Midnight Whispers

  It took me most of the remainder of the afternoon and much of the evening to make a dent in the pile of gifts I had received. I wanted to get my thank-you cards out as quickly as I could. Jefferson was rather cute, sitting beside me on the floor in the living room announcing each gift and who had given it. I had received some very expensive gifts which included clothing, jewelry, perfume and other toiletries, as well as things for my room.

  When Mommy insisted Jefferson get ready for bed, I stopped but promised him I wouldn't continue until he could help me tomorrow after school. I was quite tired myself and retired to my room, mainly to await anxiously Gavin's promised phone call. My eyes fell on Aunt Fern's tightly wrapped gift. It was one I didn't want to open in front of Jefferson or anyone else for that matter, especially Daddy. But I couldn't help but be curious.

  I opened it slowly and then casually turned the pages. Why was Aunt Fern so determined I read this story? I wondered, and recalled her final coy comment about chapter ten. I scanned the pages and discovered why. Of course, I had read and seen things more revealing, but somehow, maybe because it had come from Aunt Fern whom I had witnessed doing these sexual things, it all seemed that much more forbidden, and what they said about forbidden fruit would always be true. I couldn't take my eyes from the words describing the lovemaking. As I read on, I began to imagine myself and Gavin. I was so deeply involved in the chapter, I didn't hear the phone's first ring. When it rang a second time, I scooped it up quickly and slammed the book closed.

  "Hi," Gavin said. Hearing his voice after imagining ourselves together made me blush with guilt. "Hi. How was your trip?" I asked quickly.

  "Just as long. No, longer since I was going away from Cutler's Cove."

  "Just Cutler's Cove?"

  "And you," he said. "Things quiet down?" "Yes. Jefferson and I went through some of the pile of gifts. I got so many nice things."

  "I bet."

  "Tomorrow's our last day of school. Mommy's afraid of what Jefferson's report card will look like."

  "Mine wasn't too good at his age either," Gavin said. "Anyway, I wanted to tell you how much I enjoyed your party and, especially, our private dance."

  "Me too," I said. "Thanks again for the wonderful gift."

  We were both silent for a moment.

  "I'll write you every day this week," I promised. He laughed. "I will."

  "Great. Well, I'd better hang up. I can't wait to see you again," he said. "Sleep tight and don't let the bedbugs bite."

  "Good night, Gavin." I held the phone in my hand for a long moment after he had cradled his receiver. It was as though mine still contained his voice, still promised the warmth it had brought. "Good night," I whispered into it again and then hung it up.

  I looked down at the copy of Lady Chatterley s Lover and thought about Aunt Fern giving it to me. She didn't do it because she wanted me to learn about love and how it could be warm and wonderful; she wanted to tease me. She probably hoped I would become like her.

  Well I would never become like her, I vowed. I took her present and shoved it into the rear of my closet. Someday I might read it again, I thought, but not as forbidden fruit, not as something evil from Aunt Fern.

  I crawled into bed and closed my eyes and fell asleep dreaming of the upcoming summer and Gavin's return.

  Jefferson wasn't as eager to get up the next morning, knowing we were going to school to get our end-of-the-year report cards. Mommy had to shake him out of bed and he tried to take forever to eat his breakfast. From the look on his face, I assumed his teacher had already indicated some of the bad things that would be put on his report card.

  Unless there was some conflict with guests arriving or going, Julius took all of us to school in the hotel limousine. He always picked us up and brought us home.

  As usual Richard and Melanie wore the same color, he in a jacket, slacks and tie and she in a dress. He was the only seventh grader who went to public school dressed so formally, but I couldn't imagine him dressing any other way. Today, the last day of class, he looked even more prim and proper with his hair brushed and slicked down neatly, his tie knotted even tighter, his shoes polished perfectly, and the handkerchief in his top pocket creased so sharply into a point, it looked like it could be used as a knife.

  Today, Jefferson was unusually subdued when he finally crawled into the back seat with me and sat across from Richard and Melanie.

  "Couldn't you be ready even on the last day?" Richard asked dryly.

  "We've never been late for school, Richard," I replied just as dryly.

  "Only because Julius drives faster. The school bus children always get there before we do," he added as if that were something terrible.

