She didn't look relieved.
"You'll go to school every day in the limousine with Christie," I said, hoping that would cheer her up a bit, but she had a reaction opposite to what I expected.
"The other students will just hate me for being a little rich girl," she complained. She had a way of pulling the corners of her mouth up and clenching her teeth when something displeased her.
"Is that what happened to you before?"
"Sometimes," she said. "The teachers resent you, too, because you come from a rich family and you have so much more than they do."
"Oh, no, Fern. That won't happen to you here. Christie loves her teachers, and they adore her. I'm sure you'll adjust and everything will be fine," I said, but she still didn't look convinced.
Then she brightened and asked, "When can I start working in the hotel?"
I had to laugh. I wished we could always be children at heart and see work as fun.
"Right away, if you want. What would you like to do?"
"I want to work at the front desk," she replied excitedly.
"All right. I'll introduce you to Mrs. Bradly. She's in charge of the front desk," I explained.
"I thought you were in charge of everything," Fern replied, her mouth sinking at the corners.
"I am, but every department in the hotel has its own head who oversees it," I explained.
"But you can tell her what to do, right?" she insisted.
"Yes, Fern, but Mrs. Bradly's been here a lot longer than I have, and she knows exactly what has to be done. I don't have to tell her anything," I said, smiling.
Mrs. Bradly was a very pleasant, elegant-looking sixty-year-old woman who always had her silver-gray hair held in place with the prettiest shell hairpins. She had gentle green eyes with a perpetual friendly smile about them. She ran her department efficiently and was as much a fixture around the hotel as anyone or anything. Guests looked forward to her greeting them on arrival.
Now a widow, she lived alone in a small Cape Cod home in the village. Her two daughters were married and living away, one in Washington, D.C., and one in Richmond. I didn't know a soul who had difficulty getting along with Mrs. Bradly, and that included children of all ages. She had three grandchildren of her own. So when I introduced Fern to her and told her how much Fern wanted to help out at the front desk, she beamed with pleasure and welcomed her with open arms.
"I've been looking for a qualified assistant," she said, smiling. Fern's smile was more of a smirk, I thought. She resembled a child who knew there was no such person as Santa Claus and resented being told children's stories.
"Okay, then," I said, "I'll leave you here with Mrs. Bradly, who will explain what you do, okay?"
Fern nodded. Without going into any detail, I took Mrs. Bradly aside and told her that Fern had been going through a very difficult time and needed a great deal of tender loving care.
"You just leave her with me, Dawn," she said. "I don't get a chance to practice being a grandmother enough."
"Thank you, Mrs. Bradly," I said, and I went back to work myself.
Fern amazed me again. She was very outgoing and made sure everyone knew she was Jimmy's sister. She was beside him every opportunity she had, even going outside to be with him for hours and hours when he was supervising ground maintenance. She loved eating dinner in the hotel dining room and sat proudly—almost arrogantly, I thought—at Jimmy's side. It didn't take her long to get to know all the waiters and busboys. In fact, she took so quickly to the routine at the hotel and settled in so easily and comfortably at the house, it was as if she had been there for years and years. When I mentioned it to Jimmy after dinner one night a little over a week later, he nodded.
"I see that myself," he said, and then he shrugged. "I suppose that comes from her being on her own so much. You know, not being able to depend on Leslie Osborne to do the things anyone would expect a mother to do, and . . . living with that pervert. She must have searched for opportunities to be alone and away from him."
"I suppose," I said. Then I laughed.
"What?"
"I was just recalling Fern as a baby. Remember how demanding she could be, how she would get absolutely hysterical until I took her in my arms and sang to her, or how she would cry the moment Daddy came into a room if he didn't come right to her? She wasn't born shy," I concluded. "There's no reason for her to be shy now."
Jimmy smiled.
"Daddy's working out his trip," he said. "When I told him we had Fern I could hear the tears in his voice. He'll call in a few days and tell me exactly when he, Edwina and Gavin can be here.
