She sat up quickly and closed her magazine.
"I just told her that because I was tired of staying there. It's boring, a lot more boring than I thought it was going to be. I want to do a different job at the hotel. Maybe I can help the waiters and busboys," she suggested.
I stepped further into her room. She looked up at me suspiciously when I continued to stare at her, and then she shifted her eyes away, guiltily, I thought.
"Your wanting to leave the front desk wouldn't have anything to do with the money that's missing, would it?" I asked.
"I don't know where it is. Why, did Mrs. Bradly say I did?" she demanded, the fire returning to her eyes.
"No, but I was hoping you might be able to help us locate it."
"Well, I can't. I don't know anything about it. She must have lost it. Maybe one of those other women took it. They look poor and probably couldn't resist," she said.
"All those other women have been working here for years and years and are very trustworthy people."
"Well, so am I," she cried. "I don't steal!"
"No one's accusing you of stealing, Fern. All I want to know is whether you have any idea where it could be. Maybe it was put in a wrong drawer or a wrong envelope," I said.
"I never saw it," she insisted.
I stood there, staring at her. She kept her eyes fixed on the bed.
"If you didn't like helping at the front desk, why didn't you just come to tell me?" I asked.
"I was going to . . . tonight," she replied quickly.
"Well, that would be a lot better than telling lies. You don't have to do that anymore, Fern. There is no reason to lie to anyone, and if you ever need anything—"
"I didn't steal the money," she repeated, pounding her knees so hard with her fists, I had to shudder thinking of the pain.
"All right. Let's not talk about the money. Don't you have any homework to do?" I asked.
"I have time to do it," she whined.
"How long have you been reading those kinds of magazines?" I asked, gazing at the magazine on the bed. I remember she had packed them in her suitcase.
"I don't know," she said, shrugging. "They're not dirty, if that's what you mean."
"I didn't say they were dirty. I would have thought they were just too old for you," I said.
"Well, they're not. I like the stories. You're not going to take them away from me, are you? That's what Clayton used to do."
"No, I'm not taking them away, but—"
"You're being just as mean as he was," she cried, and she buried her face in her pillow. Her shoulders rose and fell with her sobs.
"Fern," I said, going to her, "I didn't say you couldn't have your magazines." I sat on the bed and put my hand on her shoulder, but she pulled away and jumped off the bed as if my touch was scalding.
"I didn't steal that money. I didn't!" she screamed, slapping her fists against the sides of her legs. "Mrs. Bradly is an old witch for telling you I did. She's an old witch, and you're terrible to believe her," she cried, running from the room.
"Fern!"
I got up and went after her, but she bounded down the stairs and out the front door. Mrs. Boston came to the foot of the stairs and looked up.
"I'm afraid I didn't handle that too well, Mrs. Boston," I said.
She shook her head.
"It's not going to be easy for anyone to handle that one," she said prophetically, and then she returned to her work. I went back to the hotel. A short while later Jimmy came into my office, his eyes full of pain and anger. He sat down quietly and stared at me.
"What happened with Fern?" he asked, his throat constricted, his voice under tight harness. I could feel the tension in the air between us.
"Jimmy," I said softly, leaning toward him, "I think Fern took money from the petty cash fund."
Before he could respond, I told him everything Mrs. Bradly had told me. He listened and then shook his head.
"Why would she steal money, Dawn, and from us? She can have anything she wants. She doesn't need money," he said.
I told him about the money I had seen in her pocketbook when we were in New York.
"So?" he said. "That proves she wouldn't need money. She has more than she needs."
"But Jimmy, people sometimes steal for other reasons," I began.
"She wouldn't steal from us," he insisted firmly. "And I'm really surprised that you went and accused her."
"I didn't accuse her, Jimmy. I asked her if she knew anything about it, and she got hysterical on me," I said.
"That's my point," he fired. "You knew how sensitive and fragile she is because of all that's happened to her. Of all people, you should be more sympathetic, Dawn. She came running to me and was crying so hard, I thought I would never calm her down. My shirt is soaked with her tears," he added.
