m doing,” I fired back. “In fact, I’m done,” I then added pridefully. Unserious, I flaunted the finished work at him. It looked more like an awkwardly girthy Swizzle Stick, than a key. “Now, it’s time to test it out!” I declared before standing up and leaving a stupified brother behind me. After making it down to the bedroom, I tested the key. Predictably, it wouldn’t even enter the doorknob. I smiled, went back upstairs, and with a nonchalant shrug reported back, “It didn’t work.”

At first, my brother stared at me with a dumbfounded gape. Then, all at once, he broke out in a laugh. “You’re crazy,” he teased.

With that, I smiled, knelt down in front of him, and took his hand. “Christopher, this project isn’t going anywhere. WE’RE not going anywhere. So, SLOW down, concentrate on getting it done RIGHT instead of fast, and take breaks.”

He nodded understandingly before mumbling out, “Thanks, Cathy. It’s just that. I want to make sure that my family is gonna be okay.”

“Yeah, well, wearing yourself out is only going to make us needlessly worry about you… especially ME!” I scolded. Softening my tone, I then added, “So, relax a little, Christopher and spend the holiday with us.”

With that, my brother took a break from carving and helped me decorate the attic. Between the already established routine of it and both of us putting in the work, it wasn’t long before our garden was once again a macabre space of tombstones, cobwebs, and skeletons for yet another Halloween.

Momma hadn’t come around even once since getting us the sewing machine and knotwork book. It was strange. Despite the increasing general absence, it wasn’t like her to completely forget about us during important holidays. And unfortunately, that meant there weren’t any new costumes for the four of us to use. So, we had to improvise and make do. As Christopher and I dressed the twins, it was both a small blessing and an infuriating curse that last year’s Halloween outfits still fit the two of them perfectly.

For my own look, I searched through old supplies until I found Glinda the Good Witch’s tiara and wand from our first Halloween here. The rhinestone crown was small now, but would work in a pinch with a few bobby pins added to hold it in place. I then put on my watermelon colored dress before painting on pink eyeshadow with silver glitter around my eyes. Rose colored lip gloss then sparkled and shimmered across my mouth. Upon exiting the bathroom, I briefly posed in front of the vanity with a siren’s pride. The make up had given my face an enchanting fairy-like quality.

Once I made my way up the steps, Christopher and I immediately caught sight of each other and grinned. He was wearing that blue suit that he’d become so fond of. His face was painted white, dark circles were smudged all around his eyes, and red was smeared across his mouth. That was supposed to be fake blood, I guessed. The twins were already bouncing up and down to I Put a Spell on You as the two of us stared at one another.

And it wasn’t long before he then walked up with a bold smirk on his face. “So, what are you supposed to be? Besides pretty, I mean.”

His flattery caused me to flutter for a moment before I answered with a jovial, “I’m Glinda on a Casual Friday. And, you?” I then asked while pointing toward his own outfit.

Christopher’s smile widened as he thrust his arms outward in a tada-type motion and declared enthusiastically, “Isn’t it obvious? I’m an undead rich dude.”

I burst out in laughter at that. “Well, it’s definitely more imaginative than your doctor costume was.”

His shoulders shrugged nonchalantly at my teasing before his eyes then glanced over at the twins and their Halloween jubilance. “Do you want to join them and dance?”

A little surprised that such a question was coming from him, I nodded before Christopher then shocked me even further by taking my hand and yanking me onto the cleared off part of the floor.

As we box stepped with perfect fluidity, it wasn’t long until I started giggling in amused happiness. Back when we practiced this, he had been so hesitant, clunky, and awkward. But now, his movements were strangely the opposite. All that time, where had he been hiding THIS guy, I thought humorously. While twirling, my body began to feel the pure joy that I always craved. The one that erased the whole world around me within a giddy fog and made nothing exist outside the electrified experience. And it was then that Christopher dipped me low and snapped me back up, causing my mouth to gasp out in a mild startle. My heart became a hummingbird as my eyes unconsciously went to his lips. And for a brief moment, while under a familiar enchantment, I thoughtlessly considered kissing him.

With our foreheads nearly touching, Christopher’s own breathing had picked up and his eyes mirrored my own. The same thoughts flashed through our same blue irises. But then his gaze darted to the twins and he sighed.

“Um… Cathy,” his voice stuttered out after. “There’s… this place that I’ve been wanting to check out for quite some time. But, I wasn’t really able to until now. So… I’ve been wondering if you would maybe like to go see it with me some night, before it gets WAY too cold. It would also be a great opportunity to test out our rope ladder.” His lips repeatedly rubbed together with a nervous uncertainty and there was a hopefulness to his tone as he spoke.

My brain still felt fuzzy within the moment as I wondered where exactly this previously forbidden mystery spot of his was located. I blinked a little in curious intrigue before then nodding in agreement.

“Yeah…” he replied in elated disbelief.

“Yeah, sure,” I confirmed.

Another wide grin beamed across his face. The euphoric expression hooked my gaze in place and forged a similar smile of my own. It was then that I felt the usual bell-pull tug at my dress and looked down to see the twins staring back up at us. “What you two were doing before seemed like fun. Can we try?” Carrie then chimed somewhat expectantly.

Chuckling, Christopher didn’t hesitate before replying with a gleeful, “Of course! Come here little lady!” His energy seemed almost manic as he twirled our soon giggling little gremlin. It was as though his spirit wasn’t down on Earth with the three of us, but somewhere up in the clouds drinking in the bacchanalian light of the full moon and stars.

Cory and I watched them for a moment, grinning from ear to ear at the scene. Then my face dropped. For right in front of me, after some failed attempts to show Carrie the box step, I witnessed Christopher suggest that she stand on his feet. Before he then swayed with her like that. It triggered the remembrance of Daddy and a young version of myself dancing together the exact same way. A version of me that had long since passed. It was as though I was watching mine and his ghosts now haunting us on All Hallow’s Eve. Tears trickled down my face at the sight of it, but I immediately wiped them away into oblivion, before forcing myself to laugh and taking Cory for a spin. Afterall, I’d have been damned before I let such sudden and unasked for sadness ruin my family’s Halloween.

When that Halloween night was over, Christopher took my suggestions about the carving to heart. His cuts were much slower and moved with more purpose. The entire day, and much of the next, was spent working on that very same key. He also made sure to get a full night of sleep and took breaks to spend occasional time with the twins and myself.

Until eventually, my brother slowly trudged down the attic steps with a completed replica. I followed. The room was silent like a graveyard as neither of us said a word. Anxiously, his hand inserted the object into the knob, and we both froze. The thing fit! Then, his chest moved a couple of times in preparational breaths before he at last flicked his wrist. The wooden key turned and the familiar sound of the latch clicking rang throughout the formerly deafened space. We gasped. Instantly, Christopher turned the knob and opened the door, before immediately closing the portal and locking it back up.

“I did it,” his lips whispered in disbelief.

“You did it!” I shouted out.

“WE did it!” he then cried in a volume that matched my own.

Unable to contain my elation, I ran up and threw my arms around his neck. He in turn flung his own around my waist and spun me celebratorily. We then jumped up and down while shrieking with unrestrainable excitement.

“So, does this mean that we’re all going to leave this place?” Cory’s small voice interjected with a lilt of hopefulness to it. Carrie was standing closely behind him. Still holding each other, Christopher and I stared at the twins, completely surprised by their sudden presence. All of our ruckus must have summoned the two of them down into the bedroom.

“Yes!” I quickly answered my little brother in joy. “Just like James and his bug friends, we’re all going to run away and live happily ever after. You’ll see!”

“Well, there’s still plenty left to do before that happens,” Christopher warned. “But, Cathy and I are definitely an unbeatable team! And it’s gonna be me and her forever. Somehow, I can just feel it!”

His words caught me off guard and thrummed my soul at the same time. As the afternoon wore on, I considered them. ‘Forever,’ what was that going to look like? What would we do when we finally had the freedom of the big wide world before us? Various scenarios played out in my head, a mish-mashed mixture of anxiety and fantasy. Thoughts and visions that I obsessed over well into the night. They activated my insomnia. In fact, I was still fixated on them the next morning while we all stood at attention for our seven o’clock routine with the Tin-Woman.

As she entered, the grandmother glared at us with that air of silent superiority that she always bore, beaming her proud hatred upon us. Enduring her presence, I figured that the woman would be wanting our Bible quotes soon. After two years, the four of us had completely finished the good book from cover to cover. However, the Tin-Woman simply responded by forcing us to read it again. So once more, we found ourselves about to recite the Second book of Chronicles. I myself had 29-9 at the ready, a quote that I deeply identified with. “For, lo, our fathers have fallen by the sword, and our sons and our daughters and our wives are in captivity for this.”

But without warning, the old woman suddenly declared, “After careful reflection over past events, I believe that I’ve come up with a better way to keep you children pure besides using the lash.” Panic instantly took me right there. Feeling scared, I broke formation long enough to look upon her in more detail and attempt to assess her meaning. And with that brief scan, it didn’t take long before my eyes noticed a large pair of silver handled scissors within her grasp.

Chapter Text

“After careful reflection over past events, I believe that I’ve come up with a better way to keep you children pure besides using the lash.” Those words froze my soul as the Tin-Woman began to stomp back and forth across our bedroom with her hands folded behind her back. It was the forceful pacing that the grandmother always did whenever she was about to lecture us on things like penitence and humility. For as long as I live, I will forever loath the sound of heavy boots upon a wooden floor.

With each boom of pine thunder, I felt my body tremble in anxious conjecture over what new supposed righteous decision was about to fall upon us, as an ominous light glinted off of a pair of silver handled shears within her grasp. “In the past, members of the clergy would often shave or cut their hair. You see, it was seen as a symbol of removing their vanity and thereby, proving their devotion to the Lord. This act of pious self-sacrifice was known as tonsure and there are some who still practice it even to this day.”

