"You found out about Fern?" I sat up quickly.
"Not much. They don't like giving out that information, but a friend of your grandmother's knew someone who knew someone. Anyway, Fern was taken by a young, childless couple. Their whereabouts are a mystery to us, but we're still looking."
"But what if Daddy wants her back?" I cried.
"Daddy? Oh, Ormand Longchamp? Under the circumstances, I don't think he will be able to get her back when he is released from prison. That will be some time yet anyway," he added. Obviously, Grand-mother Cutler had not told him her part of our bargain. There was no way she could without revealing why she would do such a thing.
"Anyway," he continued, "I wanted to stop by to tell you how happy I was for you. I've got to get back to my office. See you at dinner." He knelt down to kiss me on the forehead. "You will probably become the most famous Cutler of all," he said and left.
I lay back against my pillow. How fast it was all happening now. Fern was with a new family. Perhaps she had already learned to call the man Daddy and the woman Momma. Perhaps her memories of Jimmy and me were already fading. A new home, fine clothing, plenty to eat, and good care would surely erase her earlier life and make it all seem like some vague dream.
I was sure that in a matter of days, Grandmother Cutler would have me carried off to a new life, a life away from her and Cutler's Cove. My great consolation was that I would be in the world of music, and whenever I entered that world, all hardship and misery, all unhappiness and sadness fell away. I made up my mind I would put all my energy and concentration into one thing―becoming a good singer.
That evening I was permitted to sit with my family in the dining room for dinner. The news about my leaving for a performing arts school spread quickly throughout the hotel. Staff members who had previously resented me wished me luck. Even some guests had heard and had something nice to say. My mother made one of her miraculous recoveries. In fact, I had never seen her look more radiantly beautiful. Her hair had a sheen, her eyes were bright and young; she laughed and spoke with more animation than she had ever before demonstrated. To her everything was delicious, people were delightful; it was the most wonderful summer in ages. She rattled on and on about our upcoming shopping spree.
"I have some friends who live in Manhattan," she said, "and first thing in the morning I'm calling them to find out what is in style these days. We don't want you going off and looking like the farmer's daughter," she said and laughed. Randolph found her laughter contagious and was livelier and more charming than ever, too.
Only Clara Sue sat with a dark, dejected look on her face. She glared at me enviously, her emotions confused. She was getting rid of me, which I knew made her happy because once again she would be the little princess and wouldn't have to share the limelight with me in any way; but I was going off to do something very exciting, and I was being pampered, not her.
"I need some new things, too," she complained when she was able to get a word in.
"But you have so much more time, Clara Sue, honey," Mother said. "We'll go shopping for your things closer to the end of the summer. Eugenia is going to New York in a few days. New York!"
"Dawn," I corrected. My mother glanced at me and then at Grandmother Cutler. She saw there was no reprimand pending. "My name is Dawn," I repeated softly.
Mother laughed.
"Of course, if you like and everyone agrees," she said, eyeing Grandmother Cutler again.
"It's what she's used to," Grandmother Cutler said. "If she wants to change her name some time in the future, she can."
Clara Sue looked surprised and upset at the same time. I smiled at her, and she looked away quickly.
Grandmother Cutler and I exchanged a knowing glance. We exchanged a few that evening. Now that our major confrontation was over, I found her acting different toward me, just as she had promised. When some guests stopped by and asked about my singing, she claimed there was an uncle in our family who used to sing and play a violin.
As I gazed around the table, I realized everyone was happy I was leaving, but for different reasons. Grandmother Cutler never wanted me; my mother found me a threat and an embarrassment now; Randolph was sincerely happy for me and my new opportunity; and Clara Sue was happy she was losing her competition for the family's attention. Only Philip, working his waiter's job, cast confused glances in my direction.
After dinner and after I had sat in the lobby with my mother listening to her chat with guests for a while, I excused myself, claiming I was tired. I wanted to write another letter to Daddy describing all that I had learned. I wanted him to know that I didn't blame him for what had been done and that I understood why he and Mamma had done it.
But when I opened the door to my room, I found Philip waiting for me. He was lying on my bed, his hands behind his head, looking up at the ceiling. He sat up quickly.
"What are you doing in here?" I demanded. "Get out. Now!"
"I wanted to speak to you. Don't worry, I just want to talk," he said, holding his hands up.
"What is it you want, Philip? Don't expect me to forgive you for what you did," I snapped. "I'll never forget what you did to me."
"You told Grandmother something, didn't you? That's why she arranged for you to go to New York so quickly. I'm right, aren't I?" I simply stared at him, not walking in any farther, finding it impossible to be in the same room alone with him after what he had done to me. "Well, did you?" he asked fearfully.
"No, Philip, I didn't, but I think it's true when people say Grandmother Cutler has eyes and ears all over this hotel." That ought to put a scare in him. "Now leave," I ordered, still standing in the doorway and holding the door open. "The sight of you makes me sick."
"Well, why would she do it? Why would she send you off like this?"
