"Let's give it some time," he pleaded. "When things calm down, we'll talk it all over in a sensible way like grown-ups, okay?" He riveted his eyes on me. "I'm sure we'll be able to work out all our problems once the twins are up and around again. None of this is easy, Christie. We've all got to learn to live together peacefully. I know it's harder for you two," he added sympathetically.
I fixed my gaze on his soft, blue eyes. Now he sounded more like a concerned uncle should sound. I wanted to tell him yes, it is harder for us. We lost our parents and Aunt Bet is a poor substitute for Mommy. She could never be a mother to us, not in our minds.
"This initial work to reconstruct the hotel has taken up most of my attention and time, but I promise, I will soon devote more of myself to you and not leave Betty Ann with all the responsibility. Just between you and me," he added in a low voice that was almost a whisper, "I think it's been a little too much for her. She's overwhelmed and with the twins getting sick and all . . . well, she's not as strong a woman as Dawn was. You're old enough now. I can talk to you and trust that you will understand," he said.
Since he was being so trusting and revealing and treating me like an adult, I wanted to burst out and ask him for what he had begged forgiveness at my mother's grave, but I was afraid to reveal I had been there and had overheard his most secret thoughts.
He stepped up to me and knelt down to take my hand. Then he beamed that charming smile on me, his eyes bright and happy.
"Can we make a pact together?"
"What sort of a pact?" I asked suspiciously.
"To promise to trust and depend on each other from this day forward; to tell each other things we wouldn't tell anyone else; to work hard at making everyone happy and safe. From this day forward," he vowed, "what makes you sad, will make me sad, and what makes you happy, will make me happy. Can we make that pact?" he repeated.
How strange he sounded, I thought. It was as if he were asking me to marry him. I shrugged. I didn't know how to react, or what to say. He was so intense, his eyes so determined and locked on mine.
"I guess so," I said.
"Good. Let's seal it with a kiss," he said and leaned forward to plant a kiss on my cheek, only his lips touched the corner of my mouth as well. He kept his eyes closed for a moment afterward and then smiled again. "Everything's going to be fine," he said. "Fine."
Fine? How could it ever again be fine? The wonderful world of sunshine and happiness I had known was gone forever. Not the bluest sky, nor the warmest day, nothing would bring back those loving, soft feelings.
He stood up. "Better wake Jefferson and have him eat his soup. I would have told you two to come down to eat, but Betty Ann just scrubbed the kitchen floor on her hands and knees.
"She's always obsessed like this when the twins get sick," he said, widening his smile. "It's the only way she can deal with her nervousness. As long as she keeps busy, she's all right. I have to go back to the hotel, but I will be home early and we'll all have a nice dinner together.
"Oh," he added at the door, "we'll have to pretend that whatever she makes tastes very good. She's not a very good cook, but until Mrs. Boston's replacement arrives . . ." He smiled. "I'm sure you're old enough to understand," he added and left.
I wasn't old enough to understand. Why did he let her fire Mrs. Boston? Why wasn't he in control?
Why did he tolerate all this unpleasantness and why did he permit these things to happen? Daddy wouldn't have, I thought mournfully. Mommy had once told me how weak Uncle Philip's father, Randolph, had been, how he had put up with Grandmother Laura's antics and temperament. Apparently, Uncle Philip wasn't much different when it came to his wife.
How I wished time would move quickly and I would finally be old enough to be in charge of my own life and Jefferson's. No matter how many promises and vows we made, and no matter how hard we all tried, it would always be difficult to live with Uncle Philip and Aunt Bet, I thought.
Jefferson woke up and we ate our lunch together in the room. His tears had stopped, but the anguish in his eyes stayed, so afterward, mostly to keep his mind off things, I played one of his games with him. Richard and Melanie remained bedridden the rest of the day and were unable to go down to supper. In my mind they were the ones who were better off. Aunt Bet had tried making a roast chicken, but she overcooked it and it came out dry and tough. She undercooked the potatoes and they seemed more like apples.