As her leaded steps made their way back toward the door, Christopher sneered out haughtily, “So, what? You’re gonna shave a bald spot onto my head with those dumb scissors of yours?” Fearfully, my glance snapped to my brother in a panicked frustration. Why couldn’t he ever keep his big mouth shut? I then turned back to look at the grandmother, expecting her to be furious. But instead, she was sneering, and that expression scared me even more.

At last, she spoke, “My intention is not to cut YOUR hair, boy.” With that, the Tin-Woman then set her eyes upon me and I gasped. “I figure that by removing your hair, girl, it will serve the dual purpose of both humbling your obvious pride in your appearance and keeping your brother’s gaze upon more virtuous things.”

While blinking in disbelief over what I was hearing, my hands instinctively started to fuss with my braid. After nearly two and a half years without ever so much as being trimmed, the golden locks now hung incredibly long. Therefore, I frequently had the flaxen threads all pinned back in order to keep it out of the way. Just the same, I loved my hair and this was a nightmare.

Suddenly, Christopher stepped forward in an instantly livid state. As his body stood between the rest of us and the Tin-Woman, I marveled at him. For that brief moment, he no longer looked like a boy of sixteen, but a man ready to fight for something greater than himself. “I’ll kill you before I ever let you touch her again,” he warned the grandmother through clenched teeth. “DO YOU HEAR ME?!” his voice then shouted out.

“Christopher,” I whispered anxiously at the scene playing out before me. Yet, my treacherous feet remained frozen in place.

Despite my brother’s threat, the Tin-Woman maintained her smirk of superiority. There was not even the slightest bit of concern over what the teenage boy might do as the grandmother simply declared, “Very well. I will not touch the girl.” She then set the picnic basket upon the dining table before placing the scissors down on top of the highboy. “Instead, YOU will do it.” The old woman then commanded, “Listen well now! Tomorrow, I will come in the morning with your food, as usual. If by that time her hair is not gone, then I will leave with my basket and not come back for an entire week. After that week is over, I will then return and if she remains unshaven, I will repeat the process. This will happen again and again until such time that obedience is demonstrated.” With that, the grandmother opened the door, but stopped to give one final order. “Lastly, the hair is to be cut clear to the scalp. Anything longer will not be accepted.”

Once she left and the latch turned, I immediately sat down on my bed. I was too stunned to speak as my mind churned over the morning’s events and what they meant for me. As a shadow then stretched into my lap, my gaze darted to the source and found Christopher hovering over. “You okay?” he asked in a soft voice.

Somewhat frantically, my eyes went immediately to the ground in an attempt to hide my fear as I nodded in response. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m alright,” I then answered in a shaky lie.

The four of us ate our breakfast in total silence. More was being digested at the table than just the food. Afterwards, we trudged up the stairs to the attic. My tired body then leaned against the wall as I watched Christopher pull out Operation and start setting up a game for himself and the twins. It was something that he always did on the days when the Tin-Woman scared everyone the most.

A relaxing warmth came to my chest as I waited for the moment when my older brother would inevitably lose to our gremlins. Had it been me and him playing, Christopher would have shown no mercy and wiped the floor with me, but he was softer on the twins. Besides, winning right now wasn’t about gathering the most objects out of Cavity Sam, but getting Carrie and Cory to giggle again with greater ease. While observing it all, my mind recalled back to when Christopher had admitted to me that he liked seeing the twins and I together. And right then, I realized that I felt the same way about him.

After several rounds, Carrie and Cory started to beam and squeal as Christopher repeatedly set off Cavity Sam’s buzzer and grumbled about it in an over acted manner. With the atmosphere now lighter, I took the opportunity to finally call Christopher over. “Can you come here for a minute?” He faced me with a look of startlement before telling the twins to go ahead and keep playing without him, walking over toward me, and crossing his arms in mild curiosity. Cautiously, I whispered quietly so that the twins couldn’t hear, “So, um, what are we going to do about the grandmother’s order this morning? If my hair isn’t removed by tomorrow, then we’ll be without food for a week.”

Christopher paused for a moment to consider his words before saying something that truly shocked me. With an indifferent shrug, he simply declared, “We’re not gonna do anything because the woman is clearly bluffing.”

I blinked in disbelief before firing back at a careless volume, “And what if she isn’t?”

Christopher glanced at the twins nervously. Luckily, they hadn’t heard us. His throat then grunted at me in frustration before he grabbed my hand and guided me downstairs. Once we made it to the bottom, he faced me and smiled. “Don’t worry so much, Cathy,” my brother coaxed reassuringly. “Like I just said, that hag is not going to starve us. She’s just threatening that in order to scare and control us.” As I opened my mouth to start arguing, he cut me off, “AND… even if she does, we have our key now. So, I’ll just sneak out and steal food for us. Problem solved.” His devil-may-care grin widened and with a confident swagger, he then declared, “We’re not going to let her win.”

A scoff escaped from my mouth at his cavalier nature, and my eyelashes fluttered about while my brain grasped around for the right words to say in this situation. That’s when, as though he hadn’t already caused me to flounder enough, his deep blues then gazed sweetly at my face as he vowed, “I promise. I won’t let her hurt you.” Suddenly, it registered that Christopher had maintained a hold of my hand while talking. He hadn’t let go of it. Instantly, my heart beat like a rabbit and my thoughts scrambled and scattered even further.

Over the years, I had read countless stories that included scenes where a dashing hero swore to protect his cherished lady fair. Naturally, I had periodically fantasized as much for myself. But of course, my own moment had to come from my brother, and while he was being stupid no less. So much for romantic sensibilities. Unable to contain my exasperation, I sighed, forced my mind to reorganize itself back into coherency, and rebutted, “Christopher, not every situation is a game that you can just beat through strategy and cunning. If you’re wrong about this, it will be bad! It’s not like the grandmother is threatening to PHYSICALLY harm me. It’s just hair. It’ll grow back.”

At that, Christopher chuffed with incredulity. “Sure, you say that, but I know you Cathy. And cutting your hair is going to bother you a lot more than you think. The fact is that you are very proud of your appearance. Honestly, in that way, you’re a lot like Momm-” He immediately stopped before finishing the sentence, instantly realizing exactly what he had done. Rage boiled within me as I yanked my hand free of his grasp and stormed back up the stairs. Behind me, I could hear Christopher shouting, “Cathy, wait! I’m sorry.” However, in my anger, I didn’t utter a single word in reply.

Once I was back in the garden, I briefly glanced at the twins. They were still busy playing Operation. I then walked over to the broken mirror in the costume area. A pale and somber young woman stared back at me. Every season, I became more and more beautiful, just like my mother. It made me happy because I knew that being pretty would gather the attention of men and make them love me. However, the image was also a curse, a double-edged reflection that, at times, made me feel ill. If I was the spirit of Momma’s past, then what did that mean for the ghost of my future?

I flipped my long braid over my shoulder and admired the wheat colored hills and valleys of the flaxen rope. My hand stroked down the soft length of it until my fingers reached the end and untied the knot. Slowly, my hair unwound itself from the bottom up like an upside down zipper. When it was nothing but golden waves, my hands started to play with the loose strands and form different styles; half ponytails, buns, anything that my imagination could conjure up. Ideas and designs that, at least for today, were still available to me.

That’s when I noticed Christopher standing behind me. His expression was an almost contradictory mixture of grief and an I-told-you-so attitude. Feeling self-conscious, I quickly wove my hair back up into the braid. Turning to face him, I then spoke, “At the very least, can we ration today’s food and save some of it for tomorrow. Just in case.” Exasperation sighed forth from his mouth at that. “PLEASE, Christopher,” I insisted in a near beg.

At my pleading, his face quickly softened as he whispered with a small nod, “Okay.”

Despite his capitulation, my anxiety overwhelmed me throughout the rest of the day. As my thoughts bounced around like the metal sphere of a pinball machine, I paced constantly while giving off a jittery energy that even the twins could sense. I prayed and hoped and obsessed with everything my heart had to give that my brother was right about the Tin-Woman. That in the end, she would back out of her threats of keeping our food. Her bluff having been called. In moments when my faith in Christopher’s decision wavered, I rationalized through it. Afterall, we would have rations now, and we didn’t typically eat much anyway. So, with whatever Christopher managed to steal on top of that, maybe things wouldn’t be so terrible. Still, whenever I passed a mirror, my hands would absentmindedly fuss with my hair.

Predictably, it all gave me insomnia, which left me exhausted by the next morning. The bags under my bloodshot eyes must have given me away because as we assembled for the seven o’clock formation, Christopher approached me, placed his hands on my shoulders, and whispered, “Hey, it’s gonna be okay. No matter what happens, I’ll take care of everything. Promise.” I nodded in understanding, desperately wanting to believe him.

We then stood at attention. Completely ready for the Tin-Woman’s arrival. But as the latch turned and the portal cracked open, the grandmother took a brief glance at me, closed the door, and relocked it without saying a word to any of us. And with that, my stupefied lungs forgot how to breathe.

Meanwhile, the twins were more befuddled by the lack of Bible quote recitation in their morning routine than fearful of there not being a new basket of food. It was clear that the full meaning of the Tin-Woman’s orders and warnings yesterday had not sunk into the two of them. It made sense. For their young mind’s comprehension of words like hunger and starvation had never scratched beyond a Webster’s definition. To be fair, it hadn’t for us older Dollangangers either, not really.

Christopher quickly put on a brave front. “Oh, please! This is just to scare us. You’ll see. We just have to wait for a day or two and then she’ll be back.” However, I knew him better than that. His voice was trembling ever so slightly.

The atmosphere while eating our breakfast was morose. An oppression hung in the air that was thick enough to cut with a knife. In order to save rations, Christopher had suggested storing the food right outside a dormer window, where the early November night air would keep it chilled and lasting longer than our living spaces could. The idea made sense at the time, but we had no way of heating it back up that very next day. So, our saved up provisions, things like soup, mashed potatoes, and fried chicken, were not just room temperature. They were downright cold.

