I do not own The Dollanganger Saga or any of its characters, likenesses, or places. They belong to V.C. Andrews.


The upstairs bedrooms of Grandmother Alicia's cottage were little more than miniature compared to those at our house in Gladstone. While the walls were cream colored, those of Daddy's old bedroom were a powdery blue. There was a small oak dresser placed beside and which matched a large desk that took up nearly the entire area of one wall. Above the desk and nailed to the wall was a wooden shelf lined entirely with Grandfather Alistair's old medical encyclopedias.

A pair of twin beds was pressed to opposing walls: One whose bedspread was cherry red, and the other's forest green. In the middle of the beds and set beneath a full-scale window was a nightstand on which stood a small lamp. Beside it was a picture of Momma and Daddy, taken shortly after he had gone to live with her and her family. Each displayed a dazzling, cheerful smile, proof that they were meant to be even then. She had both arms wrapped tightly around his torso, while his right arm pulled her close against him. In the background was evidence of the most beautiful garden I had ever seen! I longed to inhale the sweet perfumes of those roses, and to lie on my back in that soft grass. How lucky Momma was to be returning to the place she'd spent her childhood! It was difficult not to resent her, I decided. But then I thought of Grandmother Alicia, of her everlasting warmth and how sad she'd been since Daddy had died. I doubted very much there had ever a time where she'd needed me more. Where she'd needed us, my siblings and I. That was when I snapped myself away from my state of self pity. Instead, I poured all of my focus into what I needed to do in order to bring the smile back to my grandmother's face.

"I thought you might find those interesting, Chris," said Grandmother Alicia, when she caught my brother gazing fixatedly at the shelf of encyclopedias. "Your parents told me how much you want to be a doctor."

Besides our father, Grandmother Alicia was the only other person we knew who called my brother 'Chris'. Not even his teachers or friends at school addressed him by that nickname. Whether it was because he didn't allow them to or because they merely preferred the elegance of 'Christopher', I had no idea. I just knew that whenever Daddy referred to him as 'Chris', my brother's face would brighten like the sun on the first perfect day of spring.

Christopher distributed his gratitude to our grandmother in the form of one of those sunny smiles. "It's all I've ever wanted to be."

"Your Grandfather Alistair was the same way. From the time he was just three years old, he knew he wanted to dedicate his life to helping people. As a child, whenever he came across an injured animal, he would take it home, convinced he could nurse it back to health." Grandmother Alicia let out an amused chuckle—her first happy sound following the tragic events that had so profoundly affected all our lives. "I can't tell you how many domesticated raccoons, birds and rabbits the Aldridges ended up with."

"Grandmother Alicia," asked Christopher, "why didn't my father choose to become a doctor like Grandfather Alistair? Knowing how much Daddy admired him, I would just as well assume that…"

It was the first time anyone had asked this question. As exhausted and strained as my eyes were, I still caught the look of vexation thrown by our grandmother to Momma. I glanced fleetingly back at Christopher, whose answer was a bemused shrug. When my eyes met with Momma's, she merely smiled her radiant smile.

"Christopher," she said, from her place in the open doorway where she stood holding Cory's hand. Even on his feet Cory had begun to doze, his small body swaying awkwardly in unison with his curly blond head. "While I go with your grandmother and sisters to the sewing room, do you think you could get Cory ready for bed? I'll be back to say good-night once I've seen to it that Cathy and Carrie have gotten settled."