  "And I never have enough time to talk to my friends before homeroom," Melanie added to bolster Richard's complaint.

  "Well, today's the last day of the school year, so you won't have to put up with it again until next fall," I told her.

  "Jefferson probably will still be in the same class." Richard said, a cruel smile on his face. Jefferson looked up sharply.

  "No, I won't," he snapped.

  Melanie's smile widened.

  Jefferson frowned and looked up at me. I closed my eyes and opened them to signal he shouldn't argue, and he sat back and pouted the rest of the way.

  All the chatter at school was about my party. My classmates had really enjoyed themselves. Pauline couldn't wait to ask me about Gavin and tell me how good-looking she and most of the other girls thought he was.

  We had an abbreviated school day, the purpose of which was to conduct the end-of-the-year activities: returning books and locker keys, straightening and cleaning out desks and lockers, returning overdue library books and settling other school debts, as well as getting some preliminary information about the beginning of the next school year.

  Naturally, there was a great deal of excitement in the air as everyone talked about the coming of summer, the places some of them would go to and the things they would do. The school corridors were filled with laughter and chatter, even the teachers happy and less severe about the rules.

  Finally, the last bell rang and we all charged out into the warm, late spring sunshine. There were cheers and screams and shouts of good-bye as friends who wouldn't see each other for a few months parted. I spotted Jefferson walking slowly from the elementary school, his head down. He had his report card tucked under his arm.

  "How bad is it?" I asked him when he reached me. I held my breath, afraid of the answer. He just looked up at me and started toward the limousine, in which Richard and Melanie were already waiting. "Let me see it, Jefferson," I demanded. He paused and reluctantly, he passed the envelope to me. I took out his card.

  It wasn't only that he received Unsatisfactory marks for every behavior category; he received two U's in his school subjects as well. Actually, it was his worst report card ever.

  "Oh Jefferson," I cried. "Mommy and Daddy will be so upset with you."

  "I know," he replied and began bawling in anticipation.

  "Get into the car," I said sternly.

  "Well?" Richard asked, a crooked smile of self-satisfaction already on his face. "How bad is it?"

  "I don't want to talk about it, Richard. It isn't funny," I said sharply. Jefferson turned into the corner of the seat and began to cry. When he was like that, all I could do was comfort him, even though I knew he didn't deserve it.

  "You can't cry over spilled milk," Melanie said. "You just have to do better."

  Jefferson wiped his eyes and turned around.

  "Melanie's right about that, Jefferson," I said. "You're going to have to make a thousand promises," I advised him, "and not get into a single bit of trouble this summer, not even a teeny-weeny bit," I said. He nodded.

  "I'll be good," he promised. "I'll clean up my room and pick up my clothes and never leave the front door open."

  "Believe that and you can believe there really is a tooth fairy," Richard said.

  "There is a tooth fairy,"
Jefferson spat back. "She left me a quarter under my pillow."

  "I told you," Richard replied, shaking his head, "your mother or your father put it there."

  "Or maybe they had Mrs. Boston do it," Melanie suggested.

  "They did not!"

  "Stop teasing him," I cried. The twins looked at each other and then out the window.

  "Hey!" Richard suddenly said. "What's that?"

  We all leaned forward and that was when we first saw the tower of ugly black smoke rising above the roof of the main building of our hotel.

  4

  BURNING CURSE

  "JULIUS, WHAT IS THAT?" I CRIED. I WAS SEIZED WITH fear.

  "I don't know, Christie," he replied, but sped up. It took us almost ten more minutes to get there because of all the other people hurrying to the scene, and when we arrived, we found policemen and firemen on the street blocking traffic around the front of the hotel. People were out of their cars and gathering in dumps along the road to watch the flames spit out of the roof and the windows of the top floor of the great Cutler's Cove resort. Their eyes were wide, their faces lit up with the reflection coming from the fire and from their own excitement. I saw guests and members of the staff huddled together on the front lawn far back from the ropes put up to keep people away from the activity.

  "There's Mother," Melanie said, pointing to where Aunt Bet stood with some people, but I didn't see Mommy or Daddy beside her, nor did I see Uncle Philip. I imagined they were with the fire chief. My heart sank, realizing how terrible they all must be feeling. What a horrible thing to have happen just before our summer season.