It was no time at all before Carrie pinched her nose and started to complain. At her whining, Christopher instantly snapped back, “Oh, for Pete sake, Carrie. Stop fussing and JUST EAT IT!” His fist pounded against the tabletop and his tone was far harsher than any exasperated scolding that he had lectured the twins with before. With that outburst, awkward silence added itself to the heaviness of the table.

It was later that day that Christopher pulled me aside. There was a desperate madness to his voice as he spoke. “I’m gonna use our key and sneak down to the kitchen tonight. That way, no matter what happens with the grandmother tomorrow, we’ll have food. Like I said this morning, I’m gonna take care of things. Remember?”

My mouth opened and closed for a few seconds before I eventually answered, “Okay, but maybe I should come along and help then?”

His reaction was immediate. “No! It’ll be easier to stay hidden if only one of us goes, and between the two of us, I have a better knowledge of the mansion’s layout.”

Hearing all of that, I became confused as to how exactly Christopher’s understanding of the house had supposedly become so much greater than my own. Was he referring to the night of the Christmas party? When he had snuck around the place? That event had occurred nearly two years ago. Not to mention that he’d kept to this one wing while exploring. So, getting to the kitchen meant traversing into an entirely different part of the mansion. Just the same, I ultimately agreed. This wasn’t the time to argue over such semantics. We needed the food. But in truth, while his insistence on handling everything conveyed a caring provider-like nature that touched my heart, it was also wearing me out.

Christopher left in the middle of the night after the twins had gone to sleep. The entire time that he was out, I sat up in bed and nervously waited for him. My paranoid insomnia couldn’t possibly imagine getting any rest until he’d returned and was clearly safe.

Although these days, I’d gotten used to being the one who closed her eyes last as my late evenings filled themselves with the routine of watching over Christopher. I would often sit in a chair beside his sleeping form for roughly a couple of hours and wait for the ball of luck to land upon the Sandman’s Roulette wheel. Would I have to wake him up from the visible signs of enduring a nightmare or leave him within the calm of peaceful dreams? Without that routine, the moonlit darkness somehow felt impossibly long and lonely. The obsidian minutes stretched themselves into eternity and ached at my heart.

My stomach was also starting to perpetually growl. The rations that we’d saved had not been quite enough. So, for the very first time in our lives, the twins were tucked into bed while complaining about still being hungry.

At last, Christopher entered and there was a wicked grin all over his face. “I managed to make it into the kitchen,” he bragged excitedly. He carried with him a heavy wood crate that had to be set upon the ground before locking the door behind him with the handmade key. Immediately, I jumped out of bed and hastily tip-toed over to see what he had brought. On the slatted surface, in large gold lettering, read the words Louisiana Sweet Potatoes. “I tried to think about what would be nutritious, store easily, and fill us up without needing to be cooked,” he explained. “These are perfect for all of that! Admittedly, it won’t be the most appetizing situation. But still, if we stretch a little, these could last us a couple of days. After that, I’ll just go back out again.”

While picking one of the yams up and inspecting it, I had to admit that I was impressed by my brother’s success. However, that did not mean that I was without skeptical questions. “Christopher,” I began. “Don’t you think someone might notice that an ENTIRE crate of these has disappeared?”

“Doubtful,” he replied confidently. “They had SEVEN of these.”

“SEVEN?!” I blurted out in disbelief.

He nodded in emphatic confirmation. “Cathy, the kitchen is HUGE. It’s clearly meant for multiple staff members to work in at the same time. Between it and the pantry, there’s more food than you can possibly imagine!”

I scoffed. “What could possibly be the need for all of that?”

His shoulders gave a shrug in response. “Maybe it’s not just to feed the Foxworths with, but the staff as well OR maybe there’s some big shindig being planned. I don’t know. Either way, I honestly doubt that they go through all of that grub before it just ends up in the trash. Which is why we shouldn’t feel the least bit guilty about taking some for ourselves.” I chuckled at his mischievous tone before shaking my head at the whole situation. The Foxworths certainly weren’t about to get any of my sympathy over this.

Over the next two days, we kept the crate hidden upstairs and ate the yams throughout. Having never eaten a raw sweet potato before, it shocked me a little to find that they were crunchy. At first, the twins complained, especially Carrie, but when Christopher and I explained that it was this or nothing, their hunger eventually won out. Unfortunately, by the middle of the second day, we ran out of the root vegetables and yet again felt the pain of unfilled stomachs twist at our intestines while going to bed.

That night, as planned, Christopher went out again. Once more, I waited for him in the dark. While sitting upon the bed, I looked over and watched Carrie’s soft breathing. A part of me wanted to reach over and pet her hair, but I resisted the urge. Afraid that it might wake her up. Still, the sight of her sleeping calmed my nerves ever so slightly. While I hadn’t been monitoring the clock, it seemed like he was taking longer than the first time. That made me worry.

Eventually, the latch turned and the door opened. Immediately, an elation took my soul as I ran to Christopher and flung my arms around him in gratitude for his safety. However, my happiness soon plummeted. The look on his face was not excited with victory, but instead, unbearably grim. His hands were empty.

“What’s wrong? Why is there no food?” I asked as my stomach growled.

At those questions, guilt and horror flooded his expression. “I… I couldn’t get into the kitchen this time,” he finally stuttered out. “There were a couple of servants standing outside the door. I waited for them to leave, but they didn’t until two new ones came and took their place. I think… I think that they were put there as guards… because of me.”

My mouth hung open as I processed what Christopher was telling me. “Let me see if I understand this correctly, sentries have now been posted in order to protect a food source that is likely to just end up in the trash anyway?” I watched him nod in confirmation. At that, my throat made an ugly laugh. The situation before us felt almost too ridiculous to be believed. “Well, based on what you’re telling me, my guess is that they must suspect one of the servants of taking the sweet potatoes. If the grandmother had thought that it was us for a second, then doubtless that she would have immediately come up here and dealt with things herself,” I sneered out in conclusion.

“Yeah, that was what I thought as well,” Christopher stated in agreement.

“So, what are we going to do now?”

Again, he placed his hands on my shoulders comfortingly. “It’s gonna be okay. I’m gonna figure this out. All I need is just a little bit of time. Okay?” But I just sighed at that. I couldn’t even attempt to conceal my exasperation.

The following day became truly miserable. It was a strange contradiction how my mind could be so foggy to focus, and yet so vividly fixate over food. Things that I wanted to eat obsessively merry-go-rounded inside of my head. My body was severely fatigued, but napping was somehow difficult. On top of that, both Carrie AND Cory whined non-stop. Words that destroyed my heart. “Momma, I don’t feel good. I’m hungry. When can we eat?” I tried to distract the two of them with games and books, but the words and rules phased in and out of concentration. Eventually, I just sat the three of us in front of the TV. Something that we could all do passively. The downside was that a number of our favorite sitcoms were featuring their Thanksgiving Day episode for the November month. Our jealous mouths salivated over tables that were covered in homemade turkeys, sides, and occasional figurines of little blonde pilgrims.

Meanwhile, Christopher sat in the schoolroom corner, apart from us, and obsessively thought over various scenarios for acquiring more food. Occasionally, we could hear him muttering things in the background. Maybe he could use the rope and go around? No, there was no window access into the kitchen. Perhaps he could knock out the guards? No, there were two of them. All through the plotting, his teeth gnashed through his own stomach pain while working. Eventually, I turned up the volume on our TV in order to drown both him out and the sound of our ever rumbling bellies.

The next day was even worse. Both Carrie and Cory constantly bawled at even the slightest of infractions. The gnawing in their tummies was getting to their minds and making them irritable. We were all exhausted. None of us had slept well that night. So, soon enough, I tucked the two of them into bed together and advised them to try and get rest. Despite all of the Tin-Woman’s never ending rhetoric on the wickedness of boys and girls being together, the twins hadn’t changed. They still found greater happiness in napping with each other than they did apart. Ultimately, it was a simple way to give them just a bit more comfort.

As though in demonstration of how their connection was woven into the very fabric of their mettle, they immediately clasped hands while lying there. Then, despite the suffering of hunger twisting at their insides, pulling weariness down upon their muscles, and addling their brains within a never ending fog, they smiled upon one another, their other half. Love is often where relief and salvation is found.

As I began to scoot the two of them over in order to make room for myself and join them, Carrie faced me. “Momma, I know that it hasn’t been allowed down here before, but could we please have Charlie? I think that it would help make Cory feel better.”

Hearing all of that surprised me, never before had I witnessed my little sister act so polite. Her voice was weak and frail as she spoke. My mind considered the situation with what little power my synapses could manage. The grandmother wasn’t going to arrive until tomorrow morning at seven. So, her discovering Charlie was highly unlikely. Of course, there was the ever present capricious possibility of Momma randomly popping in. However, I couldn’t find it within myself to care about what that woman might think. With everything going on right then, how could I say no to Carrie’s request? After only a few reflective seconds, I answered my little gremlin with a “Just this once.”

While hiking up the stairs to the attic, I had to take several frustrating breaks. My energy starved body couldn’t do the climb in one go. When I at last made it into the garden, I exhaustedly flopped to the floor. My limbs splayed themselves upon the green painted hardwood like a starfish. Had I known that such a simple task would have taken so much effort, then perhaps I would have denied Carrie’s plea after all. On second thought, I probably still wouldn’t have.

As I laid there huffing and puffing, Christopher ran over to my side. For all of that time, he had remained in the schoolroom while burning through idea after idea.

“Are you alright?” he asked in a fret.

“No really,” I blurted out in honesty. My head then gave a tired lull to the side so that I could face him. “Christopher,” I began in a tone so serious that it sounded almost harsh. “Have you come up with a plan?”

“Not yet,” he admitted with a saddened voice.

I rolled my head back until my gaze looked directly upward toward the roof. While admiring the ceiling’s craftsmanship, my blurry thoughts aimlessly wandered about in an attention deficit-like manner. The web of wood formed numerous triangular patterns as the rafters connected with collar ties and purlin posts through various joists and plates. We were going to be hanging up the lights soon. I couldn’t wait for their rainbow glow to be added to the beams. It was always so beautiful.