Leaving Christopher to tend to Cory, Carrie and I followed our mother and grandmother out the door. Like she did when we had first arrived on the second landing of the house, Grandmother Alicia led us past the balustrade and down the foyer. The foyer was dimly lit by a column of tiny shaded lamps, which lined either side of the cream-colored walls. We walked on until we came to the opposite side of the hallway, where there stood a second pair of doors. It was there, as I stood only a few feet from them, that I stared straight down the hallway and saw it. Suspended on the wall below a bright light that lit up the darkness like a Christmas star was an enormous painting in a gold frame. The painting was of a man I knew well, though only from the photographs I'd seen and the stories I'd heard. His resemblance to Daddy would have been uncanny if I hadn't recognized it; for the man in the painting had the same flaxen blond hair and kind blue eyes. He was dressed stylishly in a navy blue suit with a red rose in his lapel, and his warm smile was enough to melt even the coldest of hearts. For a moment I felt like Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz, when she sang of the faraway land over the rainbow—for to gaze upon such a serene painting was to gaze upon heaven itself. The gentleness of those eyes and the tenderness of that smile surged simultaneously through me, making me feel safe and loved.

"Your Grandfather Garland when he was a young man," Grandmother Alicia announced, and I spun my head to look at her. "As a matter of fact, he was just around your father's age when this portrait was painted."

"I never realized just how strongly he resembled Christopher," Momma gasped. Her hands were pressed to her chest as she gazed in awe up at the painting. "If my husband were here, he'd—" She broke off, realizing that she was grasping at straws. "Oh! Oh, my. Alicia, I…"

I stepped away from the painting and over to Momma's side. We huddled closely together, clutching each other's hands. Our hearts seemed ready to pound out of our chests as we anticipated Grandmother Alicia's reaction.

To our great relief she smiled, shrugging off whatever urges she'd had to cry or sink into a depression. Although I hadn't seen her cry at Daddy's funeral (the effects of the tranquilizers had seen to that, Christopher had told me), I was still careful to tread lightly when it came to her 'condition'. Poor Momma had forgotten this, for seeing Grandfather Garland's portrait had been like seeing Daddy again. I could feel her starting to tremble in my clutch. When I looked into her eyes, I saw that they shimmered with tears of guilt.

That was when Grandmother Alicia came forward. Although she appeared on the verge of tears herself, I had to commend her for restraining them. She didn't want to worry Momma, which was just further proof of how compassionate my grandmother was.

"Really, Corrine," Grandmother Alicia said, the areas of her mouth twitching as they had when she'd greeted us at the door, "I'm all right. You needn't overly concern yourself with my feelings."

Unlike Daddy had been, Momma wasn't one to grovel at someone else's feet. "That was the only shortcoming to being married to a man like Garland Foxworth," Grandmother Alicia had once said. "He was the sort who'd apologize for the slightest of transgressions, often until he was blue in the face. But he was such a good, caring man, and I'd much prefer your father to have taken after him." Here she had paused, before adding mysteriously, "Rather than other members of the Foxworth clan."

When I asked her which member of my grandfather's family she'd meant, she had become very nervous. Her hands fluttered about wildly, like the wings of a caged bird. Then they stilled, and she smiled before saying I didn't need to know. Instead, she had gone on to tell me a tale of some other members of the Foxworth family. "Christopher Foxworth," Grandmother Alicia explained, "was a veteran of the Civil War. He served less than three years, before succumbing to an injury on the battlefield that forced him to return home. The doctors told him he would never fully recover the use of his right leg, and that it was likely he'd always require the assistance of a cane. He became very depressed after that, and felt that having another child might help take his mind off his current distress. He already had one child, a son named Jonathan, then eleven years old. He was an intelligent boy, but unfortunately a victim of polio that left him confined to a wheelchair for the rest of his life. Nine months after her husband came home, Gloria Foxworth gave birth to a second son—a sweet little boy with curls of flaxen gold and eyes of cerulean blue. Christopher and Gloria had first met at a Christmas party many years earlier, and so decided that 'Garland' was the name best suited for the newest member of their family.

"Garland was happy and seemed healthy, until one night when Gloria went to the nursery to check on him. She noticed that Garland's breathing was labored, and immediately notified the doctor. Your grandfather was then diagnosed with having acute asthma. As a result, his parents did all they could to prevent any future attacks. Including the assembly of an attic schoolroom with the proper ventilation to keep him healthy. The closest school was more than an hour away, and so they didn't trust in the idea that nothing serious would befall their youngest child.

