If There Be Thorns (Dollanganger 3)

I stared at the Bible, wanting to pull my hand away but afraid of what might happen if I did. "Swear on this Bible that you will do as Malcolm would have wanted his great-grandson to do--wreak vengeance against those who harmed him most."

How could I promise what he wanted, when a little of me still loved her? Maybe John Amos was lying. Maybe Jory had fed Apple.

"Bart, why do you hesitate? Are you a weakling? Have you no spine? Look again at your mother, at how she uses her body, her pretty face, her soft kisses and hugs to make your father do anything she wants. Take notice of how late he works at night, how tired he is when he comes home. Ask yourself why. Does he do it for himself--or for her, so he can buy her new clothes, fur coats, jewelry and a big fine house to live in. That's how women use men, making them work while they play."

I swallowed. Momma had a job. She taught ballet dancing. But that was more fun than work, wasn't it? Did she ever buy anything with her money? Couldn't remember.

"Now you go in to see your grandmother, and be like you were before, and soon you will find out who betra

yed you. It wasn't me. You go in and pretend you are Malcolm. Call her Corrine----watch the guilt and shame flood her face, watch her eyes show fear, and you will know which one of us is loyal and trustworthy."

I had sworn hurt on those who had betrayed Malcolm, but I wasn't happy with myself as I limped on to the front parlor she liked best of all. I stood in the doorway and stared at her, my heart pounding, for I wanted so much to run to her arms and sit on her lap. Was it right for me to pretend to be Malcolm when I hadn't given her a chance to explain?

"Corrine," I said in a gruff voice. Oh, the game was so good, I couldn't be just Bart and feel secure. When I was Malcolm I felt so strong, so right.

"Bart," she cried happily, rising to extend her arms. "You've finally come to see me! I'm so glad to see you well and strong again." Then she hesitated. "Who told you my name?"

"John Amos told me," I said, frowning at her. "He told me you fed Apple and gave him water while I was away. Is that true?"

"Yes, darling, of course I did what I could for Apple. He missed you so much I pitied him. Surely you aren't angry."

"You stole him from me," I cried like a baby. "He was the best friend I ever had; the only one who really loved me, and you stole him away so now he likes you better."

"No, he doesn't. Bart, he likes me, but he loves you."

Now she wasn't smiling and pleased looking. Just like John Amos had said, she knew I was on to her wiles. She was gonna tell me more lies. "Don't speak to me so gruffly," she begged. "It doesn't become a boy of ten years. Darling, you've been gone so long, and I've missed you so much. Can't you even show me a little affection?"

Suddenly, despite my promise, I was running into her arms and throwing my arms about her. "Grandmother! I really did hurt my knee bad! I was sweating so much my bed was wet. They wrapped me in a cold blanket and Momma and Daddy rubbed me down with ice. There was a mean doctor who wanted to cut off my leg, but Daddy wouldn't let him. That doctor said he was glad I wasn't his son." I paused to take a breath. I forgot all about Malcolm.

"Grandmother, I found out my daddy loves me after all--or else he would have been glad for that doctor to cut off my leg."

She seemed shocked. "Bart, for heaven's sake! How can you have the slightest doubt that he loves you? Of course he does. He'd have to love you, and Christopher was always a kind, loving boy . . ."

How did she know my daddy's name was Christopher? I narrowed my eyes. She was holding her hands over her mouth like she'd given away some secret. Then she was crying.

Tears. One of the ways women had to work men.

I turned away. Hated tears. Hated people who were weak. I put my hand on my shirtfront and felt the hard cover of Malcolm's book against my bare chest. That book was giving me his strength, transferring it from the pages to my blood. What if I did wear a child's weak, imperfect body? What difference did it make when soon she'd know just who was her master?

Home, had to get home before they missed me. "Good night, Corrine."

I left her crying, still wondering how she knew my daddy's name.

In my garden I checked my peach pit again. No roots yet. I dug up my sweetpeas again. Still not sprouting. I didn't have luck with flowers, with peach pits, with nothing. With nothing but playing Malcolm the powerful. At that I was getting better and better. Smiling and happy, I went to bed.

The Horns of Dilemma

. Never was Bart in our yard where he should be. I climbed the tree and sat on the wall, and then I saw Bart over in that lady's yard, down on his knees crawling. Sniffing the ground like a dog. "Bart!" I yelled, "Clover's gone, and you can't take his place."

I knew what he was doing --burying a bone and then sniffing around until he found it. He looked up, his eyes glazed and disoriented--and then he began to bark.

I yelled to set him straight, but he went on playing the frolicking puppy before he suddenly became an old man who dragged his leg. And it wasn't even the leg he'd hurt. What a nut he was. "Bart, straighten up! You're ten, not a hundred. If you keep walking crooked you'll grow that way."

"Crooked days make crooked ways."

"You don't make good sense."

"And the Lord said: 'do unto others as they have