"Won't it be wonderful?" he added. "All of us together again."
"All but Momma," I said sadly. I didn't want to throw a pail of cold water on his warm smile, but I couldn't help thinking about her and wishing that somehow she could have been there, too.
Jimmy's eyes filled with tears, but he held them in and swallowed. Sorrow, like sour milk, always wanted to come back up.
* * *
In the evening, when we would all return from the hotel, Christie would immediately beg Fern to come to her room to play, but I wanted to be sure that Fern got herself off to a good start at the Cutler's Cove School.
"You have to let Fern do her schoolwork," I advised. "When she's finished she can go to see you."
Christie screwed her face into a tiny pout and went off to wait. Usually Fern would go to her and they would sit and do coloring books or play with some of Christie's dolls and toys. One evening when I was walking by Christie's room I heard Fern firmly instruct her to refer to her as "Aunt Fern." I paused at the doorway to listen.
"I'm Jimmy's real sister, which makes me your aunt, so you have to call me Aunt from now on, or pretend I don't hear you. Do you understand?"
"Uh-huh," Christie said obediently.
"I'm really much older than you are, but I don't mind playing with you to teach you things," Fern continued in a very grown-up-sounding voice. The tone of it surprised even me. In fact, I thought she was doing a rather good imitation of Clayton Osborne.
"Now," she continued, "you can ask me any questions you want, questions about anything. Even," she said, lowering her voice a bit, "questions about boys. You know why boys are different, don't you?
"No, you don't," Fern added quickly. "You're nodding, but I can see in your face that you don't. Well, I will tell you," she said.
I entered the room and cleared my throat to get her attention, but when Fern looked up at me I saw the oddest glint in her eyes. They were bright with frustration and anger. She looked just like an adult who was furious she had been interrupted. After a moment, though, the ire left her eyes, and her face softened into a smile.
"Hi, Dawn," she said.
"Fern, dear, may I speak with you a moment?" I said. I took her out in the corridor. She stared up at me, a look of innocence and confusion on her face. "I couldn't help but overhear some of the things you were saying to Christie as I was walking by," I said. Then I shook my head. "She's much too young to learn about the birds and the bees." I smiled. "She's not quite six yet."
"I knew all that stuff when I was her age," Fern snapped back. "Clayton made sure I did."
"Well, things are different here, Fern, dear. There is no Clayton. Christie has time to learn about sex. We've got to let her be a little girl first, okay? I know you want only to be a nice aunt to her, but—"
"Clayton used to do that, too," she said quickly, glaring at me.
"Do what, honey?"
"Spy on me whenever I had friends over," she said accusingly.
"I wasn't spying on you, Fern. I was just passing by and—"
"It's the same thing," she said. "If two people are having a private conversation in a room, another person is not supposed to stand by the door and listen," she lectured. I felt myself grow crimson.
"I'm sorry if you felt spied upon, Fern, but Christie is my daughter, and I must be concerned about everything she does, sees and hears. Now please don't bring
up that subject with her again, okay? When the time comes you can be a great help to her. You're a very mature young lady, and—"
"Okay," she said. "We'll just do baby talk. I'm tired anyway," she added. "I'm going to go to bed and read and go to sleep. Am I excused?"
"Yes, honey. Good night."
"Good night," she said, and she sauntered off.
"Where's Aunt Fern?" Christie cried when I looked in on her again.
"She was tired and went to bed, sweetheart. You should think about getting ready for bed, too."
"But we were playing a game . . school. She was the teacher and I was the pupil," she protested.
"You can play again tomorrow."
Christie gave me one of her furious little looks and reluctantly marched to the bathroom to brush her teeth. Afterward, when I went downstairs, I told Jimmy what I had overheard Fern telling Christie and about my conversation with her. He was sitting in the big cushioned armchair and reading one of his car magazines.
"She was very put out that I chastised her," I added. He shook his head and lowered his magazine.
"Poor kid," he said. "All those years of abuse must have done some terrible damage."