"It wasn't long before Garland caught on to the fact that he was different from other children. He was always grateful for the support of his older brother, for their conditions left them both paralyzed. Never did Jonathan let his condition get the best of him, and instead made an effort to enjoy each day. He was always so cheerful, and did his best to be not only a proper big brother, but a mentor to Garland. While Jonathan couldn't run around, Garland wasn't permitted to run around because of the potential it would aggravate his asthma. If he did succumb to an attack—he had at least six by the time he was five years old—then he spent the entire day in bed, hooked up to a special machine to help him breathe. Every room in Foxworth Hall had to be properly cleansed of dust and other hazards before he could enter. The Foxworths hired at least two dozen maids, along with a personal nurse, to oversee this. Garland's linens required a daily wash, while his father was forced to quit smoking the Cuban cigars he enjoyed so much. By the time Garland was six, he had a little sister named Adelaide. She didn't suffer from the same respiratory problems as Garland, and wasn't stricken with polio like Jonathan had been. But Adelaide was still expected to attend classes in the attic schoolroom, which was something she resented her brothers for. She begged her parents to send her away to school, but they wouldn't hear of it. For you see, Christopher and Gloria didn't want their sons to feel excluded because of their conditions. They always treated their children equally—especially Christopher, who understood what it felt like to be different. He didn't want his sons to become depressed the way he had after his injury.

"It was Jonathan who was the one to always encourage Garland. Insisting he could have whatever he wanted out of life if he just set his mind in perfect focus. When he reached his late teens, Garland had overcome his childhood illness and went on to college where he became an athlete. His asthma never returned, making it possible for him to lead the sort of active lifestyle he'd always sought."

That was always the thing I found most funny about Grandmother Alicia. How she was unable to restrain herself from going into great detail when it came to her 'tales'. I imagined that in her childhood, she had been the sort to spin tales so fantastic that no one in their right mind had believed them.

Thankfully, my grandmother recovered quickly from her stint of sorrow initiated by what could have proven to be Momma's fatal slip of the tongue. Once more Grandmother Alicia was all smiles, which brought Momma considerable comfort. I knew this because I felt the tension in her hands ease significantly.

"Right this way," said my grandmother, and guided us over to the first door on the right. She pushed it open to reveal the sewing room, which she'd done her best to make into a bedroom for Carrie and me. The walls were the same cream color as those in the foyer, with a setup such as that of our brothers' bedroom. Set against the walls were a pair of twin beds: One with a cotton-candy pink bedspread, while the other bedspread was of royal purple. Between the beds stood a small nightstand with a lamp. Just as it had been in Christopher's and Cory's bedroom, a photograph of Daddy and Momma was displayed on my and Carrie's nightstand. This second photograph depicted our parents standing on the front porch of our former home. It was summer, for Daddy's light polo shirt and Momma's sundress made that very obvious. They looked slightly older than in the last photograph, but their enthusiastic smiles were exactly the same. Above the nightstand was a little window, from which I could make out the silhouette of a tall maple tree. On the other side of the room was the sewing table mentioned previously by Grandmother Alicia. Beside it stood an oak dresser similar to that of Christopher's and Cory's.

Like a blossom flourishing to life right before our eyes, Carrie immediately sprang awake. She was akin to a tornado as she gusted into the sewing room, all but throwing herself down on the bed with the purple bedspread. Apparently, Grandmother Alicia had been told about Carrie's obsession with all things purple and red. For the casing of the pillow on which Carrie would sleep was coquelicotred. Watching her claim that bed was relevant to watching an animal claim its territory. Until the day we left the cottage, I would be stuck with that bed with its cotton-candy bedspread and pillow with its marshmallow-white case. Not that I minded in the least, since pink was my favorite of all colors. Every ballet costume I had ever owned was pink, for I couldn't see myself dancing in any other color.

"Don't you dare think about taking this bed, Cathy!" Carrie warned, one blue eye watching me suspiciously from beneath a cascade of blond tendrils. "It's mine."