Suddenly, my mind snapped back into reality and I felt scared. This wasn’t the way that my brain normally thought about things, as though I had temporarily gone insane. It’s a frightening experience when one’s brain and body no longer function properly. They can betray their owner so quickly. With that, I opened my mouth and stated the elephant that could no longer be ignored, “Christopher, if my hair isn’t cut by tomorrow morning, then the grandmother is going to do this to us for ANOTHER week.”

The only acknowledgement that Christopher gave to what I had said was a slight shift in expression. He then asked me what it was that I had come upstairs for, as though attempting to change subjects. With a worn out sigh, I explained about how Carrie had asked for Charlie. To which, he offered to assist me in bringing the little guy down without another thought. It took us a few seconds after that to decide whether it would be easier to carry the entire cage or just hold the small rodent with our bare hands. Eventually, Christopher came up with the idea of taking the mouse and placing him back in the shoebox that the twins had cut holes into on the day that Charlie had entered our lives.

Holding the cardboard box in my hands, I made my way back down the steps. My brother followed. Inside of the container, I could feel Charlie nervously moving about. On occasion, a dizzy spell would hit me and I’d suddenly need to place one of my hands upon the wall for balance. It made Christopher worry, but I simply ignored his fussings and trudged on.

Once we returned to the twins, I quickly apologized to the little gremlins, “I’m sorry if it took a bit, but I managed to get Charlie for the both of you.” With that, I then opened the lid, carefully pulled the tiny creature out of the cardboard container, and placed him between Carrie and Cory’s heads.

At first, I was afraid that the little guy would immediately bolt away in search of food. But, to my surprise, the mouse sniffed around in a meander until it found Cory’s pillow and simply laid down beside the seven-year-old. It was like my little brother’s pet was just content in being reunited with his human and understood how much the boy needed him right now. Both of the twins beamed tiredly at that behavior. Cory smiled at having his best friend back, while Carrie smiled at her brother.

With two delicate fingers, Cory started to lovingly stroke the mouse’s head. “I’m sorry, Charlie,” he mumbled in a regretful voice. “I know that you’re probably hungry too, but Cathy says that there’s no food right now. I promise though, as soon as we have some, I’ll make sure that you get fed as well.”

Christopher stayed with us after that. I listened as he entertained Charlie and the twins by reading to the three of them. Although, he kept mostly to picture books since chapter books required more concentration. Roughly an hour or so later, Carrie and Cory completely passed out.

I gazed upon their sleeping forms as a crippling guilt coursed through me. I was failing to take care of them, keep them safe, and fulfill even their most basic of needs. And with those thoughts came despair.

My glance then turned to Christopher. His own grief reflected a similar defeat all over his countenance. Yet, while looking at him, anger started to take hold. A part of me blamed him for this. After all, it was he who had insisted that the Tin-Woman had been bluffing. However, I was also mad at myself for not having argued the issue more strongly. Because unlike my brother, I had known better. The grandmother would have acquainted bluffing with lying. There was no way that that had ever been her intention. Still, how quickly it was that I had lied to myself and capitulated for the sake of not having to sacrifice my vanity.

Appalled by it all, my mouth uttered the words, “I am DONE with this nonsense!” My feet then traipsed over, grabbed the scissors off of the highboy where the Tin-Woman had left them, and began to furiously cut away at the base of my braid.

“What are you doing?!” Christopher objected in a whisper. “Cathy, stop, listen.” But, I just ignored him.

Hacking away at my blonde rope lasted longer than expected. My locks were thick. It took several squeezes of the handle before my hair eventually snapped undone and the excess woven bundle fell to the floor. Loose hair now tickled at my neck and shoulders.

“No, Christopher! YOU listen!” I then immediately fired back. “I am not going to keep standing by while me and my family go hungry when there’s something that I can obviously do about it! It’s just hair! It WILL GROW BACK!”

His oncoming rebuttal halted within midair. I watched as defeated muscles then slackened all throughout his form. The devoted blue seas of his irises calmed as a sadness cracked upon the edges of his sclera. They scanned my face, memorizing the details of my hunger, exhaustion, and stubbornness. Finally, he relented, “Okay. But, at the very least… is there anything that I can do?”

At that, my strength evaporated and I started to hesitate. We mirrored each other, he and I. Both of us were tired and overcome. My body began to tremble as my resolve wobbled. “Well… if you could maybe finish what I’ve started. I’d appreciate it,” I eventually stuttered out. While my logic knew that my hair would grow, my anxiety whispered and wormed its way in with fearful lies. What if I was about to become bald for the rest of my life? “Please, Christopher,” I then pleaded as my limbs shook and my eyes fought back tears. “I don’t want to have to do it all by myself.”

Listening to my shaky voice and witnessing my fearful faltering, his only reply to that was yet another, “Okay.” That word vibrated through the air at barely even a whisper.

Here in the night, at the end of all things, Christopher had nothing left to become the hero with. There were no last minute brilliant plans or strategies to save the day, and thereby keep us away from harm and humiliation. And in stripping the cleverness out of the nucleotides that built the young man’s very DNA, all that he had to give was his support of me as I stood there struggling with what it was that I needed to do. All that he had left to give… was love.

He then gently took the scissors from my hand and started gingerly walking around me while hacking away. I kept my body rigid in order to prevent shaking and slammed my eyes shut as I attempted to force the reality of what was happening out of my thoughts, but the sounds of snipping kept bringing it back. Uncontrollable tears streamed down and formed wet lines upon my cheeks.

Eventually, my mind wandered far enough away from what was happening to remember something, a scene from Gone with the Wind. It was almost funny because, despite having been my favorite book and film, my once twelve year old heart had never thought about the segment with great consideration before. The moment lacked the escapist romantic attitude of Scarlett O’Hara being in the arms of her Rhett Butler. Things that had made my childish heartbeat drum delightfully faster. Yet, I still recall Scarlett’s line. Afterall, it’s famous. “As God is my witness, as God is my witness they’re not going to lick me. I’m going to live through this and when it’s all over, I’ll never be hungry again. No, nor any of my folk. If I have to lie, steal, cheat or kill. As God is my witness, I’ll never be hungry again.” I felt those words. Right now, I experienced them more deeply than any rhetoric within both fiction and non that had ever entered my life before. For, despite the wavering uncertainties, had I known, truly known what the alternative was, I’d have removed my hair on day one!

All at once, the cutting stopped. After a few awkward seconds, I thought about opening my eyes. But then, Christopher’s hand began brushing off my neck and shoulders, confirming that he had indeed finished. Meanwhile, I just stood there breathing, unsure of what to do next. Then suddenly, his cleaning was followed by a brief peck upon my neck. It was a soft wisp of a thing. At first, I shuddered in shocked surprise. However, as his hands then placed themselves on my shoulders and his forehead rested against the side of my temple, I started to instinctively lean into him and shamefully long for more contact. A disorienting fog encroached itself into my mind, and it was not the mental mist that I had been suffering with all day from the hunger in my belly.

“Do you want to look at yourself in the mirror,” Christopher then asked. There was a nervous guilt in his voice as he did so.

That question cleared the clouds in my brain as I had to think about it for a moment before answering, “The grandmother said that she wanted to be able to see my scalp. Will the cut satisfy her?”

“...Yes.”

“Then I don’t need to see it,” I replied somewhat curtly.

Feeling tired, my eyes glanced over at Carrie and Cory. They were sleeping soundly and I loathed the idea of waking them up just to move boys and girls back into their proper beds. Not when they were finally getting some rest. With that, for the second time in three years, I yanked the covers off of the boy’s mattress with the thought of crawling into the thing. I was so weary and exhausted that I didn’t even bother with a nightgown. I just simply pulled my dress over my head and let it fall to the floor with a plop, before then climbing under the blankets in nothing but my bra and underwear.

Experiencing a heavenly contentment from the soft pillows and comforters, I exhaled satisfaction before my gaze turned to Christopher and waited for him to follow. He stood there uncertain as his eyes scanned the length of blanketed hills that composed my covered form. They then flicked over to the twins. Until at last, he timidly peeled off his own clothes down to the boxers and climbed into bed with me. My eyes could barely stay open as they observed an excited panic all over his face. It was then that I realized how, despite having slept together in the distant past many times, this instance somehow meant something more. In response, my heart pounded out a scared eureka and wondered if his own might be doing the same.

However, I ultimately sighed as the feeling of extreme fatigue won out over all else. So, while giving him a small, rejecting smile, I joked disarmingly, “I cannot believe that this situation has gotten me worried about a MOUSE.” At first, Christopher blinked his bewilderment as the sudden shift of things boggled his brain. “What if it starves?” I then elaborated with a tired humor.

At that, his expression slowly shifted into a grin of amusement as the energy that came off of him became disappointed, yet also relieved. “Well Cathy, before the twins completely crashed, I noticed a new hole in Cory’s pillow. So, you can now rest easy in the knowledge that Charlie is currently eating better than we are.” The two of us then burst out in a giggle at that, which felt good and cleansed our hearts. Laughter was something that neither of us had done for a few days. But then all at once, Christopher’s countenance suddenly dropped and he placed his hands over his eyes in a fight against oncoming tears. “I’m so sorry!” he cried out. “You knew… you knew that this was going to happen and I should have trusted your instincts. But I… I truly believed that the grandmother wasn’t going to do this. But I was wrong! She not only starved us, but also the twins without so much as batting an eye. Cathy, I just... I don’t know how to function within a world where people are capable of being so blatantly cruel!”

Reactively, I clicked my tongue. “Christopher, you always expect people to give you their best. I’m sorry for whenever they come to disappoint you. But please, try not to let this take away your natural faith in others. After all, I’M supposed to be the pessimistic and morose one. Remember?” I then reached over impulsively. My hands pet his hair, caressed his cheek, and touched any exposed surface that could be comforted.