Uncle Philip tried to make the dinner pleasant by talking about the reconstruction of the hotel. He promised Jefferson he would take him over in the morning after breakfast to watch the bulldozers and wrecking machines complete the clearing of the burned-out structure. It was the first time since Mommy and Daddy's deaths that Jefferson showed any interest and excitement in anything.
During most of the meal, Aunt Bet continued to run up and down the stairs to check on how the twins were getting along. They were able to hold down their first solid food, according to her. She rattled on and on about them, how they looked, how they chewed their food, and how they each ate exactly the same amount. Uncle Philip shifted a conspiratorial gaze my way and smiled as if to say, "See what I mean? But we understand."
She never actually came out and said she was sorry for screaming and manhandling Jefferson, but she did say she hoped there would never be any such unpleasantness between us again. To make up for it, she brought out a double chocolate cake she had had Uncle Philip buy in town. She gave Jefferson a piece so large it made his eyes bulge. Even so, he nearly finished all of it.
Afterward, he and I watched some television together until he got sleepy. I took him upstairs and put him to bed in Melanie's room. Then I went into my room to read and write a new letter to Gavin. I told him all about what had occurred at the graveyard the night before and then described the day's events. I asked him not to tell Granddaddy Longchamp any of it because it would only upset him and there was little he could do. I ended by telling Gavin once again how much I looked forward to seeing him. This time, under my name I drew four X's which meant four kisses. Then, seeing his face behind my closed eyelids, I kissed the letter before sealing it.
Exhausted myself now from a most trying and emotional day, I filled my bathtub with hot water and sprinkled in Mommy's scented bubble bath powder. When I slid under the water, put my head back and closed my eyes, I felt myself relax and drift into my memories of Mommy, soft and loving, brushing my hair and telling me about all the wonderful things we were going to do at the hotel the next day. I was so lost in my reverie, I didn't hear the bedroom door open and close, nor did I hear Uncle Philip's footsteps nor realize he was there until I opened my eyes and saw him standing in the bathroom. I had no idea how long he had been there staring down at me.
I gasped and covered my breasts with my arms and slid down as far as I could under the bubbles. He laughed. He was holding a package.
"I'm sorry to disturb you," he said, "but I wanted to give you this before you went to sleep tonight. When I went into town to buy the cake for dessert, I saw it in the department store window and couldn't resist getting it for you."
"What is it?" I asked.
"It's a surprise gift to make up for some of the unpleasantness you've had to endure today," he said and continued to stand there. "Should I open it up and show it to you?"
I nodded. I thought the faster he did so, the faster he would leave.
He put the box on the sink and took the lid off so he could -dip his hands in and come up with what was the sheerest white lace nightgown I had ever seen. He held it up.
"Isn't it pretty?" he asked. He put his cheek against it. "It's so soft and feminine, I couldn't help but think of you when I touched it. Wear it tonight, especially after a bath. It will make you feel good," he said.
"Thank you, Uncle Philip."
"Will you wear it tonight?" he asked. I couldn't understand why that would be so important to him, but imagined he just wanted to be sure his gift compensated for the nasty things that had occurred between Aunt Bet and us.
"Yes," I said.
"Good. I'm good at washing backs," he said after he put the nightgown back into the box. How could he suggest such a thing? I wasn't a child anymore. The look in his eyes frightened me. For a moment I couldn't speak.
"That's all right," I said, afraid he would come farther into the bathroom. "I'm almost ready to come out."
"Are you sure?" He took a step toward me.
"Yes," I said quickly, my heart pounding.
"All right," he said, obviously disappointed, "but you're really missing something." He stared at me a moment longer and then left. I listened for the sound of my bedroom door opening and closing and then I got out of the bathtub and dried myself. I looked at the nightgown. It was pretty and very soft. I slipped it over my head and gazed at myself in the mirror. It was so light and transparent, I might as well be naked, I thought. What sort of a gift was this for an uncle to buy his niece? I wondered, but I wore it to sleep.
