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you."

She didn't look at me, not really, she only saw my

hair--for some reason she was fascinated by my hair. "Remember, Cathy, she did give us yellow

chrysanthemums." He was right--that alone was a

strong straw to grasp.

In the late afternoon, toward dusk, Momma came

to our room bearing a live Christmas tree in a small

wooden tub. A balsam tree--what could smell more

like Christmas? Momma's wool dress was of bright

red jersey; it clung and showed off all the curves I

hoped to have one day. She was laughing and gay,

making us happy, too, as she stayed to help us trim

the tree with the miniature ornaments and lights she'd

brought along. She gave us four stockings to drape on

the bedposts for Santa to find and fill.

"Next year this time we'll be living in our own

house," she said brightly, and I believed.

"Yes," said Momma, smiling, filling all of us with

cheer, "next year this time life will be so wonderful

for all of us. We'll have plenty of money to buy a

grand home of our own, and everything you want will

be yours. In no time at all, you'll for- get this room,

the attic. And all the days you have all endured so

bravely will be forgotten, just like it never happened." She kissed us, and said she loved us. We watched

her leave and didn't feel bereft, as before. She filled

all our eyes, all our hopes and dreams.

Momma came in the night while we slept. In the

morning I woke up to see the stockings filled to the

brim. And gifts galore were stacked under the small

table where the tree was, and in every empty,


Tags: V.C. Andrews Dollanganger Horror