"Haven't you heard? She thinks I'm talented," I said dryly. "I thought you did, too."
"I do, but . . . it all seems so strange . . . right at the beginning of the summer season, just when you've been returned to the family, she sends you off to a special arts school?" He shook his head and narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "There's something going on, something you're not telling me. Does it have to do with Jimmy's being found here, then?"
"Yes," I said quickly, but he didn't look satisfied. "I don't believe you."
"Too bad. I don't care what you believe or what you think. I'm tired, Philip, and I have a lot to do tomorrow. Please, leave." He didn't move. "Haven't you done enough to me?" I cried. "Just leave me alone."
"Dawn, you must understand what came over me before—sometimes a boy my age loses control. It happens especially when a girl leads him along and then pulls back," he said. I thought his attempt at a justification was pathetic.
"I never led you on, Philip, and I would have expected you to understand why I pulled back." I glared hatefully at him. "Don't you dare place the blame on me. You, and only you, are responsible for your actions."
"You're really mad at me, aren't you?" he asked, the smile on his face turning coy. "You're real pretty when you're angry," he said.
I stared at him in disbelief and recalled the excitement I had felt when we had first met at Emerson Peabody. How different things were then. It was like we were two completely different people. In a real way I suppose we were, I thought. We could never go back to the way things had once been . . . when I had believed in fairy tales and happy endings.
"You mustn't hate me," he said, pretending to plead for understanding. "You mustn't!" he insisted.
"I don't hate you, Philip." He smiled. "But I feel sorry for you," I added quickly, wiping the smile off his face. "You can never change what happened between us, and you can never change the way I feel about you. Whatever feelings I had for you died the night you raped me."
"I wasn't lying to you," he protested. "Dawn, I love you. With all my heart and soul. I can't help the way I feel about you."
"Well, you'll just have to! You've got to help it, Philip. I'm your sister. Do you understand? Your sister
! You've got to get over it. You can't love me! I'm sure you won't have trouble finding a new girlfriend."
"I suppose not," he said arrogantly, "but that doesn't mean I won't be thinking about you. I don't want a new girlfriend, Dawn. I want you. Only you. Why don't we spend one last night together . . . just talking," he suggested and lay back on my pillow. "For old time's sake."
I couldn't believe him! How could he make such a suggestion? After everything I had just said, Philip still wanted to . . . The thought sickened me. Philip sickened me. I could no longer stand to look at him. Just as Clara Sue and I would never have a sibling relationship, neither would Philip and I. I had to get him out of my sight. Before I said something I regretted. Before I did something I regretted. I pre-tended to hear something in the hallway.
"Someone's coming, Philip. It might be Grandmother. She said she wanted to speak with me later."
"Huh?" He sat up quickly and listened. "I don't hear anyone."
"Philip," I said, looking worried. He got up quickly and came to the door.
"I don't hear anybody," he said. I pushed past him and shoved him out, closing the door and locking it quickly.
"Hey!" he cried. "That's sneaky."
"Sneakiness runs in this family," I said. "Now go away."
"Dawn, come on. I want to make it all up to you, show you I can be warm and loving without attacking you. Dawn? I'll stay here all night. I'll sleep at your door," he threatened.
I ignored him, and after a while he got disgusted and left. I was finally alone with my own thoughts. I pulled the chair up to the little table, took out a pen and paper, and began.
Dear Daddy,
No matter what has happened, I realize I will always call you Daddy. I realize I am writing to you before you even had a chance to respond to my first letter, but I wanted you to know I have learned the truth. I have spoken with the woman who had been my nurse, Mrs. Dalton, and after that I confronted my mother and she confessed.
I then demanded a meeting with Grandmother Cutler and learned it all firsthand. I want you to know that I don't blame you or Momma for anything, and I know that once Jimmy learns the facts, he will feel the same way I do.
They are sending me off to a school for per-forming arts in New York City. Grandmother Cutler mostly wants to get rid of me, but it's what I always wanted to do, and I think it's best I get away from here anyway.
We still don't know where Fern is, but I hope that someday she will be back with you . . . her real father. I don't know what has become of Jimmy yet, but he ran away from one bad family and was found here and taken back. Perhaps you and he will be together again very soon. Grandmother Cutler has promised to do what she can to get you an early parole.
You always said that I brought you sunshine and happiness. I hope this letter brings some to you during what must be your darkest days. I want you to know that whenever I do sing, I will be thinking of you and your smile and all the love you and Momma gave me.
Love, Dawn
I sealed the letter with a kiss and put it in an envelope. In the morning I would have it mailed.
I really was very, very tired. Moments after my head touched the pillow and my eyes were closed, I began to drift toward a much welcomed sleep. The sounds of the hotel died away quickly. My short but dramatic life here was coming to an end.
I'm still being whisked away, I thought. I'm not in Daddy's car, and I'm not leaving in the middle of the night, but I'm on the road again, searching, always searching, for a place to call home.