  "Wow!" Jefferson whispered, his face filled both with awe and fear.

  "What happened?" Julius asked the policeman who was directing traffic to the side.

  "A boiler blew up in the basement and the fire spread quickly. That part of the hotel is quite old and had no sprinkler system," he added, smirking. "By the time the fire department could get up here, the fire had a good hold on the place."

  "Where are my parents?" I wondered aloud now. No matter where I looked, I didn't see them. "Julius, take us closer."

  "Yes," Richard commanded, sounding years older than he was. "Quickly."

  "I have the owner's children with me," Julius explained to the patrolman.

  "You can't drive any closer. You will have to park here," the policeman ordered, "and stay behind the lines."

  Julius pulled over but almost before he came to a stop, I grabbed Jefferson's hand in mine and thrust open the car door. I pulled my little brother out behind me and shot across the road.

  "Christie, wait!" Julius cried, but I couldn't listen to him or anyone. I was aware that Jefferson was gripping my hand tightly, but other than that, I could think of or see nothing but the fire.

  I found Mrs. Bradly off to the side with other members of the staff, but not my parents. She was embracing herself and sobbing, her face streaked with tears and soot. I gazed around frantically, and still I didn't see Mommy or Daddy. Where were they? My heart began to pound harder and faster and my stomach felt like dozens of moths were loose inside and flapping their paper-thin wings.

  "Where's my mother?" I screamed. "Where's my daddy?"

  Some people heard me, but no one spoke. Mrs. Bradly simply began crying harder.

  "Hey! Stop!" a fireman cried as we ducked under the first set of security lines to charge up the lawn. Ashes danced in the air and the flames were so intense, we could feel the heat. Firemen were screaming to each other and pulling hoses this way and that, but the flow of water coming out of them seemed to have no effect. Defiantly, arrogantly, the flames snapped and spread, greedily eating through curtains and furniture. I could practically see it rushing down the corridors, licking and biting into every possible corner, a hot, burning, ravaging animal of hell consuming all that was once beautiful and historic, tearing down pictures and walls, sending chandeliers crashing into floors. Nothing could stand in the way of this fire or slow its relentless onslaught.

  Impatient, I pulled Jefferson along and went around to the far corner where I finally saw Uncle Philip standing by himself. His normally neat hair was wild. He had taken of his sports jacket and tie and his eyes looked so ablaze, it was as if the fire had gotten into him as well. Either he was mumbling to himself or he thought someone stood beside him.

  "UNCLE PHILIP!" I cried, running toward him.

  He looked at me, but he didn't speak. He seemed not to recognize me. His mouth moved spasmodically, but he didn't say anything. He looked up at the fire again and then at me, shaking his head.

  "Where's Mommy, Uncle Philip? Where's Daddy?" I desperately demanded.

  "Where's my Mommy?" Jefferson chorused, his tears flowing harder. He pulled himself closer to me and looked up at Uncle Philip.

  "Uncle Philip!" I screamed when he simply continued to stare at the fire, hypnotized by the flames and activity. He turned slowly this time and gazed at me for a long moment. Then, he smiled.

  "Dawn," he said, "you're all right. Thank God."

  "Uncle Philip, it's me, Christie. I'm not my mother," I replied, astounded. He blinked quickly and then his smile faded like smoke.

  "Oh," he uttered, bringing his hand to his cheek. He looked toward the fire again. "Oh."

  "Where are they, Uncle Philip?" I asked, much more desperately. Tears were streaming down my cheeks now and my throat ached from the smoke. The horrid odor from the burning hotel turned my stomach, and the heat from the towering flames fell over us so intensely it was as if we had fallen into the hottest summer day ever.

  "Where are they?" he repeated. I nodded. He shook his head in bewildered fashion.

  "Where?" I screamed and tugged hard on his arm. It drew him out of his daze.

  "Jimmy . . . was in the basement when the boiler exploded," he said. "The fire shot up the stairways and through the heat and air ducts. It popped out of every grate and the floor in the card room collapsed," he recited.

  "Where's Mommy?" I asked in a whisper.