"Maybe we should arrange for her to see someone, Jimmy. Perhaps a child psychologist," I suggested.
"I don't think so," he said. "I think her just living in a normal world with people who love her and care about her will heal her. After a while all that other stuff will fade away, I'm sure."
"I don't know, Jimmy. According to what she tells us, she's suffered for years and years. That's not forgotten overnight or even after months. And I'm just afraid that Christie . . ."
"What?" he said, snapping the pages of his magazine. "Don't tell me you think my sister is going to corrupt Christie." Jimmy's eyes were the same bright coal color Fern's had been.
"I didn't say that, Jimmy. Of course she won't, but Fern hasn't been around a child this young, and especially not one who is so bright and quick. If you could just have a talk with her, too . . ." I suggested softly.
His face relaxed, and he sat back.
"Sure," he said. "I'll talk to her, but we've got to be understanding. She's been through hell. We don't want her to feel she's left one horror only to fall into another."
"I hardly think living here with us will ever resemble a horror, Jimmy," I said.
"No, no, of course not. Okay," he said, taking a deep breath. "I'll handle it. I'm sorry if I seemed abrupt. I just can't help getting furious about what happened to her."
"I understand, Jimmy," I said. I went over to him to plant a kiss on his cheek. He smiled and went back to reading his magazine, but I couldn't help feeling that the tiny crack in the veneer of our marriage had widened some.
And for reasons I didn't quite understand.
If Fern was unhappy about my chastising her the night before, she didn't show it the following morning. In fact, for the first time, when she and Christie were about to leave for school in the limousine, she stood waiting while Christie kissed me good-bye. Then she stepped forward.
"Good-bye, Dawn," she said. "I'll see you in the hotel after school," she promised, and she threw her arms around me the way she threw them around Jimmy and kissed me on the cheek. Before I could respond, she took Christie's hand and rushed out with her. When I turned, my hand on my cheek, I saw Jimmy smiling widely.
"She's like a flower that was kept imprisoned in a dark, dank basement and finally set free in the sun," he said. "Now she's blossoming. She's quite a little girl."
"I guess she is," I said, still amazed.
That afternoon, however, some of my optimism waned when the school principal, Mr. Youngman, phoned.
"I know you're very busy, Mrs. Longchamp," he began, "so I thought I would simply phone you rather than ask you to come down. Do you have a moment?"
"Yes, Mr. Youngman. What is it?" I asked, my heart beginning to flutter with anticipation.
"We received Fern's—I should say, Kelly Ann's—school records today from the Marion Lewis School. I'm afraid her past performance leaves much to be desired. Were you aware of how poorly she was doing in her academic subjects?"
"We did understand she was unhappy there," I began.
"She was failing everything," he said, and then he repeated "everything" for emphasis. "But not only that. Her old teachers are on record complaining about her behavior."
"I think a lot of that might have had to do with her unfortunate home life, Mr. Youngman," I said. "Perhaps my husband and I should stop by to see you. There are some special circumstances."
"Well, yes, I suppose, considering all this, that might be helpful," he said. "I'm sorry to pull you away."
"No, I'm sure Jimmy would want us to come. What time later today would be convenient for you?" I asked, and I made an appointment with him for Jimmy and myself.
When I told Jimmy, he was in complete agreement.
"We'll have to tell him all of it," he said. "Anyway, her teachers should be aware. It will help them be more understanding and tolerant."
Later, when we had our meeting with Mr. Youngman and he had heard all of it, he shook his head glumly and said he was very happy we had confided in him.
"It would explain most of this," he agreed. "I'm sure her rebellious behavior in school was her way of reaching out for help. Why, just her decision to give up the name Kelly Ann and take back her real name is testimony to how much she wants to forget. Poor little thing. Rest assured, I will handle this discreetly for you, Mr. and Mrs. Longchamp. We will do our very best to turn things around."
"Please don't hesitate to phone us should there be any problems," I told him.