At that, Christopher dropped his arms. His glassy eyes gave me a dreamy gaze before his mouth whispered, “Not everyone has disappointed me.” He then sighed. “Let’s just go ahead and get some sleep.”

The sweetness in his voice made my heart flutter and my lips curl. “Yeah, okay.”

The following morning, my eyelids opened to the sound of the alarm clock blaring off. As my consciousness came to from that obnoxious noise, I realized that Christopher had his arms completely wrapped around me like a small child clinging to a teddy bear. It must have happened sometime in the night. My cheeks blushed a little at the sensation of his shirtless chest being pressed flush against my nearly bare back. With my heart beating like a hummingbird, I rolled over within his grasp. The movement visibly disturbed him as his shoulders shifted somewhat in an attempt to get comfortable once again.

“Hey,” I spoke gently. “It’s morning. We need to get everything ready.” At that, Christopher opened his eyes while his throat rumbled a groan. Contentment was on his face as he then stared at me. The look almost made me forget that my stomach hurt or that my body currently existed within a seemingly permanent tired fog. From it, I could tell we were thinking the same thing. That neither of us wanted to leave this bed. That we would just remain under these blankets all warm, peaceful, and never having to worry about being responsible for anything ever again. But just the same, he nodded his head in understanding before we both then forced ourselves to get up.

The first thing that we did was pick up our old clothes and put on new ones. Christopher then grabbed a broom and dustpan to sweep my hair up from off of the floor. Meanwhile, I escorted Cory into the boy’s bed. Between that and having Charlie briefly taken away, he started to sob. While Christopher took the mouse upstairs to put it back in the cage, I attempted to console my little brother, repeatedly telling him that this was just temporary. Predictably, Carrie defended her twin by declaring that Christopher and I were mean. Only this time, the little gremlin called us “absolute tyrants.” Hearing that, my brain fumbled upon where exactly it was that she had learned those words. But I quickly shook my head in some amusement, realizing that they must have come up during one of our sessions of attic school. All of that aside, we did let the two of them stay in bed. Given the circumstances, Christopher and I didn’t have the energy to force the twins into getting dressed and standing at attention for the grandmother.

As the time came to six fifty-five, my older brother and I stood in formation while the twins watched nervously. Struggling to keep my unsteady body balanced, I braced my wobbling legs against the edge of the mattress and box spring. Each time that I stumbled ever so slightly, Christopher would glance at me worriedly. It was all over his face that he wanted to walk over and help guide me into one of the beds. However, I just glared back and wordlessly willed him into staying put. Now was not the time.

Seven struck and the Tin-Woman entered. Immediately, her gray lasers scanned me and that sneer of triumph, the one that I hated so much, stretched across her face. “Come here, girl,” she called in an almost gloating tone of voice. Cautiously, I did as commanded. My body shook while moving and I couldn’t discern if it was because of the lack of food or that I was simply scared. After a few unsure steps, I stood before the great judge. “I see that you have successfully removed your vanity and proven your devotion to the Lord, child.”

“Yes grandmother, as you can see, I have been purified,” I replied.

As I gave her the exact answer that she wanted to hear, my mind bitterly harbored the evermore adult understanding that the old zealot didn’t actually care about the truth of it. While speaking with her, I had dark fantasies. Violent, detailed visions that had never entered my previously well adjusted consciousness. But the Tin-Woman had beaten Christopher and I, forced me to shave my head, and starved all four of us. So, while talking, I couldn’t help but happily imagine taking those silver handled scissors of hers and scalping the old woman with them, before then slitting her throat. And with those visceral images playing out, I realized that I had at last fully understood the meaning of HATE. For it was her who had taught me the word so well.

The grandmother then briefly glanced at the twins before asking in displeasure, “Why are the little ones not standing as well?”

I hesitated to answer, unsure of what she wanted to hear. Eventually, I chose honesty and admitted, “It’s difficult right now for us to stand for a long period of time.”

But the Tin-Woman simply scoffed at my reply. “Be grateful girl that it was only for a week. While writing the Ten Commandments, Moses fasted for forty days.” These were the words of a woman who had never voluntarily fasted a single day in her life. She then added, “Do you know which quote in the Bible it is that says so?”

My heart instantly panicked at the question. In my current state, the synapses of my brain struggled to recall ANY Bible quotes. Let alone a specific one that the grandmother was referring to almost at random. I fluttered about, desperately trying to conjure up the passage. When was it that Moses wrote the Ten Commandments? Wasn't that Exodus? If so, then what chapter? What would happen if I couldn’t answer correctly? Would she refuse to leave the basket? What would my siblings and I do then? Within her residential kingdom, the grandmother had all of the power to decide on a whim as to whether or not we got to live or die. Meanwhile, we had none. With that truth firmly understood as my reality, a trembling terror consumed me while I stood there trying… trying… TRYING!

“I’m waiting, girl!” the Tin-Woman then thundered like the merciless god that she was.

Suddenly, a voice shouted out, “Exodus, Chapter 34, Verse 28. ‘And he was there with the Lord forty days and forty nights; he did neither eat bread, nor drink water. And he wrote upon the tables the words of the covenant, the Ten Commandments.’”

We both turned to look at Christopher, who remained at attention and not looking back at either of us. “I seem to recall asking your sister, boy. Not you!” the old woman lashed out. My brother gave no response in return. It was a silence that almost seemed to be passively rebellious. Then, her face shifted into a haughty smirk. Strangely, she almost appeared to be impressed by Christopher as she at last set the basket down upon our dining table. “But still, here is your reward. As promised. Now, what do you say, girl?”

Once again, I floundered. What more could the Tin-Woman possibly want from us? What action did I need to take in order to satisfy her? However, this time, it quickly came to me. Her tone was not unlike that of an adult scolding a child over their manners. And with all of the strength that my soul could muster, I stifled the scoff that wanted to escape my mouth, lowered my head in a grovel, and mumbled out in a show of humility, “Thank you for the food, grandmother.”

With a grin on her face, the Tin-Woman finally left us. As the latch clicked, my feet all but sprinted to the now treasured wicker container and my hands started to wildly pull things out. It was barely a moment before all three of my siblings were beside me, stumbling a little as they approached.

“Slow down!” Christopher warned at my behavior. “I know it’s gonna be hard, but if we eat too much, too fast, then we could end up just throwing everything up. Also…” To my shocked horror, he then began putting the edible objects back into the basket, leaving out only the mashed potatoes, soup, and fruit. “We should start with the potatoes. Then, in about twenty minutes after that, if we’re still hungry, we can have the soup and fruit. Basically, we prioritize the food that we're less likely to choke on while consuming. Then, as we start to feel better, get more energy and control back, we can dig into the chicken and sandwiches.”

In all honesty, Christopher’s attempt to look out for us went over my head. My mind couldn’t focus on anything besides the impending moment of eating. That said, he also didn’t need to tell me twice before I dove for the potatoes.

There was no etiquette of sitting at the table and dishing things out evenly. Instead, like cavemen, the four of us scooped up the white mush with our bare hands and shovelled it into our mouths. It was amazing! Here, I had eaten these potatoes day in and day out. Truly, they were nothing special. Yet, as I devoured, I couldn’t help but wonder as to what sorcery the grandmother must have put inside of them that morning. Tears trickled down from my eyes. The taste was simply an other-worldly level of delicious. While glancing around, I noticed that my siblings were doing the exact same thing. All of us were weeping with delight.

As the pile continued to vanish, Christopher eventually wiped his mouth with his sleeve and blurted out, “I uh… I’m gonna head upstairs for a bit. Nothing to worry about. I just gotta take care of something real quick.” He then went to the closet at a quick jaunt.

Too busy in gorging ourselves, we didn’t question his behavior. But once the side dish’s plate became so clean that it appeared to have come straight out of the wash, humanity returned to our minds and hearts, and we finally started to wonder why our older brother had gone into the attic. In following him up the steps, Cory made sure to grab a small piece of fruit for Charlie.

When we reached the top, we found Christopher standing in front of a trunk that had somehow been completely destroyed. Wood chips and random objects were strewn about our garden from the brutal mess. Hearing our footsteps, he turned and faced the three of us with shame eclipsing his entire countenance. A juvenile who had just been caught committing a crime. “Oh! Sorry, I uh…” he started to babble out while visibly attempting to keep from crying again. “I accidentally broke the trunk. Luckily, there was nothing inside that we regularly use. That said, is there any chance that I could get help with cleaning?” In gazing upon him, I quickly nodded in agreement. What he said was an obvious lie, but I didn’t care. Honestly, even if we had discovered the entire garden to be in ruins, I’m not sure that it would have upset me.

As the four of us picked up the disaster, among the wreckage was found a hammer. One that had been so savagely used that the metal head had broken clean off from its wooden handle.

Chapter Text

Even after getting food back, Christopher and I continued to share a bed while Carrie and Cory slept in the other one. It visibly made the twins happier to be able to sleep together again, even within these circumstances. In observing that, us older Dollangangers just couldn’t keep forcing ourselves to care about propriety between boys and girls.

Within the dark, a person will find themselves clinging to sparks of joy like a child catching fireflies. For those lightning bugs, as frail and temporary as their existence may be, are just as important as food and water because the promise of their cherished glow is the reason that humanity even bothers to eat and drink for another day. The difference between happy and sad times is simply the number of fireflies available right then. And if there is one good thing that I can say about my years spent in that house, it’s that, among the many trauma induced quirks that I developed and kept well into adulthood, my priorities on what truly matters became forged into sharp focus within the long lasting struggle of that place.

So, every night, I watched as Christopher fell asleep to the sound of my voice prattling on, and the next morning, I in turn woke up to the sensation of his hands resting upon me. Areas where they had never been before. Places like my stomach… my thigh. As a blush came to my cheeks, my eyes would then flick with a programmed paranoia to the triptych above our dining table, the fires of Hell. Our supposed future where beasts would eternally feast upon our tainted souls. I sighed at it and looked away, feeling forever tired.

