"Well now, you take care of yourself, Christie," Granddaddy Longchamp said, turning his big, sad eyes on me. "And look after your brother the way your Momma and Papa would have wanted you to. And you call us if there's anything we can do for you children, understand?"
"Yes, Granddaddy. Thank you," I said. He took one last look at the house and then bent over to get into the limousine. Edwina followed.
"I'll call and write as much as I can," Gavin said. "I hate leaving you like this," he added, his eyes soft with sympathy. I nodded, my eyes down. He ran his hand through Jefferson's hair and then, quickly, almost so quickly that I couldn't feel it and no one could have seen it, he leaned forward and kissed me on the cheek. By the time I opened my eyes, he was lunging into the limousine behind his parents.
Jefferson and I stood there holding hands, watching it disappear down the driveway. Suddenly, I was chilled. Twilight had come like a quickly dropped shade and deepened all the shadows around us.
"There you are, children," Aunt Bet cried from the front door. "You two just have to come back inside and man your stations," she declared.
"We're both tired, Aunt Bet," I said, still holding on to Jefferson's hand and walking past her. "We're going upstairs now."
"Oh—but, dear, what about all the new people who have just arrived?" she cried despondently. She grimaced as though our absence would be the real tragedy of the day.
"I'm sure they'll understand," I said quietly. "As should you."
"But . . ."
We walked, heads down, and made our way quickly up the stairway as if we really didn't belong, orphans in our own home.
I took Jefferson to my room, knowing he wouldn't want to be alone. The noise and commotion downstairs continued for hours. Not long after we had retired, Bronson Alcott came up to see us. He knocked on the door and poked his head in when I asked who was there. Jefferson had fallen asleep beside me on the bed, but I could only lie there, my eyes open, staring at the ceiling.
"Oh, I didn't want to wake you," he said, retreating.
"It's all right, Bronson. Please, come in," I said, sitting up and running my fingers through my hair. He stepped into the room and smiled at Jefferson.
"Poor little tyke," he said, shaking his head. "It's not easy for anyone, but for him, it's especially hard. I remember how hard it was for me to lose my mother, and I was quite a bit older."
"How did she die?"
"She contracted a blood cancer," he said sadly. "And left you to look after your crippled sister?"
I recalled some of the details Mommy had once told me. He nodded. And now he's looking after poor Grandmother Laura, I thought sadly. "How's Grandmother?" I asked.
"She's all right. I left her with the nurse," he said, "so I could come up here to see you two."
"Does she understand what's happened?" He nodded softly.
"She goes in and out, remembering, then forgetting . . . maybe she's better off. Maybe it's the mind's way of protecting itself against so much sorrow."
"You have your hands full," I said.
"That's what your mother used to say," he replied, smiling. "Laura Sue wasn't always like this, you know. She was once a vivacious, energetic, sparkling woman, full of excitement and laughter, tormenting every man in sight."
"Mommy told me. Bronson," I said after a moment, "you know so much about this family, do you think there's truly a curse on it?" I asked.
"A curse? Oh no, not a curse, despite all this. Don't think that way. I'm sure you will live up to your parents' expectations and do wonderful things," he said reassuringly. Numbly, I shook my head.
"I don't want to do wonderful things anymore. Without Mommy . . ."
"Nonsense now, Christie. You must continue your pursuit of music more than ever," he instructed firmly. "You must do it for her, as much as for yourself."
"But I can't help feeling I'm destined to fail, that these dark clouds . . ."
He knitted his eyebrows together.
"Christie, fate can be cruel sometimes, but it is also fate that has given you your talent. Think of that. Fate sends us down a road, sometimes good, sometimes bad, but if it sends us down a good road and we ignore it or reject it, we are bringing our own curses down on ourselves. Be all that you are capable of being. You have an obligation now to do so," he warned.
I nodded. He was so firm, so strong. No wonder Mommy loved and admired him, I thought. And then a new and wonderful idea blossomed.
