Dollenganger 02 Petals On the Wind by V. C. Andrews Read Free Book Online

of him.
    To reward me for my slowness and my reluctance to buy too much, Paul said impatiently, "For heaven's sake, Cathy, don't think we're going shopping like this every week. I want you to buy enough today to last you through the winter. Chris, while we finish up here, you dash on to the young men's section and begin picking out what you want. While you do that, Cathy and I can outfit Carrie with the clothes she needs."
    I noticed that all the adolescent girls in the store were turning to stare at my brother as he made his way to the young men's department.
    At last we were going to be normal kids. Then, when I felt tentatively secure, Came let out a howl to shatter crystal palaces in London! Her cries jolted the salespeople, startled the customers, and a lady bumped her baby-stroller into a dummy who went crashing down. The baby in the stroller added his screams to Carrie's!
    Chris came on the run to see who was murdering his small sister. She stood, feet wide apart, head thrown back, with tears of frustration streaming her cheeks.
    "Good God, what's wrong now?" asked Chris as our doctor looked dumbfounded.
Men--what did they know? Obviously Carrie was outraged by the pretty little pastel dresses brought out for her approval. Baby clothes--that's what. Even so, all were too large, and none were red or purple-- absolutely not Carrie's style at all! "Try the toddler department," suggested the heartless, haughty blonde with the beehive hair. She smiled graciously at our doctor who appeared embarrassed.
Carrie was eight! To even mention "toddler clothes" was insulting! She screwed her face into a puckered prune. "I can't wear toddler clothes to school!" she wailed. She pressed her face against my thigh and hugged my legs. "Cathy, don't make me wear pink and blue baby dresses! Everybody will laugh! I know they will! I want purple, red--no baby colors!"
Dr. Paul soothed her. "Darling, I adore blond girls with blue eyes in pastels, so why not wait until you're older to wear all those brilliant colors?"
Bittersweet milksop like this was something someone as stubborn as Carrie couldn't swallow. She glared her eyes, balled her fists, prepared her foot for kicking and readied her vocal cords for screaming when a middle- aged, plump woman who must have had someone like Carrie for a granddaughter suggested calmly that she could have her clothes custom made. Came hesitated uncertainly, looking from me to the doctor, then to Chris and back to the saleslady.
"A perfect solution!" said Dr. Paul
enthusiastically, looking relieved. "I'll buy a sewing machine and Cathy can make you purple, red, and electric-blue clothes, and you'll be a knock-out."
"Don't wanna be no knock-out--just want bright colors." Carrie pouted while I was left with my mouth agape. I was a dancer, not a seamstress! (Something that didn't escape Carrie's knowledge.) "Cathy don't know how to make good clothes," she said. "Cathy don't do nothing but dance."
That was loyalty. Me, who'd taught her and Cory to read, with a little help from Chris. "What's the matter with you, Carrie?" snapped Chris. "You're acting like a baby. Cathy can do anything she sets her mind to-- remember that!" The doctor readily agreed. I said nothing as we shopped for an electric sewing machine.
"But in the meantime, let's buy a few pink, yellow and blue dresses, all right, Carrie?" Dr. Paul grinned mockingly. "And Cathy can save me tons of money by sewing her own clothes too."
Despite the sewing I'd have to learn, heaven was ours that day. We went home loaded, all of us made beautiful in barber shops and beauty salons; each of us had on new shoes with hard soles. I had my very first pair of high-heeled pumps--and a dozen pairs of nylons! My first nylons, my first bra--and to top it all off, a shopping bag full of cosmetics. I'd taken forever to select makeup while the doctor stood back and watched me with the queerest expression. Chris had grumbled, saying I didn't need rouge or lipstick, or