During the day, I wore scarves to cover my hair with. Among all of the old clothes that we searched through, there were three total, a blue one with a paisley pattern, a pink one with flowers, and a yellow one with polka dots. Each of them had a hole within the silk cloth that I had to sew up with our machine. The repair work would likely have made a professional seamstress cringe since it bunched the fabric up awkwardly. Just the same, I still felt proud of myself. At the very least, it was a vast improvement over the woven hollows that had been. It also guaranteed that there would not be further damage to them in the near future.

Eventually, Corrine capriciously came for one of her thirty minute visits. Diligently, Christopher worked on getting the twins settled into a coloring activity while her and I sat together at the game space table. At that point, our mother hardly ever acknowledged the twins’ existence. So much so that in seeing the five of us together, one might think that the woman had only bore two children, instead of four. Perhaps it was because their small, emaciated frames filled her with guilt. Whereas with Christopher and I, it was easier to keep pretending that little was wrong. They in turn barely registered her presence as well. Why would they? She was almost never around.

However, the moment that her eyes came upon me that day, they stared at my scarf unrelentingly. It wasn’t long until I started to squirm under the scrutinous scan of her confused lasers, feeling evermore self-conscious. At last, she dared to speak, “I’m sorry, my love, but I just HAVE to ask. What on Earth ever happened to your hair?”

I blinked at that while considering how to answer the question. By then, Christopher had joined us and it was doubtless that he’d overheard because he was strangely silent. Although, ever since our mother had told us about Bart, he’d barely spoken more than a couple of sentences to her during these random visits. Still, I could feel the energy of his concerned stare as he waited for my response.

A handful of uncertain breaths went by as I sat there wondering how Corrine would react if I told her the truth. That the grandmother had starved us and only gave the food back in exchange for our submission. Honestly, I figured that she would just run away and stop coming for a while. Afterall, that’s exactly what the woman had done back when Christopher had revealed his whip marks. So, confessing this fresh wound to her felt too intimate. The fact was, the woman who I could come to with all of my growing pain problems was gone. Perhaps she had died on the intersection near Greenfield Highway with our Daddy. Or maybe it was at some point much later, a moment within this house that we children never witnessed from behind our locked pine portal. Either way, she and I just didn’t have that kind of relationship anymore.

With that, I finally spoke, “Oh, I… I just felt like a change is all. Pixie cuts can be quite fashionable. Not to mention that Cory has started writing a play. Of which, the main character has short hair and you’ll be more than welcome to come and watch whenever we put it on, Mother.”

At my explanations, Christopher’s face became shocked and my own expression briefly faltered with it. Because… from the delivery of speech to the words themselves, my response sounded EXACTLY like something our mother might say. My words were the same kind of save face babble that she always rambled out while growing up. It was the relatives being dead. It was family TV night being cozier without furniture. It was Santa coming late that year. All of it the same, same, same. And for the briefest, spine chilling instant, my act of falsehood gave me an adult-like empathy over why she had spent so much effort in lying to others.

Meanwhile, believing me, Corrine instantly clutched her throat in horrified disapproval. Her countenance fought against forming a cringed grimace as she replied with, “Oh, Cathy, sweetie, my love, I’m sorry, but… you REALLY overdid it.”

Those words hurt. My eyes briefly fluttered and held back the instant tears that ached to emerge and expose me. I then forced my lips to put on a smile as I replied in a voice of fake non-chalance, “Yeah, I… I suppose that I did. It’s true… kinda embarrassing really. And on that note, is there any chance that you could bring me more scarves?”

“Of course!”

All the while that Corrine and I had been going back and forth about my hair, Christopher had remained quiet, just sitting there and listening. But suddenly, he interjected, “Momma, will there be another Thanksgiving banquet and Christmas party this year?”

“Yes, but you two will not be invited! Don’t think for one second my loves that I have forgotten what a disaster it was the last time that I let you out.” Though her tone was scolding, her expression looked pleased. She seemed grateful for Christopher’s subject change out of the formerly awkward topic. However, I knew better. My brother was plotting. He was gathering information on moments when everyone would be downstairs, making it easier for him to sneak about the upper rooms and rob them. “Actually, that’s part of why I came,” the woman then added with a building excitement. “You see my loves, Daddy and I have been talking and… unless something terrible happens that changes his mind, he’s going to finally do it! During the coming Christmas party, he’s going to name me as his heir! Isn’t that wonderful! After all this time, we’re finally going to get everything that we've ever wanted.” An immature sounding squeal then screeched out of her throat as she took each of our hands. At this new information, Christopher and I exchanged stunned glances, unsure of what to think and feel.

It wasn’t long afterwards that Corrine left in a giddy flurry. Once she was gone, I approached the cracked mirror, removed the scarf, and gazed upon my scalp. The broken record memory of her comments about my ‘overdone’ appearance emptied my confidence. Luckily, stubble had begun filling in the formerly bare patches. So, it would indeed all eventually grow back with time. Still, I lamented at the sight of myself. Between the pale skin, thin frame, and lack of hair, I looked more like a sickly boy in a dress than a lovely teenage girl. Within the fractaled image of my broken form, tears started to stream down the cheeks, and my hand immediately wiped away their real world replicas.

From behind me, Christopher’s disembodied voice stated, “You know. Once your hair grows out just a little bit more, I think that you’ll look really pretty.”

A small upward curve came to my mouth toward his attempt at being comforting as I spun around to face him. “Yeah?” I then asked in a flutter.

The grin on his own face grew while his eyes scanned the top of my head as though he was picturing my eventual hairstyle in his mind. “Yeah! You’ll be like a blonde Audrey Hepburn.”

I blushed at the flattery before countering with a mocking, “You’re starting to look like a blonde Tarzan. I should probably cut it at some point.”

Momma used to periodically visit us during the evening in order to trim both of my brothers’ hair, but it had been nearly a year since she had last done that for the two of them. So, Christopher’s hair was now beginning to wisp against his shoulders like a male protagonist off of the cover of some Harlequin romance. In response to my teasing words, Christopher beat at his chest like a gorilla, causing me to giggle.

My thoughts then turned pensive. “About what our mother said earlier, I mean with the inheritance stuff, what do you think? Should we… maybe change our plans? Wait a little longer and see what happens?”

To my surprise, he shook his head emphatically. “No, it’s going to take a while to accumulate the amount of money that we need. So, I don’t think that it’s wise to put things off. We can always change our minds down the road.” His eyes then relooked at my scalp and a sadness cracked into the pupils. “Besides Cathy, if I’m honest, I can’t STAND the thought of ever sharing a meal with that old hag and pretending like I actually consider her to be family.”

We stood there in silence for a few heartbeats. Christopher was right. After all that had happened, what would it feel like to then have to sit down at a formal dinner table and break bread with the Tin-Woman and our mother?

Suddenly, changing subjects, Christopher then offered, “I actually wanted to ask if you would like to check out the place that I mentioned on Halloween. I had planned to go sooner, but then...” He stopped there, struggling to finish the sentence with something along the lines of ‘the grandmother starved us.’ However, when my response to his incompleted request was a somewhat timid nod, excitement beamed into his smile.

Late into that very evening, after both of the twins had crashed, Christopher and I tip-toed upstairs and I watched as he tied one end of the rope off to a couple of rafters. Since the roof was fairly new, the supportive planks showed no signs of rot or termite damage that would threaten to break them. He then proceeded to pull himself up and hang from the cotton line while observing each knot to make sure that they all remained secure.

Once he was satisfied that everything held together securely, Christopher then started to instruct me. “So basically, whenever climbing a rope, you just go hand over hand while keeping your feet together. If you need to take any breaks, you can use the knots for assistance by resting on them.” The way his body demonstrated moving upward along the line reminded me of an inchworm scrunching and expanding its way forward upon the ground.

“And exactly how many ropes have you climbed?” I incredulously sneered out. Always, Christopher felt this obnoxious and pedantic need to explain everything to me as though we hadn’t grown up in the same house under largely the same circumstances.

With that, he slowly made his way back down, hopped to the floor in a showman-like flair, and sassed back smugly, “More than you think, Cathy. Gym class was brutal!”

My head shook at him as I walked up in order to take my own turn and practice. However, as I attempted my ascent, the folds of my lengthy skirt kept catching upon the line. In frustrated defeat, I jumped down and began to think. When the eureka came to me, I muttered out to Christopher, “Give me one second.” My hand then grabbed the old, beaten up ballet supply box as I stomped over toward the privacy of tall bookshelves with a determined swagger. Quickly, I threw off my dress, stretched my form into my leotard, and sauntered out in a tada-type fashion.

To the background of him chuckling over my braggadocious behavior, I then tackled the rope once more. While well toned, my arms still lacked the kind of muscle structure often used for this activity, but my powerful legs made up some of the difference. Not to mention my lack of body weight. Those days, I barely exceeded ninety pounds. Once I made it to the top and slapped the rafter in success, I looked back down at the floor, considering a different strategy from what my brother had shown. Almost instinctively, I wrapped the cotton line around my leg, pinched my other foot to it, and slid down until I landed triumphantly. It was my turn to be smug because while my climb up may have been slower than Christopher’s, my descent had clearly been much faster.

As I stood there grinning proudly, he observed me with a smirk that was a mixture of both humor and annoyance. And for a moment, his gaze dropped to my mouth before he shook the idea loose from his mind, grabbed the untied end of our rope, and started feeding it through the opened window. “You might want to put a few more layers on than that,” he then advised with a slight blush to his cheeks. “Since we’re gonna be outside, I mean.”

Understanding that he had a point, I considered my options. It seemed silly to put my dress back on. So, what to wear instead? Eventually, I asked, “Christopher, do you mind at all if I borrow your clothes?”

His eyes gave a couple of blinks in surprise before replying with, “Sure. No problem.”