  "I ran around getting everyone out, shouting, pulling, helping the older people. I think everyone's out."

  "Mommy and Daddy are all right?" I asked, smiling hopefully through my tears.

  "What?" He looked at the hotel again, but he didn't speak. He was lost in a trance once more.

  "Where's Mommy?" Jefferson cried. "Christie, where's Mommy?" He ground his small fists against his eyes and clung to me.

  "Uncle Philip?" I pulled on his arm again. "Where's my mother?"

  He simply shook his head.

  "Christie?" Jefferson moaned. "I want Mommy."

  "I know, I know. Let's go talk to someone else, Jefferson," I said, seeing there was no sense in talking to Uncle Philip. He was too confused to make any sense. I lifted Jefferson into my arms and carried him toward some firemen who were standing back and giving orders to the others. One wore a hat that read Chief.

  "Excuse me," I said.

  "Hey, you shouldn't be here, honey. Billy, get these kids behind the lines," he shouted to a young fireman off to the left.

  "Wait. I'm Christie Longchamp. My parents are owners of the hotel. I have to find out what happened."

  "Huh? Oh," he said. "Look honey, I don't know enough details yet. Apparently, a boiler blew and started this."

  "But where's my mother? Where's my father? Have you seen them?" I asked quickly.

  "I haven't time to talk to you, miss. Now you had better take your little brother and get back. Those walls look like they could fall any moment and they could fall in this direction. Go on," he ordered. "Billy, get them out of here," he repeated and the young fireman took my elbow to turn me away.

  "But . . . my mother . . ."

  "You better listen to the chief. He doesn't have time to waste," the young fireman said.

  Jefferson started to cry harder and louder, burying his face in my shoulder.

  "This can't be happening," I said. "It can't." I let him lead us to the ropes. I spotted Aunt Bet, Richard and Me
lanie off to the right and hurried to their side.

  "Oh Christie, honey," Aunt Bet said, holding her arms out. "And Jefferson. It's so horrible, so horrible."

  "Where's my mother, Aunt Bet? And where's Daddy? Uncle Philip doesn't make any sense when I asked him."

  She shook her head.

  "They're still inside, dear," she said. "They never came out. We've all been standing here, waiting and hoping."

  "Never came out?"

  I turned and looked at the hotel. Flames were shooting out of the front entrance. There was smoke flowing out of almost every window.

  "Maybe they got out the back," I said. "Or maybe they're safe in the basement, waiting until the firemen, reach them. Yes, that's it," I said nodding.

  "Oh Christie, poor Christie," Aunt Bet muttered.

  "They're okay, Aunt Bet." I smiled through my tears and tightened my grip on Jefferson. "Sure. They're fine. You'll see. They're probably standing somewhere in the rear of the hotel," I added and started away.

  "Christie!" Aunt Bet cried.

  "I've got to go to them. They're probably worrying about Jefferson and me," I said and hurried around the ropes and the firemen and all the people until we were able to go behind the hotel. Even though Jefferson was quite heavy, I didn't realize I had been carrying him until we were at the rear of the hotel.

  There were firemen around there, too, spraying this part of the roof and the walls with water they were drawing from the pool. I searched frantically for signs of Mommy and Daddy, but all I saw were some staff members and firemen.

  "Where's Mommy and Daddy?" Jefferson asked, his eyes wide and hopeful. "I want Mommy."

  "I'm looking for them, Jefferson." I put him down, took his hand and approached the closest fireman.

  "Hey," he said when he saw us, "you children better get back."

  "We're looking for my parents," I said. "Did they come out back here?"

  "No one's come out back here. Now take that little boy and get back," he ordered firmly.

  With my heart pounding, I retreated with Jefferson slowly. We went to the gazebo and sat on the steps, watching the firemen work. Jefferson's eyes swelled from crying, as did mine. Finally, we both sat silently, dry-eyed, simply staring ahead, waiting. Jefferson laid his head against my shoulder and I held him tightly. The flames began to grow smaller, even though the smoke grew darker and thicker. It drifted off in a sooty cloud and the ocean breezes carried it into the distance. I don't know how long we were sitting there, stunned and afraid, but finally I heard Richard scream, "THERE THEY ARE!"