"See?" Jimmy said after we left. "That's an intelligent, compassionate and understanding man. It's the way we have to be."
I nodded, but I couldn't help worrying that the problems might be a great deal bigger than Jimmy anticipated. And then, as if I were a gypsy and saw the future, something happened to fan the flames of my anxiety and concern.
Two days later Mrs. Bradly came to see me. She was very flustered and actually had tears running down her cheeks. I rose immediately from my chair and went to her.
"What is it, Mrs. Bradly? Something to do with your family?" I asked quickly. She shook her head. I helped her to the leather settee and poured her a glass of water.
"Thank you," she said, gulping it down. Then she sat back, took a deep breath and revealed the source of her misery. "We're missing nearly three hundred dollars from the petty cash fund," she said. "It's the first time this has ever happened since I've been working here, and you know, Dawn, that's a considerable number of years."
"Oh, Mrs. Bradly, are you sure it's missing?"
"Florence Eltz and I have gone over and over it. We have all our receipts to the penny, and there is no doubt the money is gone."
I sat down beside her. My heart began to pound. Mrs. Bradly was too polite to say the thing I feared her saying. She would wait for me to ask.
"What do you think might have happened, Mrs. Bradly? Could it have been misplaced, put into another account? A wrong deposit, perhaps?" I asked hopefully.
"Dawn, Florence and I checked all those possibilities out thoroughly before I decided I had to come see you. We forced poor Mrs. Avery to go over and over the week's deposits. You know that meant funds from the cocktail lounge as well as room deposits, but she didn't complain. She was as eager as we were to find the error.
"Only," she said, sighing, "there was no error. No, Dawn," she said, shaking her head. "There is no doubt in our minds now—the money was taken. The people who have been working in my department have been working with me for years and years. I'd swear by all of them . . . all except one," she added. Her final words fell like balls of lead. Numbly, I bowed my head.
"Did you ask her anything about it?" I wanted to know.
"She was there while we were all searching frantically. She knew we had discovered the funds missing, but she didn't say a word."
And she had a
ccess to them?" I asked, lifting my head. It felt as if it had turned to lead itself. Mrs. Bradly bit down on her lower lip and nodded. She shook her head, her eyes filling with tears again.
"There's no other explanation, I'm afraid," she said. "As soon as she saw all the commotion, she said she had to leave. She told me she had to go home to do homework. I did ask if she knew anything about this, and she snapped a quick no and then ran off.
"I'm sorry to have to tell you all this," Mrs. Bradly added.
"Now, now, Mrs. Bradly, you did the right thing in coming to me," I said, patting her hand. "My husband doesn't know anything about it, does he?" I asked her quickly.
"Oh, no, I've told no one a thing, and I've asked my people to keep their lips sealed about it. None of them will say a word. I can assure you of that."
"Very well. Let me look into it," I said. She looked as if she would break into tears again, so I hugged her and helped her to her feet. "Just go on and don't let it bother you at all, Mrs. Bradly. It's certainly no reflection on you."
"Thank you, Dawn. I'm sorry," she repeated, and she left.
I felt a cold chill come over me and embraced myself. I recalled when I had glanced into Fern's pocketbook that evening in New York as we left the hotel and had seen the pile of money. Could she have been lying about her allowance? Had she been stealing from Clayton?
I thought I would try to get to the bottom of it without involving Jimmy, if I could, so I left the office and quickly went to the house. Mrs. Boston greeted me in the entryway and told me Fern was up in her room. I hurried up the stairs and went to her door. It was slightly open, so I peered in and found her lying on her stomach on her bed, reading a romance magazine.
"I thought you came home to do your homework, Fern," I said, spinning her around. She gazed at me with that furious dark look in her eyes.
"It's not nice to sneak up on people," she responded.
"I'm not sneaking up on you. I've come to check up on you. You told Mrs. Bradly you were going home to do homework. Why aren't you doing it?"
Cutler 3 - Twilight's Child Page 31