"I'm sorry, Jimmy. I was only trying to head off a bigger problem. I thought—"
"I promised her I would talk to you and that later you would apologize to her," he said.
I stared at him a moment. His words and anger left me numb. Tears flooded my eyes, but I held them back.
"I didn't do anything wrong, Jimmy," I said softly.
"It's not what you did, Dawn, it's how Fern feels. I thought you understood her yearning to be loved, her yearning for family."
"Okay, Jimmy," I said, swallowing my pride. "I'll apologize to her if you think that's the right thing to do."
"It is," he insisted. "And Dawn," he said, standing, "next time there's any sort of problem involving Fern, please come to me with it first."
My heart felt like a chunk of lead in my chest. I couldn't swallow, and one of my burning tears escaped from the corner of my eye, but Jimmy was already on his way out and didn't see it.
"Jimmy!" I cried when he reached the door. He turned back.
"What?"
"What do you suppose did happen to that money?" I asked him pointedly.
"I don't know, Dawn. Mrs. Bradly is getting along in years. It wouldn't surprise me if she found it stuck under some papers one day," he said, and he left.
And suddenly I realized that love could be wicked, too; it could beguile us like witchcraft and turn day into night, black into white and guilt into innocence.
16
FERN'S TRUE COLORS
I DIDN'T WANT TO APOLOGIZE TO FERN BECAUSE I THOUGHT IT would be worse for her than for me if I did so. Despite the terrible thing that had happened to her, I saw that she was a spoiled little girl in so many ways. We weren't helping her mature and change for the better by catering to her like this, I thought, but Jimmy was so upset, I had no choice. When I returned to the house I found her up in her room. This time I knocked on her door, but she made me knock twice before she said "Come in."
"I'm doing my homework," she said as soon as I entered.
"I'm not here to check on that, Fern," I replied softly. She was sitting up in her bed, her books spread over her lap, but I caught sight of one of her romance magazines under her notebook. She lowered her eyes and played with her pencil. "You went to Jimmy and told him I accused you of stealing the money at the front desk," I said.
"Well, you did," she snapped.
I swallowed. I wasn't good at overlooking faults, but I had to do it now.
"I didn't mean to accuse you, Fern. If you thought I did, I'm sorry. Jimmy and I love you very much, and we only want you to be happy here," I told her.
"You don't love me," she retorted, her eyes fixed on me so intently, I nearly lost my breath. She had Daddy Longchamp's temper, all right. I had seen the fire in those black eyes before, especially after he had had too much to drink, and every time they had made my heart shudder.
"Of course I do."
"No, you don't," she accused. "As soon as you found out I wasn't really your sister, you stopped caring about me."
"That's not true, Fern. I always cared about you, worried about you and missed you a great deal, especially right after we were all separated. I told you, I used to be the one to ta
ke care of you most of the time." I smiled. "Do you know you said my name before you said anyone else's? It was practically the first word you uttered."
"I don't remember," she said, but her face softened some, and her eyes cooled down.
"You couldn't remember. You were too little, It's true we're not sisters, but we're sisters-in-law. Why don't you think of that?" I asked.
"Sisters-in-law?" The realization intrigued her.
"Yes. Since I'm married to your brother, you're my sister-in-law, and I want to think of you always as my sister. I do; I really do."
"Wives don't always like it when their husbands show their little sister's' a lot of attention," she declared.
"What? Who told you that?" I asked, half smiling.
"I read it," she said sternly.
"Read it? Oh," I said, understanding. "In one of those romance magazines?"
"That doesn't mean it's not true," she replied.
"It's not true for me," I told her firmly. "Jimmy has enough love in him for all of us—you, me and Christie—everyone. And besides, I'm not that selfish. I see how happy he is since we found you."
"He is happy he found me," she asserted, swinging her shoulders. "And he doesn't like it when I'm sad," she added, only the way she turned her face and directed her eyes at me, it felt more like a threat.
"Well, I don't want you to be sad either, Fern," "Good," she said quickly. "Can I work with the busboys and waiters and bellhops now?" she followed.