"I don't want to live with Uncle Philip and Aunt Bet," I said, "and neither does Jefferson."
"I understand, but they have first claims on being your guardians and with them having to move in here and all, it makes the most sense. It won't be easy, not for a while, maybe not ever, but you're at least with people who care about you and love you. I'm sure Philip will be as much of a father to you and Jefferson as he is to his own children," he said. He saw the disappointment in my face.
"I wish . . . I wish I could take you two to live with us, but I'm afraid my home is not the best environment for two young people right now. Laura Sue is an invalid most of the time, and although she loves you, whenever she has clear enough thinking to do so, she would be only a burden to you as well."
"I'd be willing to accept that," I said quickly. He smiled.
"It's going to be all right here. Don't worry," he said reassuringly. "And come around as often as I can to see that you and Jefferson are doing well."
I bowed my head so he wouldn't see the tears flood my eyes.
"There, there now. You'll be fine, Christie," he said, his voice tender with understanding. He leaned over to kiss me on the cheek. Then he looked lovingly at Jefferson. "As soon as I think it's appropriate, have you and Jefferson over for dinner one night," he said. "It will be good for Laura Sue, too." He started toward the door.
"Bronson?"
"Yes, dear?"
"Before this happened, Mommy told me things about the past, things that have always been kept locked in closets, but there was much she never got to tell me, much I still wonder about. Will you tell me these things?"
"As much as I know," he pledged. "When everything's calmed down, you and I will spend an afternoon together just talking about the past and your family, okay?"
I nodded.
"Thank you, Bronson."
"I was very, very fond of your mother, Christie. She developed a certain wisdom beyond her years, maybe because of some of the difficult things you know about and will learn about, but she had unique insight, patience, understanding. I'm sure you've inherited it. You'll see," he said and then he left.
No one looked in on us after that. The funeral reception took on a lighter tone as it dragged into the evening. I heard more laughter, more cars coming and going, doors slamming, people calling to each other. Jefferson woke up and cried for our mother. I comforted him and he fell asleep again. While he slept, I sat on the floor by my closet and thumbed through old photo albums, smiling and crying over pictures of Mommy and Daddy.
She had been so beautiful, I thought, so very, very beautiful.
I embraced my knees and lowered my head to them, trying to restrain the sorrow and tears that threatened to ravage my body. While I was still on the floor by the closet, my door was thrust open.
"Oh, there he is," Richard said.
"What do you want? Don't you knock first?" I demanded. He smirked.
"Mother sent me looking for him. He's got to move some of his things or move them," he added.
"What are you talking about? He doesn't have to move anything," I said standing up. "Especially tonight."
"Mother says it isn't right for Melanie and I to be sleeping in the same room. We're too old for that. She says boys should be with boys. She is going to have some men move my bed into Jefferson's room. I want him to make room for my stuff in the closets and dresser drawers. If he doesn't, I'll do it myself," he threatened.
I shuddered to think of it. Jefferson would hate having Richard hovering over him day and night, and
Richard wasn't like any other twelve-year-old-boy I knew. He was so prim and proper with his things. He would surely get into terrible fights with Jefferson over the messy way Jefferson took care of his possessions.
"Don't you dare touch his things," I cried.
"What . . . what's the matter, Christie?" Jefferson said, sitting up quickly and rubbing his eyes.
"Nothing. Go back to sleep. I've got to go downstairs and speak to Aunt Bet," I said and marched out of the room, practically pushing Richard out of my way.
There were still many people in the house having coffee and cake. Some stragglers had come in to feast on what remained of the trays and trays of food Mr. Nussbaum and Leon had prepared. I looked around for Aunt Bet or Uncle Philip. People smiled at me and some stopped me to offer condolences, but I went quickly from room to room until I found Aunt Bet saying good night to some people on the front porch. I didn't know where Uncle Philip was; I hadn't seen him anywhere in the house.
"Oh Christie, dear," she said when I appeared.
"You've come down. How nice. Are you hungry, dear?"
