Dollenganger 03 If There Be a Thorns Read Online Free PDF

Madame Marisha too, whether you want to or not. And if you open your mouth again, there will be no trip to Disneyland!"
"Momma," now a subdued Bart wanted to make up. "Why did your daddy who's dead in Gladstone, Pa. . . ."
"Say Pennsylvania, not Pa."
"How come the picture of him looks so much like the daddy we have now?"
Pain flashed in her eyes. I spoke up, hating the way Bart had of grilling everyone. "Gee,
Dollanganger is sure some whopper of a name. Bet you were glad to get rid of it."
She turned to stare at a large photograph of Dr. Paul Sheffield, then quietly said, "Yes, it was a wonderful day when I became Mrs. Sheffield."
Then Dad was looking upset. I sank deeper into the cut-velvet plush of a dining chair. All about me in the air, creeping on the floor, hiding in the shadows, were pieces of the past that they remembered and I didn't. Fourteen years old, and still I didn't know what life was all about. Or what my parents were about either.
Finally the day came when the mansion was completed. Then came the cleaning ladies to work on the windows and scrub the floors. Yard men came to rake, mow, trim again, and we were there all the time, peeking into windows, then running swiftly back to the wall and skimming up a tree, hoping not to get caught. On the top of the wall we quietly sat as if we'd never disobey any rule made by our parents. "She's a'comin!" whispered Bart, very excited. "Any moment, that ole lady, she's a'comin!"
The house was fixed up so grand we expected to see a fancy movie actress, a president's wife, somebody important. One day when Dad was at work and Mom was shopping, and Emma was still in the kitchen like always, we saw a huge long black limousine turn slowly into the long drive next door. An older car followed, but still, it was a snazzylooking car. Two weeks ago that driveway had been cracked and buckled concrete, and now it was smooth black asphalt. I nudged Bart to calm his excitement. All about us the leaves made a fine concealing canopy, and still we could see everything.
Slowly, slowly, the chauffeur pulled the long, luxurious car to a stop; then he got out and circled the car to let out the passengers. We watched breathlessly. Soon we'd see her--that rich, rich woman who could afford anything!
The chauffeur was young and had a jaunty air. Even from a distance we could tell he was handsome, but the old man who stepped from the limo wasn't handsome at all. He took me by surprise. Hadn't that workman told us a lady and servants? "Look," I whispered to Bart, "that must be the butler. I never knew butlers rode in the same car as their employer."
"Hate people who move in our house!" grumbled Bart.
The feeble old butler stretched out his hand to help an old woman out of the back seat. She ignored him and took the arm of the chauffeur instead. Oh, gosh! She wore all black, from head to toe covered over like an Arab woman. A black veil was over her head and face. Was she a widow? A Moslem? She looked so mysterious.
"Hate black dresses that drag on the ground. Hate ole ladies who want black veils over their heads. Hate spooks."
All I could do was watch, fascinated, thinking that the woman moved rather gracefully beneath the black robe. Even from our hidden place, I could tell she felt nothing but scorn for the feeble old butler. Gee-- intrigue.
She looked around at everything. For the longest time she stared our way, at the white wall, at the roof of our house. I knew she couldn't see very much. Many a time I'd stood where she was, looking homeward, and I'd seen only the peak of our roof and the chimney. Only when she was inside on her second floor could she see into some of our rooms. I'd better tell Mom to plant some more big trees near the white wall.
It occurred to me then why two workmen might have chopped down a number of her large eucalyptus trees. Maybe she wanted to look over at our house and be nosy. But it was more likely she didn't want those trees growing so near her house.
Now the second