"I think it's more important you worry about your schoolwork than working in the hotel, honey," I told her, and her face darkened again.
"Jimmy said I could," she whined. "He promised." I shook my head.
"I just knew you would say no," she spat out in frustration. "I knew it!"
"All right," I relented. "I'll speak to Robert Garwood. He's our chief bellhop. Maybe he can find errands for you to run for guests, okay? But if you don't do well in school . . ."
"I will," she pledged.
"Do you like school here?" I asked.
"It's all right. Can I start tomorrow? Can I?"
"Tomorrow. Oh, tomorrow Daddy Longchamp's arriving," I remembered. Once Jimmy had learned when Daddy could make the trip, he had sent him the money for plane fare. "You're going to want to spend all your spare time with him and your new brother."
She pulled the corners of her mouth up and clenched her teeth.
"I don't have to spend all my time with them, do I?" she moaned.
"Don't you want to?" I asked, surprised. "Daddy Longchamp is very excited about seeing you. Aren't you excited about seeing him? After all, he is your real father."
"He let them take me away and give me to the Osbornes, didn't he?" she flared.
"We explained all that to you, Fern. I thought you understood."
Jimmy and I had taken her aside one night and had told her everything, but instead of asking me questions about Daddy she had harped on my life in New York and Christie's birth. Her questions to me in front of Jimmy had begun to be embarrassing, so I had brought the discussion to an end. But she knew enough about her past now to appreciate what Daddy Longchamp's arrival meant.
"Can I at least work with the bellhops until they come?" she asked.
"All right," I said, relenting. "As soon as you come home from school, go see Robert Garwood. I'll speak to him tomorrow morning. But everyone's arriving shortly before dinnertime. We're going to have them eat here rather than in the dining room."
"Why? I like eating dinner in the dining room," she cried. "It's more fun."
"Don't you want to spend time privately with your real father?" I asked. "And your new brother?"
"I suppose," she said reluctantly. "How long are they going to stay?" she asked quickly.
"Just a few days. Daddy can't stay away from his work long," I emphasized.
"Good," she said, and she looked down at her books.
Good? I thought, staring down at her. How different it would have been for me if I had been told Daddy Longchamp was coming after I had been here a while. How I had yearned to see him, to hear his voice, to throw my arms around him and cling to him. They would have had to pry us apart when he left.
"Can I come in, too?" Christie asked. She stood in the doorway, one of her bigger dolls in her arms.
"Fern's doing her homework now, sweetheart," I said.
"She can come in," Fern allowed, "if she's quiet. You can sit right there and wait," Fern said, pointing to the chair by the small vanity table.
Christie smiled and hurried obediently to it before I could interfere. She sat down with her doll in her lap and folded her hands to show she would behave and be patient.
When I looked at Fern again she wore an expression of great self-satisfaction. Frustrated fury stirred around inside my stomach. Heat rose from my neck to my face. Quickly, so as not to let her see how she had disturbed me, I turned and left Fern's room.
Jimmy was waiting for a report downstairs. I told him how careless Fern was treating Daddy's arrival, but Jimmy didn't appear upset about that.
"I can understand why," he said. "It was only a short while ago that she learned she had another father. In her mind he's still a stranger."
"But Jimmy, shouldn't she be more curious and excited?" I asked.
He shook his head.
"Not that child, no," he said. "She's been hurt too much by people who supposedly loved and cared for her. She's cautious now. That's why I want us to work so hard at winning her love; it's the only way."
"It's a way of spoiling her, too, Jimmy," I insisted.
"Dawn, how can you even think that, considering what she's been through? Can you imagine what it must have been like for her every night, going to sleep after her father had done those things to her? Why, every time he approached her she would cringe inside," he said, grimacing. "He wouldn't kiss her good night without first fondling her under the blanket."
"How do you know all this, Jimmy?" I asked, aghast.
"She's been telling me more and more," he said, "now that she's learned to trust me, and now that she's convinced I care."