As quickly and quietly as I was able, I went downstairs, opened up my older brother’s drawer of the highboy, and pulled out a pair of his comfortable pajama bottoms. His legs were longer than mine. So, I rolled them at the waste line in order to make the whole thing shorter. I then threw on one of my warm cardigans and buttoned it up the front.

When I made my way back up, Christopher was waiting with a suitcase in his hand that had two straps attached to the handle. Long, cylinder shaped lumps had also appeared in each of his pockets. “I packed a couple of things while you were downstairs,” he explained before slinging the straps over his shoulders like a backpack.

As we then slipped through the open window, he declared, “I’ll go first. That way, if you happen to fall, I’ll be able to catch you.” The chivalrous lilt to his tone instantly grabbed my attention. And as I glanced at him, a sweet-hearted gaze briefly hooked into my eyes and froze me in place within a captivated stupor. As I watched him swing his leg over the edge of the roof, my chest pounded in consideration over possibly giving him a good luck peck on the cheek.

Then, while briefly looking back up at me, Christopher suddenly teased, “By the way Cathy, you should probably know that with my pajama bottoms and that scarf, you look kinda like a pirate.”

All at once, my flutterings of woo came crashing down and were replaced with instant female rage. “Christopher! You jerk!” I shrieked as he proceeded to climb down hand over hand. My irritation spiked even further as I heard the sound of him laughing while descending beyond my eyesight. Even so, I knew when it was that he eventually reached the bottom because he then vowed, “Alright Cathy, come on! Don’t worry. I got you!”

In a Christopher induced contradiction of agitation and dreaminess, I blinked before making my way toward him. Like the practice trial, I wrapped my leg around the rope and started to slide down. My hands were used more for slowing my descent than holding up my weight while climbing down. It was a few seconds later when my feet crunched into the grass for the first time in over two years. I gasped at the sensation and slid my toes along the ground, feeling the way that the Earth shifted beneath me. Without another word, Christopher pulled our old flashlights, the ones that we normally used for the Halloween parties, out of his pockets. He then passed one to me, clasped my hand, and began leading me toward some unknown direction.

As I was pulled along, my spotlight danced all around us. I couldn’t stop the compulsion of my gaze to absorb absolutely everything. With the well manicured shrubbery, I guessed that we must have been in the gardens at the back of the house. It was a shame that the season was off. For I would have placed bets that the grounds were stunning to behold during the springtime.

However, as we made our way toward the front of the building, I glanced back at the mansion and was surprised to see some late perennials. Long lavender petals that surrounded yellow centers swayed merrily in the breeze. “Oh wow! Some flowers are actually in bloom,” I blurted out enthusiastically.

At my excited tone, Christopher’s own sightline veered off from his mission and turned to the direction that I was indicating. “While most flowers bloom before Summer, that isn’t necessarily the case for all of them,” he explained somewhat flatly.

“They’re so pretty,” I replied in a daze. It had been so long that a part of heart had convinced itself that it would never again see fresh growing flowers. My eardrums danced at the sounds of night while my eyes continued to dart everywhere. The world was unbelievably enormous. So much larger than sixteen by sixteen. I had forgotten how big it was. Then, I stared up into a limitless expanse of stars. An entire galaxy of possibility that swirled above the world. “Beautiful,” I muttered in fearful delight, marveling within the smallness of myself in comparison to a vast universe. My pupils then set their sights upon Christopher and my mouth whispered his name. I was so happy, yet completely overwhelmed by it all.

Right at that moment, he had been watching me, hearing me, and his own lips curved into a soft crescent in response. “Cathy, let’s get to our destination. Then, we can stare at the sky for as long as you want,” he coaxed.

With that, I let him continue to gently guide me along. It didn’t take long for me to realize where we were going as a familiar dark squiggly circle came into view. For about seven more minutes we said nothing as the moonlit lake drew visibly closer. It was stunning to look upon with the heavens now visible both above and below. The only object that broke up the picturesque sight was a short wooden dock. It was then that Christopher stuck his flashlight into the ground and started to yank off all of his clothes in a frenzy.

“What are you doing?” I sneered out in a brattish surprise.

“We’re at a lake, Cathy. So, I’m going for a swim,” he replied with an impish glee.

I balked, “Christopher, it’s mid-November and the middle of the night. Do you have ANY idea how cold that water is going to be?”

“I don’t care,” he countered in a tone so excited that it almost sounded delirious. “I’m at a lake and it’s been over two and a half years since the last time that I’ve had a good swim.” With those final words, the clothes were removed down to his white boxer shorts. He then ran down the dock, whooping and hollering as his feet flapped upon the wooden planks, and cannon-balled into the pool. The water reflected constellations rippled from the liquid wrinkles created by his splash.

I giggled at the ridiculousness of him. With a shake of my head, I stabbed my own flashlight into the ground, took off my shoes and socks, and walked over in order to lounge at the end of the dock. As my feet dipped into the starry murk, the chill of the lake made me flinch. But after several attempts, I eventually relaxed and anticipated his eventual resurfacing.

Except that he didn’t. I waited. “Christopher?” I called out, beginning to get nervous. I then shouted at a much louder volume, “Christopher!” When the surface remained still for a few seconds more, my hands ripped off my outer wear down to the leotard and I dove in after him. The cold was an absolute shock to my system. It took several moments before my body acclimated and my mind could think about anything other than the temperature. Even then, it was dark. Within the pitch of that watery world, only the barest of details could be made out. I surfaced back into the light of the moon and stars. “CHRISTOPHER!” I screamed out once more in a terrified panic. Frantically, I spun around in all directions, searching for any signs of disturbance that would indicate a struggling teenage boy below. “I swear Christopher, you better be dead. Because if this is some kind of a prank, then I’m gonna kill you myself!” My voice finally threatened out.

Suddenly, two hands seized at my legs and I went under with a shriek. When we both surfaced, Christopher guffawed as I furiously splashed him in the face. “You unbelievable jerk!” With that, he started to swim around me in a backstroke while continuing to merrily chuckle. A youthfulness etched into his behavior and movements in a way that I hadn’t seen for a long time. “Seriously Christopher, that wasn’t funny. Now I’m freezing.” I whined out while shivering. My imagination pictured my trembling body to be even more ghostly than usual, complete with blue lips. Christopher certainly was all of those things right now.

At my complaining, he swam up to the front of me, wrapped his arms around in an embrace, and asked in a comforting tone, “Is that better?”

The tender warmth of his body heat was definitely an improvement. “A little,” I was forced to admit with a slight blush. “But I’m also mad at you right now!” I then corrected as my arms pushed him away.

After splashing around for a few more minutes, the two of us returned to the shore where our flashlights beaconed. I quickly ran to the dock and gathered up my previously discarded things. Meanwhile, Christopher popped his suitcase open and threw a towel in my direction, before drying his own hair off with a second one. He then stood up and all at once, I noticed him as his fingers stroked his currently shoulder length hair, pulling it out of his face and causing it to stick to the back of his neck. Having been in the water, the white shorts were somewhat translucent and stuck to his thighs. Upon a broadening chest, water dripped off of places that he hadn’t yet wiped away with the towel and glistened in a dewy sheen over the areas that he had. Catching myself, I instantly turned away from him and felt mortified.

“Uh… we’re gonna wanna remove our wet clothes if we want to stay out here for much longer,” he then advised with an uncertain tremor. At his recommendation, we stood back to back while changing. Even as I resisted the temptation, a part of me admittedly wanted to look, to turn my head and perhaps catch just the briefest glimpse. I stood there cold and awkward when I heard, “Okay, I’m good. Just let me know when you’re finished as well.” Nervously, I in turn slipped the straps of my leotard off of my shoulders, before peeling the article down to my ankles. It was a challenge. The suit was tight before, but now it was also wet and sticking to my skin. Once naked, I froze in place as strange, unrecognizable feelings swirled within the pit of my stomach. Until Christopher asked impatiently, “You done yet, Cathy?” The question snapped me out of my hesitations and I quickly threw the pajama pants and cardigan back on.

“Yeah, I’m decent now,” I answered while fumbling together the top buttons in a rush.

As I turned around, Christopher was yet again at his suitcase, where a silk blanket was pulled out and laid across the grass. Undoubtedly made for a king sized bed, it was large, but not very thick. The thing was more like a quilt than a comforter. I watched as he stretched on top of that wide linen spread. A cartoonishly relaxed exhale came forth from his mouth as tension released from his muscles. His head then rolled toward my direction and his eyebrow gave me a silently expectant raise to follow.

With a light chuckle, I walked over, flopped down beside him, and gazed upward. The Milky Way continued to cluster its light above us like a tear within an immense stretch of black granite. It sparkled a keyhole’s reveal of what life after this one would look like. Something better and more wondrous undoubtedly. “You really thought of everything. Didn’t you?” I then teased.

Christopher grinned. “I had a feeling that you might want to look at the stars. And given how much you were staring at them during our walk here, it seemed like I was right.”

I chuffed at him and then shivered soon afterwards. The late Fall breeze was difficult to ignore. My hand grabbed the edge of the blanket and instinctively pulled it over myself, but the fabric came up short. In order to envelop more of my form, I started scooting ever closer inward. Christopher in turn copied the behavior until we met in the middle and became swaddled together within a silken burrito.

It forced our bodies to be close. While the heat that radiated off of him was an instant relief, I once again found myself feeling unsure within the situation. My head now rested within the crook of his neck while my arm laid across his chest. While the calmness of his face appeared almost serene, the skin of my forearm could sense the pulsations of his heart, which beat harder and faster as we lounged there. Meanwhile, my nose caught occasional whiffs of lake water and him.

For a handful of peaceful breaths, Christopher had difficulty looking at me. His eyes remained upward as he eventually spoke, “I had a thought the other day.”

“Yeah?”

With that, he finally turned to face me. There was tenderness in his gaze as he replied with, “If none of this had happened, if our lives had remained in Pennsylvania, then we would be going to the same school right now.”