EPILOGUE
Whether it was out of a sense of guilt or merely the excitement of buying clothes, my mother took me off in the hotel limousine and dragged me from store to store. Price was never an object. She bought me more clothing than I had seen in a lifetime: skirts, blouses, jackets, a leather coat and leather gloves, a fur hat, shoes, lingerie, and velvet slippers. We went to a department store to buy makeup, and there she bought me an assortment of powders, lipsticks, blush rouge, and eyeliner. It took two bellhops four trips to bring all our purchases into the hotel.
Clara Sue's eyes nearly popped out of her head when she saw it all. She cried and moaned and demanded Mother go on a similar shopping spree with her.
The day before I was to leave for New York, one of the bellhops came down to my room to fetch me.
"There's a phone call for you at the main desk," he said. "They said to hurry; it's long distance."
I thanked him and rushed out. I was lucky it was early in the morning and Clara Sue was not on duty, I thought. She would have never permitted the call to go through, because it was Jimmy.
"Where are you?" I cried.
"I'm with a new foster family, the Allans, and I'm back in Richmond, but it's all right. I'm going to go to a regular public school," Jimmy added quickly.
"Oh, Jimmy, I have so much to tell you I don't know where to begin."
He laughed.
"Just start at the beginning," he said, and I told him all that I had learned, described my meeting with Grandmother Cutler, and explained what had resulted.
"So you see, Jimmy, you shouldn't blame Daddy. He thought he was doing the right thing," I said.
"Yeah," he said, "I suppose, but it was still dumb," he added, only not sounding as hard as he could.
"Will you talk to him when he contacts you, Jimmy?" I asked, my voice full of hope.
"Let's see if he ever will," he replied. "I'm glad Fern was adopted by a young couple. They'll give her lots of love, but I can't wait till we find her again," he said. "And I'm glad about your going to a school for performing arts, even though it means I probably won't see you for a long time. But I'll try."
"I'll try to see you, too, Jimmy."
"I miss you," he said.
"I miss you, too," I said, my voice cracking. "Well, I'd better hang up. They were nice enough to let me make this call. Good luck, Dawn."
"Jimmy!" I cried, realizing he was about to hang up. "What?"
"I know I can think of you differently," I blurted. He understood.
"I'm glad, Dawn. It's the same with me."
"Bye," I said. I didn't realize I was crying until a tear dropped from my cheek.
On the morning of my departure the chambermaid staff presented me with a going-away present. Sissy gave it to me in the lobby by the front door as the bellhops were loading my suitcases into the hotel limousine.
"Some people are sorry for the cold way you were treated," she said and handed me a tiny package. I unwrapped it and discovered a solid gold mop-and-pail pin.
"We didn't want'cha to forget us," Sissy said. I laughed and hugged her.
Grandmother Cutler stood off to the side during all this, watching with her eagle eyes. I could see that she was impressed with the affection the hotel staff had for me.
Clara Sue stood sullenly in the doorway, Philip at her side, a slight smirk on his face.
I hurried down the steps without a farewell glance to either of them. My mother and Randolph were waiting at the limousine. Mother looked fresh and rested. She hugged me and kissed my forehead. I was surprised at how affectionate she was. Was it just for the audience of guests and staff, or had she come to feel something for me?
I looked into her soft eyes, but I couldn't be sure. It was all too confusing.
"Okay, Dawn," Randolph said. "We'll be up to see you as soon as we can get away from the hotel." He kissed me on the cheek. "If you need anything, just call."
"Thank you," I said. The limousine driver opened the door for me and I got in. I sat back and thought how different this was from my arrival in the night in a police patrol car.
We began to pull away from the hotel. I looked back and waved at everyone and saw Grandmother Cutler step out to gaze after me. She looked different, thoughtful. What a strange woman, I thought, and wondered if I would ever get to know her.
Then I turned to look out at the ocean as we came down the driveway. The sun had turned the water into a bright aqua. The little sailboats looked pain
ted against the blue horizon. It was beautiful here, picture perfect, I thought. My heart was full. I was off to do something I had always dreamt of doing, Jimmy sounded happier, and Daddy would soon be freed from prison.
The hotel limousine turned, and we were off toward the airport.
I couldn't help but remember the games Daddy and I used to play when I was very little and we were in the car and off to a new home.
"Come on, Dawn," he would say. "Let's pretend. Where do you want to be this time? Alaska? The desert? On a ship? In an airplane?"
"Oh, let her sleep, Ormand. It's late," Momma would say.
"You tired, Dawn?"
"No, Daddy," I would say, even though I could barely keep my eyes open.
Jimmy was asleep on his side of the car.
"So? Where shall it be this time?" Daddy asked again.
"I think . . . an airplane," I said. "Soaring above the clouds."
"And so it will be. Feel the lift-off," he said and laughed.
A short while later I really was soaring above the clouds.
Sometimes, when we dream hard enough, those dreams come true, I thought.
And I looked ahead toward the long stretch of blue sky and dreamt of thousands of people in an audience listening to me sing.
V. C. Andrews, Dawn
(Series: Cutler # 1)
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