"She never wants to talk to me about it," I said. "The moment I bring up anything that even relates in a small way, she pleads not to discuss it."
"Dawn," he said, lowering his newspaper, "she thinks you don't like her. She thinks you resent her."
"But why?" I asked, arms out. "I took her shopping for the things she needed, bought her everything she wanted, got her set up in school, arranged for her to do what she wanted in the hotel—"
"It is just part of her mental and emotional condition, and this thing with the missing money only aggravated it. That's why I was so insistent you apologize to her. She's like a little bird who was kept tightly squeezed in a fist so it couldn't use its wings. Now every time someone comes near her and tries to show affection, she's wary. That's probably another reason why she's not showing a great deal of excitement over Daddy's arrival," Jimmy said. "Don't you think I'm right?" he asked. I could see he was waiting anxiously for my agreement.
"I suppose so," I finally said. He smiled.
"Daddy's coming tomorrow. Just think of that," he declared.
I thought about it all night. I lay in bed thinking about it. The last time I had seen Daddy Longchamp was in a police station. They were taking me out to bring me back to Cutler's Cove. The police had told me Daddy had kidnapped me; they had said he confessed to doing it. I couldn't believe what was happening. I didn't know where Jimmy was or where they had taken Fern, and I was terrified of being brought hundreds of miles to a family I had never known. Surely Daddy would do something to stop it, I thought. I was hoping that right up to the moment they were taking me out to the car, and then a door opened and I saw him sitting in a chair, his head down to his chest.
"Daddy!" I had screamed, and I ran toward the opened door. Daddy lifted his head and gazed out at me, his eyes vacant. It was as though he were hypnotized and didn't see me standing there. "Daddy, tell them this isn't
true! Tell them it's all been a horrible mistake," I had pleaded. He began to speak and then shook his head and looked down in defeat instead.
I remember I kept screaming when I felt someone's hands on my shoulders trying to pull me away. I couldn't imagine why Daddy wasn't doing anything, why he didn't show his power and strength. They pulled me back out the door, and Daddy finally looked up and said, "I'm sorry, honey. I'm so sorry."
For a long time I had to live with that. Then I discovered the truth: how he and Momma had done what they had believed was the right thing in taking me, and how Grandmother Cutler had connived and manipulated everyone.
But that nightmare had ended, and tomorrow I would see Daddy Longchamp again. I was so excited about it, I tossed and turned most of the night. The next day, from the moment I awoke, I kept myself as busy as a drone so I wouldn't dwell on Daddy's arrival. Every time I stopped and thought about it the sleeping butterflies in my stomach woke and flapped their paper-thin wings around my heart.
Late in the morning I saw Robert Garwood and told him about Fern. He didn't seem very happy about the idea.
"She's already been hanging around the busboys and waiters and some of my bellhops, Mrs. Longchamp. It's none of my business, but . . ."
"But what, Robert?" I asked.
"Well, she smokes," he revealed. "She follows the guys down to the basement where they hang out—you know, off the laundry room—and she begs cigarettes from them."
"She what?" I exclaimed in shock.
"I know she acts older, but I've got a sister not much younger than she is, and I don't imagine she would even think of doing that. If you'll pardon my saying so, Mrs. Longchamp, I don't think having her work alongside us—even just to run little errands—is such a good idea," he said. I could see from the way he was speaking that he had more to say. I was sorry now that Jimmy had made her another promise.
"I hate to ask you this, Robert, but let her do it for a little while, and keep a close eye on her for me. The moment you see her doing something wrong, please tell me," I said. He nodded, but I saw he wasn't happy.
I was going to discuss it with Jimmy, but before I had an opportunity to be alone with him, Daddy Longchamp, his new wife Edwina and their son Gavin arrived. Julius had picked them up at the airport and brought them to the hotel. Jimmy found me in the tearoom and announced their arrival. With my heart pounding so hard I thought it would burst out of my chest, I grabbed his hand and hurried through the lobby with him. We stepped out and onto the porch as Daddy emerged from the limousine. Edwina was right beside him, holding Gavin's hand.
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