Quickly realizing that he was right, I gasped at the reality that I would have been starting high school this year. However, even then, the two of us still would have likely existed within completely different worlds that just happened to be housed inside the same building. He would have continued things like the debate club, and anything else that put him on an elite college fast track. Meanwhile, I would have undoubtedly gotten involved in drama and perhaps even choir. In fact, we each probably would have even gotten a boyfriend and girlfriend from within our respective clicks. In reflecting on all of that, I was once again reminded of how Christopher and I really were very different from one another.

With all of that circling my mind, I soon asked, “Christopher, what made you want to become a doctor?” The suddenness of the question visibly startled him a little. He stared at me, appearing confused. “It’s just that I’ve never really seen you want to be anything else,” I elaborated.

His eyes glared at me in mocking amusement before he fired back with a taunting, “Well… what made YOU want to become a ballerina? Afterall, I’ve never seen you want to be anything else either.”

I huffed at him. Irritation rose within me as I felt a sting of wounded pride.

While chuckling at my behavior, Christopher replied in a tone that conveyed wanting to smooth things over, “Okay, okay… You were probably too young to remember this, but I ended up skipping first grade.” My eyes blinked and he nodded to confirm that it was true. “Not only that, but it wasn’t long into second grade when the conversation of me moving up happened AGAIN!” Exasperation sighed out of my mouth while listening. It was no wonder that he could sometimes be so egotistical. “But our parents said that they thought it would be uncomfortable for me to be so much younger than my classmates. Anyway, it was after that when Daddy started joking and pestering me about becoming a doctor. I’m not sure how serious he really was about it, but I completely idolized the man, and still do. Growing up, I wanted to be EXACTLY like him. So, I guess it just didn’t take much for him to convince me.”

Hearing that answer, my eyes studied his face more closely. Those words caused me to recall fuzzy memories that lacked detailing, like watching a show through the static of an improperly tuned television.

However, it wasn’t Christopher’s skipping grades that I was recollecting, but the occasional moment when either Momma or Daddy bragged about it. They would happily monologue the achievements of their brilliant son to any polite neighbor willing to stand there and listen. It had made me jealous because they never talked about my grades and acumen that way, even during the time when I was at the top of my class. In fact, the two of them only seemed to really praise me whenever I danced. Their beautiful and graceful little princess. So, at least in that way, my brother and I were similar. Both of us had shaped our life goals in an attempt to make the dead proud.

We spent the next hour lazily spotting constellations. Christopher directed toward real formations, such as Orion and Hercules. He would then recite over any lore that the shapes were involved in, like how Hercules had defeated the Hydra. Even though I had already heard many of these ancient tales from one source or another, his unneeded explanations somehow weren’t bothering me right then. On the contrary, the gentle hum of his voice was peaceful to hear.

Whenever it was my turn, I would make up star patterns completely from my own imagination. To the background of Christopher laughing and the feel of the arm that he had wrapped around me tightening, I declared things like, “Look! There’s St. George fighting the dragon for his lady love.” My finger would then point to the cluster of stars that formed the coordinating array.

Eventually, my eyes became heavy and I yawned uncontrollably. Observing me, Christopher asked, “Ready to head back?” I said nothing. Only managing to give him the tiredness of my smile. At that, he yanked open our blanket. The sudden chill stirred me into alertness as I helped him refold the linens and watched him shove them back into his suitcase.

Yet as we grabbed our flashlights and began to walk back, I couldn’t ignore the way that this night had made me feel vibrant. How my soul called to the hibernating foliage, longing to wake everything up with my internal storm of fire and color. While the breeze may have been cold, it played about my limbs, encouraging them to move in the best way that I knew how. And soon enough, my youthful motions began to twirl to an impish wind that rustled through the grass and rattled its rainstick melody into my muscles. While I didn’t dare go fully on point upon such uneven ground, under the soft light of the heavens, I otherwise arabesqued with abandon. A giggle came forth as my body shifted and stretched into pirouettes. The flashlight within my hand flicked around like a magic wand that enchanted my laughter to grow until it ultimately peaked into a crescendo. For the first time in two years, I was my correct age again, a teenager. And I knew that not just on the outside, but also the inside, that I was alive. This is what it meant to be alive.

Once exhaustion took over, I stumbled with a girlish chuckle. While basking within a happy delirium that radiated off of me like the glow of the waning gibbous in the sky, my blue eyes turned back toward Christopher. The stunned gaze that he returned was goofish and I laughed at it. His gaped mouth then corrected itself into a beaming grin before he walked over and took my hand again.

The journey back to the mansion went by in a dreamy daze that felt good. I couldn’t stop smiling… until we finally reached the rope and my joy dropped completely. My eyes scanned the length of the cotton line up to its bending root that disappeared into the edge of the roof. I then imagined the rest of its continuance all the way into the window paned portal that led to our garden, our prison. In thinking about returning to it, already I sensed the shackles of forced routine and crippling responsibility binding my wrists and neck. A ticking clock of nothing more than eating, educating the twins, Bible quotes, and bed. A place where our only reprieves were a playroom that we had long outgrown and numerous books or television shows that allowed us glimpses into various lives as we endlessly waited for the right to finally be able to experience our own.

“Christopher,” I began to plead within the dreadful remembrance of it. “What if we left right now? We’re already outside. From here, we can just run straight into the woods. We can be free!”

At my begging, his glance shifted to the forest in the distance. The one that led to the rotting train station. I could tell from his expression that he was considering it. He didn’t want to climb up the damned rope anymore than I did. So, his predictive imagination rolled over what the alternative scenario would look like. After some thought, his head then turned back to me and his hand reached up to place itself upon my cheek. An empathetic sadness crackled into his features as he replied, “Cathy, if we leave the twins behind in this awful house, then we’ll never be able to forgive ourselves.”

“We’ll take them with us!” I reclarified.

At that, his hand dropped and stubbornness stiffened his muscles. “With what money and supplies? If we leave now, we’ll likely starve even worse than before. NO, we stick to the plan.” After speaking, everything about him instantly softened again as he handed me the rope. “You go first this time.”

And with a sigh, I capitulated and started to climb. Going back up was much more difficult than going down had been. The majority of my power was in my legs, not so much my arms. On top of that, my heart was far from being in it. I had to stop and take breaks several times. All the while, I could feel Christopher staring up at me from below, making sure that I was safe. But I dared not look down to confirm.

Eventually, my hand reached the roof and I pulled myself up over the edge. My body tumbled upon the tile while my chest heaved with great bellows of much needed oxygen. As I caught a second wind, I then cautiously rolled back to the edge and peered downward to try and spot Christopher, ignoring the vertigo as I did. “Go ahead without me, Cathy. I’ll be up in a couple of minutes.” When I didn’t immediately move, he then reiterated with even more insistence, “Seriously, go on!”

I huffed in annoyance at the idea of him making me wait. After his insistence of us returning, was he really going to stay behind and enjoy the outside anyway? Also, did he seriously think that I would just head inside without knowing if he had made it up the rope safely? Defiantly, I planted my butt firmly upon those roof tiles and waited for him within an impatient fume. Feeling cold and exhausted, the minutes felt more like hours and my aggravation climbed accordingly. Until ultimately, I saw his hand grip the edge. Quickly, I grabbed at him and assisted in pulling him up. Which took great effort. He was heavy.

Once he was securely over, my eyes glared at Christopher. I was more than ready to give the idiot a piece of my mind. But, with that closer inspection, my irritation instantly evaporated. For clenched between his teeth was one of the purple flowers that we had noticed growing around the mansion on our way to the lake. The expression that he gave me was somewhat chiding. It revealed his own frustration with me for not having done as he instructed and ruining the surprise. Then, shivering, he quickly made his way to the open window and motioned for me to follow.

As we entered, I asked with a newly rekindled flutter, “Is that for me?” The question felt foolish as it escaped my mouth. Afterall, it certainly wasn’t the sort of item that he would have grabbed for himself.

Plucking the bloom from out of his mouth, Christopher replied, “Well, you said that they were pretty. So…” He then thrust the thing in my direction.

The sudden lunge of his arm caused me to reactively step backward in surprise. Then, while shaking my head at his clunky awkwardness, I took the gift and coquettishly placed the object behind my ear. Sheepishly, I then muttered, “Thank you, Christopher. For… ALL of this. I… I really needed it.”

An excited grin stretched across his lips at my reaction. “Cathy…” he then began to reply while nervously clearing his throat. “Do you remember that first Christmas when you talked about owning a house that’s full of love?” It took me a second to vaguely recall the conversation before I nodded. “Well, Cathy I… I don’t know exactly how yet. But, I’m GOING to find a way to become a doctor. And when that happens, I’ll make really good money. Money that can then be used to buy you that house with. Any house, you just name it! And in the backyard, we’ll make a REAL garden together. A better one where we can watch the twins play and finish growing up in the sunlight.”

Listening to him, my breath stopped. For what was I supposed to say to that? What is anyone supposed to say to all of that? While the remaining pudge of his cheeks and lankiness of his form were still childish, the intensity of his eyes and firmness of his stance appeared much older. Two and a half years it was that we had spent locked away in this place. A time that’s so long in days and yet short in years. In thinking about that sliver of eternity, I briefly wondered to myself as to where Christopher Dollanganger Jr., the jerk who had discarded romantic sentiment as being nothing more than girlish fantasy, had gone.

Shocking me even further, his hands suddenly came up to my face while his lips crashed forcefully into mine. He then quickly pulled away in order to observe my reaction. The expression all over his countenance was crazed as his eyes desperately sought my approval.

Overcome by everything, there was only a briefest pause of hesitancy before my arms thoughtlessly threw themselves around his neck and I returned his kiss. From there, the whole experience was a consuming whirlwind of fumbling limbs and mutual insanity. It wasn’t long until my back flopped onto the reading bed with him following me down. And for the first time in nearly fifteen years of life, I made out with a boy.

My mind forgot all about the triptech downstairs.