Some time late at night, I woke abruptly after dreaming that Uncle Philip had come into my bedroom again and quietly come to the side of my bed. He peeled back my blanket softly and gazed down at me for the longest time and then covered me up and left as quietly as he had come in. The dream was so vivid, my eyes snapped open and my heart was racing. I gazed around anxiously, but there was no one there. Even so, I lay awake for a long time before my lids became heavy again and sleep washed over me.
The next morning the twins made a miraculous, complete recovery. Both Richard and Melanie were full of energy and had great appetites at breakfast. Aunt Bet looked very pleased.
"We'll keep the sleeping arrangements the way they are for one more day just to be sure," she declared, "and then everything can return to normal. Our new maid and cook will be arriving later today, too," she announced. "She comes highly recommended. She used to work for friends of my parents, so we can be sure our meals will be made well and served properly and everything will be kept spotless.
"Oh, I feel so good about the future now that Richard and Melanie are healthy again," she cried and clapped her hands together. Although neither Richard nor Melanie smiled or said anything, they both wore expressions of approval.
Uncle Philip nodded and smiled and then announced he was off to the hotel.
"Jefferson's coming with me to inspect the work. Would you like to come too, Christie?"
"No thank you, Uncle Philip. I'm going to visit Grandmother Laura."
"I would like to go along with you, Father," Richard said.
"Me too," Melanie chimed.
"Oh no;"Aunt Bet said. "You two need one more day's complete rest. You don't know how sick you were."
Both of them pouted simultaneously.
"Okay, ready, Jefferson?" Uncle Philip asked. Jefferson flicked a glance my way. I knew he wanted me to go along and my refusal to do so made him hesitant, but the promise of seeing all those machines was too great. He nodded and followed Uncle Philip out.
"Christie, would you help me with the dishes?" Aunt Bet asked.
"Yes," I said and began gathering them. I often helped Mrs. Boston and just doing it brought back the memories of our warm and happy talks together in the kitchen.
"I can help too," Melanie said.
"Oh no, Melanie. You go sit in the living room and read," Aunt Bet said. "You're liable to drop something."
"Why is she able to do it?" she whined.
"She wasn't sick, was she?" Aunt Bet said. "Thank you, Christie. Please bring in the glasses," she said and headed for the kitchen with some of the dishes.
"Here," Melanie said, thrusting her glass at me after I had picked up four already. She let it go before I had my fingers on it and it fell over a bowl, shattering both the bowl and the glass.
"What happened?" Aunt Bet cried from the kitchen doorway.
"She's so clumsy," Melanie accused.
"That's not true. You didn't give me a chance to hold the glass," I retorted.
"She tried to take too much," Richard said, pulling the corner of his mouth in. "It wasn't Melanie's fault"
"That's a lie!"
"All right, children. All right." Aunt Bet glared at me. "Just leave everything for me before something else gets broken," she said.
Both Melanie and Richard looked satisfied, both softening their lips identically in the corners. I glanced once more at Aunt Bet and then rushed from the room and the house, frustrated by the irony that I wanted to leave my own home as quickly as I could.
8
NO ONE UNDERSTANDS
ALL OF THE HOTEL STAFF HAD LEFT, OF COURSE WITH the hotel burned down, there wasn't anything for them to do. But some of the grounds people had been kept on to help with the removal of debris and the rebuilding. Since the family still needed a chauffeur, Julius remained on salary and continued to live in the staff quarters behind the hotel. I found him outside;- washing the limousine.
"When you're finished, Julius, will you please take me to my grandmother's," I asked.
"Sure, Christie. I'm just about done. Get in. I'll do the detail work while you're visiting," he said.
I got into the limousine and stared out the window at the workers buzzing around the debris and machinery. I could see Jefferson standing beside Buster Morris. Jefferson stood with his hands on his hips just like Daddy used to. It made me smile, but it also brought tears to my eyes. How much he missed his father, I thought. How cruel it was to live in a world where a young boy's father could be ripped away from him before they had a chance to really get to know each other.
