Dollenganger 03 If There Be a Thorns by V. C. Andrews Page A

hug her, but I only smiled. I knew better than to be demonstrative when Bart was around to get jealous. Strangely, it was Bart who fascinated Cindy far more than me. Perhaps because he wasn't so much larger than she was.
My brother hurled himself down into a kitchen chair that almost toppled over backward from the force. Emma looked his way and frowned. "Go wash your hands and face, Bart Winslow, if you expect to eat at my table."
"Not your table," he grouched as he headed for the bathroom. He pulled his dirty hands along the walls to leave long smudges.
"Bart! Take your filthy hands off the walls!" called Emma sternly.
"Not her walls," he mumbled. It took him forever to wash his hands, and when he was back only his palms were clean. He stared with disgust at the soup and sandwiches Emma had prepared.
"Eat up, Bart, or you'll fade away to nothing," said Emma.
Already I was on my second sandwich, my second bowl of homemade vegetable soup, and ready for dessert while Bart still nibbled on half of his sandwich, his soup as yet untouched.
"What do you think of your new sister?" asked Emma, wiping Cindy's messy mouth, taking off the soiled bib. "Isn't she a living doll?"
"Yeah, she's sure cute," I agreed.
"Cindy's not our sister!" flared Bart. "She's just another messy little baby that nobody but our mother would want!"
"Bartholomew Winslow . . . don't you ever let me hear you talk like that again." Emma gave him a long, chastisizing look. "Cindy is a lovely child who resembles your mother so much she could be her own daughter."
Bart continued to scowl at Cindy, at me, at Emma, even at the wall. "Hate blonde hair and red lips that are wet all the time," he mumbled under his breath before he stuck out his tongue at Cindy, who laughed and patty-caked. "If Momma didn't fuss around her so much, curling her hair and buying her new clothes, she'd be ugly."
"Cindy will never be ugly," denied Emma, looking at the little girl with admiration. Then she leaned to kiss the child's pretty small face.
That kiss drew another of Bart's darkest frowns.
I sat there, up-tight, frightened. Each morning I woke up knowing I'd have to face a brother who was growing more and more strange. And I loved him; I loved my parents, and darn if I wasn't beginning to love Cindy too. Somehow I knew I had to protect everyone--but from what I didn't know and couldn't even guess.

Changeling Child
.
    Drat Jory and Emma, I was thinking as I slipped through the hot Arizona desert. Good thing I had Apple to love me as well as my grandmother, or I'd be in a sorry state. There stood my lady in black with her arms wide open to welcome me and I was kissed and hugged much more than Cindy ever was.
    She served me a bowl of soup. It was so good, with cheese on top. "Why can't I tell my parents how much I like you, and how much you love me? That would be so neat." I didn't tell her I thought she wasn't really my own true grandmother, but only said that to please me. In a way that made her love better, for families had to love each other. Strangers didn't.
    Square in the middle of one of her tables she put a large dump truck before she answered my question. Odd she seemed so sad, and in a way scared, when a moment ago she'd seemed happy enough.
    "Your parents hate me now, Bart," she whispered thinly. "Please don't tell them anything about me. Keep me your secret."
    My eyes widened. "Did you know them once?" "Yes, a long, long time ago, when they were very young."
    Gee. "What did you do to make them hate you?" Everyone hated me, almost, so I wasn't surprised someone might hate her.
    Her hand reached for mine. "Bart, sometimes even adults make mistakes. I made a terrible mistake that I'm paying for dearly. Every night I pray for God to forgive me; I pray for my children to forgive me. I find no peace when I look in the mirror, so I hide my face from myself, from others, and sit in
uncomfortable rockers so I'll never forget for one second all the harm I did to those I loved