Flowers in the Attic (Dollanganger 1)

Nobody saw us but the grandmother, and we could

have worn rags, which, indeed, might have put a smile

of pleasure on her face.

We didn't go up to the attic when it rained, or

when it snowed. Even on clear days, there was that

wind to snarl fiercely as it blew, screaming and

tearing through the cracks of the old house.

One night Cory woke up and called to me, "Make

the wind go away, Cathy."

I left my bed and Carrie, who was fast asleep on

her side, crawled under the covers beside Cory, and

tightly I held him in my arms. Poor little thin body,

wanting to be loved so much by his real mother . . .

and he had only me. He felt too small, so fragile, as if

that rampaging wind could blow him away. I lowered

my face into his clean, sweet-smelling curly blond

hair and kissed him there, as I had when he was a

baby, and I had replaced my dolls with living babies.

"I can't make the wind go away, Cory. Only God can

do that."

"Then tell God I don't like the wind," he said

sleepily. "Tell God the wind wants to come in and get

me."

I gathered him closer, held him tighter . . . never

going to let the wind take Cory away, never! But I

knew what he meant "Tell me a story, Cathy, so I can

forget the wind."

There was a favorite story I had concocted to

please Cory, all about a fantasy world where little

children lived in a small cozy home, with a mother