It made me think of Mommy and how horrible it must have been for her to learn that the man and woman she thought were her parents weren't, and how difficult and frightening it was for her to be returned to her real family after so many years. As the limousine turned down the driveway and headed toward Buella Woods, Bronson Alcott's home, I couldn't help wondering what it must have been like for Mommy the first day she came face to face with her real mother. How I wish my grandmother was clear-minded enough to tell me about those days. However bad things were for her then, they were wonderful for her now. She was married to a man who loved her dearly. She should feel secure and happy.
Buella Woods stood on a high hill looking down on Cutler's Cove. The house was big enough to be a castle. It had been built with gray stone wall cladding and decorative half-timbering. It had a prominent round tower with a high conical roof. The tower housed the main entrance, which was a dark pine door set in a single arched opening. Under the windows on the second floor were small wrought-iron decorative balconies. Jefferson always wanted to crawl out on those balconies and could never understand why anyone would have built them just for show.
Julius opened my door for me and I went up the steps and rang the door chimes. The entry way was so deep, the chimes sounded like chimes in a cathedral. Mrs. Berme, Grandmother's private nurse, surprised me by answering the door. Usually, Bronson's butler, a dark-haired, stout man named Humbrick, did.
"Oh Christie," Mrs. Berme said. "Your grand-mother just dozed off in the parlor, but Pm sure she won't be asleep long. Come in," she said. "Mr. Alcott's in his office."
"Thank you, Mrs. Berme," I replied and walked down the corridor. I looked in on Grandmother and saw she was asleep in her favorite soft chair, a blanket tucked around her and up to her throat. She looked gray and pale, except for where she had dabbed her rouge too hard on her cheeks. I hurried on to Bronson's office. The door was open, but I knocked on the jamb. He was behind his desk reading some papers.
"Christie," he said, standing immediately. "I'm glad you've come."
"Grandmother's asleep," I said.
"I'm sure she won't be for long. Her naps are frequent but short these days. Come in. Sit down. Tell me how you and Jefferson have been getting along," he said, pointing to the burgundy leather settee. I sat down quickly.
"Terribly," I said.
"Oh?" He lifted his eyebrows and tightened his mouth and narrowed his eyes. "What's wrong?"
"Everything, Bronson. Aunt B
et is horrible to us. And she's fired Mrs. Boston!"
"What? Fired Mrs. Boston? I don't believe it," he said, sitting down.
"She did. My cousins got sick with stomach aches and she blamed it on Mrs. Boston's cooking and cleaning," I said.
"Really? How extraordinary."
"She told her to leave and Uncle Philip refused to interfere. He says she's the mistress of the house now and the servants have to get along with her," I cried.
"Well . . . he's right about that, I'm afraid. But I can't imagine anyone not getting along with Mrs. Boston. Why, she was one of the few servants Grandmother Cutler respected." He shook his head and then looked up at me. "I'll ask Philip about it, but if there's a personality clash between Mrs. Boston and Betty Ann, there's not much that can be done. Why did you say that your Aunt Bet's horrible to you and Jefferson?"
"She is. She's always yelling at Jefferson for being too messy. She wants us to take our shoes off before we come into the house," I said. The moment the words were out of my mouth, I realized how silly and petty I sounded. I could see Bronson thought so, too.
"Well, you know Jefferson can be a little Huckleberry Finn, Christie," he said, smiling. "I remember that time he crawled into the wood pile out back. I'm sure Betty Ann's just trying to get him to be a little more responsible. And now, with Mrs. Boston gone . . ."
"That's her fault," I moaned.
"Maybe. But it's happened and we'll have to live with it," he said.
"She moved Richard into Jefferson's room and they don't get along," I said, moving quickly to a new complaint so Bronson would see my justification for being so upset. He squeezed his chin between his forefinger and thumb and nodded.
"Young boys should share a room. I'm sure after a while they will get along better. Anyway, what choice did Betty Ann have? She would have had to have Richard and Melanie share a room otherwise, right?"
"Yes," I said and blew air out of my lips with frustration.
"It doesn't sound so terrible, Christie."
"She's moved most of my mother's things into the attic," I moaned, "and Daddy's."