Raven (Orphans) - Softcover

Andrews, V.C.

3.73

5,281 ratings by Goodreads

Softcover

ISBN 10: 0671020315 ISBN 13: 9780671020316

Publisher: Pocket Books, 1998

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Joining the stories of Butterfly, Crystal, and Brooke, Raven's tale of woe begins at the home of her kindly aunt and domineering uncle, where humiliating secrets from her past threaten her dream of belonging to a real family. Original.

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About the Author:

One of the most popular authors of all time, V. C. Andrews (1923-1986) is the author of the bestselling Dollanganger family saga, which began with Flowers in the Attic and includes Petals on the Wind, If There Be Thorns, Seeds of Yesterday, and Garden of Shadows.

Chapter One: A Rude Awakening

I woke to the sound of knocking, but I wasn't sure if it was someone at our door. People pounded on the walls in this apartment building at all times of the day or night. The knocking grew sharper, more frenzied, and then I heard my uncle Reuben's voice.

"Raven, damn it, wake up. Raven!"

He hit the door so hard I thought his fist had gone through. I reached for my robe and got up quickly.

"Mama!" I called.

I ground the sleep from my eyes and listened. I thought I remembered hearing her come home, but the nights were so mixed up and confused in my memory, I wasn't sure. "Mama?"

Uncle Reuben pounded on the door again, shaking the whole frame. I hurried to Mama's bedroom and gazed in. She wasn't there. "Raven! Wake up!"

"Coming," I cried, and hurried to the door. When I unlocked it, he shoved it open so fast he almost knocked me over.

"What's wrong?" I demanded.

We had a small naked bulb in the hallway which turned the dirty, shadowy walls into a brown the color of a wet paper bag. There was just enough light behind Uncle Reuben to silhouette his six-foot-three-inch, stocky body. He hovered in the doorway like some bird of prey, and the silence that followed his urgency frightened me even more. He seemed to be gasping for breath as if he had run up the stairs.

"What do you want?" I cried.

"Get some things together," he ordered. "You got to come with me."

"What? Why?" I stepped back and embraced myself. I would have hated going anywhere with him in broad daylight, much less late at night.

"Put on some light," he commanded.

I found the switch and lit up the kitchen. The illumination revealed his swollen, sweaty red face, the crests of his cheeks as red as a rash. His dark eyes looked about frantically. He wore only a soiled T-shirt and a pair of oily-looking jeans. Even though he had an administrative job now with the highway department, he still had the bulky muscular frame he had built working on the road crew. His dark brown hair was cut military short, which made his ears look like the wings on Mercury's head. I used to wonder how Mama and Uncle Reuben could be siblings. His facial features were large and pronounced, the only real resemblance being in their eyes.

"What is it?" I asked. "Why are you here?"

"Not because I want to be, believe me," he replied, and went to the sink to pour himself a glass of water. "Your mother's in jail," he added.

"What?"

I had to wait for him to take long gulps of water. He put the glass in the sink as if he expected the maid would clean up after him and turned to me. For a moment, he just drank me in. His gaze made me feel as if a cold wind had slipped under my robe. I actually shivered.

"Why is Mama in jail?"

"She got picked up with some drug dealer. She's in big-time, real trouble this time," he said. "You got to come live with us in the meantime, maybe forever," he added, and spit into the sink.

"Live with you?" My heart stopped.

"Believe me, I'm not happy about it. She called me to come fetch you," he continued with obvious reluctance. It was as if his mouth fought opening and closing to produce the words. He gazed around our small apartment. "What a pig sty! How does anyone live here?"

Before I could respond, he spun on me. "Get your things together. I don't want to stay here a moment longer than I have to."

"How long is she going to be in jail?" I asked, the tears beginning to burn under my eyelids.

"I don't know. Years, maybe," he said without emotion. "She was still on probation from that last thing. It's late. I have to get up in a few hours and go to work. Get a move on," he ordered.

"Why can't I just stay here?" I moaned.

"For the simple reason that the court won't permit it. I thought you were a smart kid. If you don't come with me, they'll put you in a foster home," he added.

For a long moment, I considered the option. I'd be better off with complete strangers than with him.

"And for another reason, I promised your mother." He studied my face a moment and smiled coldly. "I know what you're thinking. I was surprised she gave a damn, too," he said.

My breath caught, and I couldn't swallow. I had to turn away so he wouldn't see the tears escaping and streaming down my cheeks. I hurried into the bedroom and opened the dresser drawers to take out my clothes. The only suitcase I had was small and had to be tied together with belts to close. I found it in the back of my closet and started to pack it.

Uncle Reuben stepped in and looked at the bedroom. "It stinks in here," he said.

I kept packing. I didn't know how long I would really live with him and Aunt Clara, but I didn't want to run out of socks and panties. "You don't need all that," he said when I reached into the closet for more clothes. "I don't want roaches in my house. Just take the basics."

"All I have is basics, some shirts and jeans and two dresses. And I don't have roaches in my clothes."

He grunted. I never liked Uncle Reuben. He was full of prejudice, often telling Mama that her problems began when she got herself involved with a Cuban. He liked to hold himself higher than us because he had been promoted and wore a suit to work.

I had two cousins, William, who was nine, and Jennifer, who was fourteen. William was a meek, quiet boy who, like me, enjoyed being by himself. He said very little, and once I heard Aunt Clara say the school thought he was nearly autistic. Jennifer was stuck-up. She had a way of holding her head back and talking down her nose that made everyone feel she thought she was superior. Once, when I was five, I got so frustrated with her I stomped on her foot and nearly broke one of her toes.

I finished packing and scooped up a pair of jeans and a sweater. Uncle Reuben stood there watching me as I walked past him to the bathroom to change. When I came out, he had my suitcase in his hand and was waiting in the doorway.

"Let's go," he urged. "I feel like I could catch some disease in here."

He, Aunt Clara, and my cousins lived in a nice A-frame two-story house. Mama and I didn't visit that often, but I was always envious of their yard, their nice furniture and clean bathrooms. William had his own room, and Jennifer had hers. The house was in a smaller village far enough away from the city so that I would have to go to a different school.

"Where am I going to stay?" I asked Uncle Reuben as I slipped on my sneakers.

"Clara's fixing up her sewing room for you. She has a pullout in it. Then we'll see," he said. "Come on."

"Should I just leave everything?" I asked, gazing about the apartment.

"What's there to leave? Old dishes, hand-me-down furniture, and rats? I wouldn't even bother locking the door," he muttered, and started down the stairs.

I paused in the doorway. He was right. It was a hole in the wall, drab and worn, even rotten in places and full of apologies, but it had been home for me. For so long, these walls were my little world. I always dreamed of leaving it, but now that I actually was, I couldn't help feeling afraid and sad.

"Raven!" Uncle Reuben shouted from the bottom of the stairway.

"Shut up out there!" someone cried. "People's trying to sleep."

I closed the door quickly and hurried down after him. We burst into the empty streets. It was still dark. The rest of the world was asleep. He threw my suitcase into the trunk of his car and got in quickly. I followed and gazed sleepily out the window at the apartment house. Only one of the three bulbs over the entryway worked. Shadows hid the chipped and faded paint and broken basement windows.

"It's lucky for you I live close enough to come and get you," he said, "or tonight you'd be on your way to some orphanage."

"I'm not an orphan," I shot back.

"No. You're worse," he said. "Orphans don't have mothers like yours."

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