"No, Aunt Bet, I'm not hungry," I snapped. She held her smile. "I'm upset. Why are you having Richard's things moved into Jefferson's room tonight of all nights?"
"Oh, I just thought the faster they started to share things, the better it would be for them. I thought Richard would be good company for him and comfort him. And really, dear," she said, stepping up to me, "you don't want me to keep Richard and Melanie sleeping in the same room any longer than I have to. Melanie's becoming a young lady and all young ladies need their privacy and their space, don't they?" she said. "You do," she added dryly.
"I'm not saying no, Aunt Bet, but Jefferson has just been at his parents' funeral. He doesn't need to be upset any more tonight. We can wait to discuss the sleeping arrangements," I retorted. "I think we should have-something to say about it anyway. This is our house," I added, my flag of pride hoisted.
Aunt Bet held her smile.
"Where's Uncle Philip?" I demanded.
"He's in and out, dear, but he's been too upset to really be of any help right now. I'm only trying to do what's best," she said.
"What's best is not to shove Richard into Jefferson's room tonight. It's going to be hard enough for him to go to sleep, and he's much too tired to start rearranging his closets and dressers now."
"Very well, dear," Aunt Bet said. "It will wait until morning, if that makes you happier." She smiled, but something about that smile seemed false. It was a queer, shadowy smile.
"Not having it happen at all would make me happier," I said.
"We've all got to make compromises right now, Christie," she replied somewhat sternly. "Your loss is great, but we've lost much too. We've lost our home and the hotel and . . ."
"All that can be replaced, Aunt Bet," I said, shocked she would even think of making a comparison. A fiery rush of blood heated my face. "Can you bring back my mommy and daddy? Can you?" I cried, the hot tears streaming down my cheeks,
"All right, dear," she said, cowering back. "I'm sorry I upset you." She flicked a smile at some people who were leaving. "We'll discuss it tomorrow. Please tell Richard to come down to see me," she said and left me quickly to say good-bye to some members of the hotel staff.
I pivoted and quickly charged back upstairs. Richard was already in Jefferson's room. When I threw open the door, I found him rearranging Jefferson's closet.
"LEAVE HIS THINGS ALONE!" I screamed. Richard stopped and scowled at me. "Aunt Bet wants to see you immediately. You will not be moving your things in here tonight," I said firmly. "Now get out." I stepped back, standing firmly as a rooted tree, and pointed.
"This room isn't half as nice as the room I had," he muttered.
"Then don't bother coming into it again," I said to his back. He hurried down the corridor and the stairs. Jefferson was standing in my doorway, his face streaked from tears, his eyes drooping with fatigue and confusion.
"Come on, Jefferson," I said. "I'll get you ready for your own bed now."
"Where's Richard going?" he asked.
"To blazes for all I care," I said and helped my little brother wash and dress for another night on this earth without his parents.
When I returned to my room, I was surprised to find Aunt Fern sorting through the clothes in my closet.
"Aunt Fern," I cried. I looked around and didn't see her boyfriend. "What are you doing?"
"Hello, princess." She flashed a silly smile at me. I didn't have to draw too close to smell the odor of whiskey. "I was just looking at some of your sweaters. You've got some nice stuff. I especially like this watch," she said, holding up her left wrist. "Can I borrow it a while?" It was my birthday present from Mommy and Daddy.
"Take that off!" I cried. "That was my last present from Mammy and Daddy."
"Oh." She wobbled.
"You can have anything else," I said. "Please."
"Hold your water," she replied and struggled to get it off her wrist, nearly ripping the band apart. She dropped it harshly on the bed. I scooped it up quickly, vowing to myself never to take it off my wrist again. "You could be a little nicer to me," she moaned. "I'm leaving and who knows when you'll see me again."
"Aren't you going to stay overnight?"
"There were some end-of-the-year parties at some fraternities I wanted to attend," she said. She sauntered over to my vanity table and inspected my perfumes and colognes.