"Of course it is, darling," Grandmother Alicia highlighted, and winked at me as I lowered myself down onto the bed across from Carrie's.

"I'll leave your suitcase here," Momma said, placing the suitcase in which she'd packed Carrie's and my clothing by the door. "And tomorrow you can unpack."

I was far too tired to sift through the suitcase for my pajamas, and I could tell my small sister shared my sentiments. Although her hair hid most of her face, it was apparent in the stillness of her body that she was already sleep, or close to it. There was no point in waking her. After saying good-night to Momma and Grandmother Alicia, I set about the task of removing Carrie's shoes and socks. I placed them beside the nightstand, along with my own. The rose pink hat I'd worn during our journey was positioned resourcefully on the dresser. The sewing room was deficient in a closet, and so I lay my dress—which matched my hat—over the back of the desk's chair. I had just enough strength left to tuck Carrie into bed, before crawling into my own and switching off the light.

"Good-night, Carrie," I whispered into the darkness.

For the first time in my life, I fell asleep the instant my head hit the pillow.


I had been far too exhausted to think very hard on what sort of changes would precede Momma's departure. Almost from the moment I'd fallen asleep, I'd descended into dreamland. My thoughts immediately switched over to images of ballerinas in pretty tutus, as they danced through an enchanted forest of lollipop trees and grounds of powdered sugar instead of snow. It was a place where the babbling brook flowed not with water but with pink lemonade, a place where animals spoke in words. Yes, this was my way to escape—my escape from reality, whenever it became too much to bear. I had come here after my father died, only to return again prior to the separation from my mother.

Somewhere in the middle of my dream, I heard a faint voice call out my name. I stopped pirouetting over the lemonade lake's gumdrop bridge and glanced around. At first I thought the voice belonged to the rabbit who'd been watching me from the powdery shore. But when the voice resonated and his lips didn't move, I knew the voice belonged to someone else.

But who? Who?

"Cathy…"

And then, as quickly as I had surrendered to confusion, I knew. My eyelids fluttered. Although the only light provided was that which filtered through the venetian blinds, I saw her. My mother, who was standing over me, dressed in the same clothes she'd worn the night before. She reached down, and with one slim hand brushed the bangs from my sleepy eyes.

"Don't hate me," she whispered so as not to wake Carrie, who was fast asleep in the bed across from mine. "But after thinking on it, I've decided to go against your advice and take the earliest possible train into Charlottesville. I've already spoken with your grandmother, and she's agreed with me. It'll be better this way—for the twins' sake, at least. You know how they are about goodbyes. This way, they'll be spared as much anguish as possible."

"When will you be back?" Although I had only just woken from a deep sleep, I remembered to keep my voice low.

"In a few days, darling. I can't say how long it will be before we're all together again, but I'll visit as often as I can."

"How often?"

"Every weekend. I can come on Friday mornings and stay until Sunday afternoons."

"That's hardly often, Momma."

She frowned, and then leaned down to kiss my forehead. "I know it seems like a long way off now, but you'll see, Cathy. By this time next year, the four of us will be living in a grand house—an even grander one than what we had back in Gladstone. Would you like that?"

My mother knew me so well. Of course I would like that. I nodded and forced myself to smile, which seemed to please her. I watched her turn away briefly and kiss Carrie, doing so carefully so as not to wake her. When Momma pivoted, I saw the light of tears dancing like tiny fairies in her blue eyes.

"Take care of your sister and brothers," she said, "and be a help to your grandmother."

"I will, Momma. I promise."

"I'm going to stop by Christopher's and Cory's room to say good-bye next, and then I'll be off. Farewell, my darling. I'll call you from the station first thing this afternoon."

She had barely finished speaking when I watched her go, her lovely hourglass frame slipping silently through the door like a ghost. It was only after I saw the door close behind her that I lay back down and closed my eyes. I thought I might have trouble going back to sleep, but the sound of Carrie's subdued breathing soon lulled me back to my castle in the sky.