"You really aren't going to attend summer school like you promised Daddy, are you?" I asked.
"No," she said. "I'm going to spend the summer with some of my spoiled, rich friends on Long Island. I've already told Philip and told him where to send my allowance. But I don't think he heard much of what I said, so I'm sure I'll be calling Dorfman."
"But I thought you had to make up the courses you failed this year," I said.
She spun around.
"You know you're just like an old lady . . . nag, nag, nag. When I was sixteen, I had already lost my virginity." She laughed at the expression on my face. "You read the chapter, didn't you? Didn't you?" she accused. "That's all right, keep your little secrets," she said bitterly, "everyone else in this family does. Your mother certainly did."
"Don't you say anything nasty about my mother," I spat back at her. She wobbled again and shook her head.
"It's time you stopped living like Alice in Wonderland. Your mother and Daddy grew up living in the same room, practically on top of each other until she was sixteen, and after that, she fell in love with Philip without knowing he was her brother. What do you think they did on their dates, play paint-by-numbers? Of course, they would keep all that secret, but I never let any of them tell me what to do. None of them are better than me."
"That's not true; that's not true about my mother and Uncle Philip," I said. She shrugged.
"Ask him one day," she said. "And while you're at it, ask him about all the times he walked in on me while I was dressing and he claimed he was looking for Jimmy or Dawn.
"Take one look at his wife, Christie, and you can understand why he looks elsewhere."
"That's terrible, Aunt Fern. I know you're drunk again and you're saying horrible things because of that, but it's not a good enough excuse anymore. I don't want to hear any more," I said.
She laughed.
"You don't?" She walked toward me, her face twisted in a vicious imitation of a smile. "You don't want to hear how Dawn and Jimmy thought they were brother and sister but still slept in their underwear beside each other on pull-out sofas?"
"Stop it!" I said, putting my hands over my ears.
"You don't want to hear how your mother French-kissed with Uncle Philip, how she swooned when the most handsome boy in her high school kissed her on the neck?"
"STOP!" I ran into the bathroom and slammed the door. Then I embraced myself and crouched down on the floor, sobbing. I heard her laugh and then I heard her come up to the door.
"All right, Princess Christie, I'll leave you in y
our wonderland. I feel sorry for you. They always pampered you and favored you. It was Christie this and Christie That. You were the most wonderful and talented little girl and I was a load of trouble. Well, you're on your own now, just like I was really. See how you like it," she spat. I heard her footsteps as she pounded her way out of my room.
For a while I just lay there, crying. How ugly and hateful she could be, I thought. Daddy wanted only to make her happy and Mommy tried so hard to love her and treat her fairly. I was glad she was leaving and I hoped she would never come back.
I got up slowly and washed my face. I thought it would take hours and hours for me to fall asleep, but once I lay my head down on my pillow, emotional exhaustion washed over me like an ocean wave, and it wasn't until the dismal, gray light of early morning, a morning with bruised angry clouds traveling across the sky like a caravan of singed camels, seeped in through my curtains that I opened my eyes. I gazed straight ahead. The sight of my black dress draped over a chair reminded me painfully that what had happened and what we had done yesterday were not part of some horrid nightmare, but were events in horrid reality instead.
But before my eyes could even begin to tear again, the small sound of someone sighing spun me around, and I was shocked to discover Uncle Philip. He had pulled a chair up to the other side of my bed and was sitting there gazing at me wistfully. His hair was messed and his shirt was open. He wore no tie or jacket. I thought he looked very pale and very tired.
"Uncle Philip!" I cried, clinging to my blanket. Some of the hateful things Aunt Fern had said lingered like mold on the walls of my memory. "What are you doing here?" I had no idea how long he had been sitting there, staring at me while I slept.
He sighed again, louder and longer.
"I couldn't sleep," he said, "and I was worried about you, so I came by to see how you were doing and I guess I fell asleep in this chair. I haven't been awake much longer than you," he concluded, but I thought he looked like someone who had been awake all night.