Dawn (21 page)

"Okay."

He turned and hurried off. I stared after him a moment and then returned to my work.

Afterward I returned to my room as usual to rest. The rain had settled into a steady drizzle, and my room was dingy and dark, even though I had the lamp on. I waited for Philip and listened keenly for footsteps in the corridor. Soon I heard some and looked up expectantly when the door was opened. It was Clara Sue. For a moment we just glared at each other. Then she brought her hands to her hips and smirked, shaking her head.

"I can't believe it. I just can't believe it," she said.

"Hello, Clara Sue." Accepting her as my sister was a hard pill to swallow, but what choice did I have?

"You don't know how embarrassing all this was for me and Philip at school!" she exclaimed, widening her eyes.

"I've already spoken to Philip. I know about the gossip he had to endure, but—"

"Gossip?" She laughed, hard and mirthless; then her face turned hard, determined. "That was only part of it. He sat in a corner by himself and refused to have anything to do with anybody. But I wasn't going to let this spoil my fun," she said, coming a little farther into the room. She looked at the bland walls and the window without any curtains to warm them. "This used to be Bertha's room, my black nanny. Only it was a lot nicer then."

"I haven't had a chance to decorate," I said dryly. She stepped back quickly when she saw some of her hand-me-downs on my bed.

"Hey, isn't that one of my blouses and one of my skirts?"

"Mrs. Boston brought it to me after she cleaned up your room."

"What kind of people did you live with? Ugh. Stealing babies. No wonder you looked so . . . unwashed and Jimmy was so goofy."

"Jimmy wasn't goofy," I snapped. "And I never looked unwashed. I admit we were poor, but we were not dirty. I said I didn't have much clothing, but what I did have, I cleaned and washed regularly." She shrugged as if I couldn't say anything that would dispute her statements.

"Jimmy was weird," she insisted. "Everyone said so."

"He was shy and gentle and loving. He wasn't weird. He was just afraid, that's all. Afraid of not being accepted by a school full of snobs." I couldn't stand talking about Jimmy this way, acting as if he were dead. That made me more angry than the things she was saying.

"Why are you defending him so strongly? He wasn't really your brother," she retorted. Then she embraced herself and shook her head. "It must have been horrible and disgusting, like being forced to live with strangers."

"No, it wasn't. Momma and Daddy were always—"

"They weren't your momma and daddy," she snapped. "Don't call them that. Call them what they were—kidnappers, baby snatchers!"

I looked away, the tears stinging behind my eyes. I wouldn't let her see me cry, but what could I say? She was right, and she enjoyed driving the nails of ridicule into me.

"The worst thing of all was you and Philip," she said grimacing and twisting her mouth as if she had gulped castor oil. "No wonder he sat alone, sulking. He felt so dirty and stupid wanting to be his sister's boyfriend. And everybody knew!" She grimaced again, her face much chubbier than mine, ballooning in the cheeks. We shared hair color and eyes, but our mouths and our figures were so different.

"He can't be blamed for something he didn't know," I said softly. How long would we have to make excuses and defend our actions? I wondered. Who else would bring it up here?

"So what? It was still disgusting. How far did you two go?" she asked, stepping closer again. "You might as well tell me. Besides, I warned you about Philip, so I won't be surprised by anything you say. I'm your sister now, and you don't have anyone else you can trust," she added and swung her eyes to me. They were full of expectation.

I stared at her. Could I ever trust her? Did she mean it? She saw the hesitation in my face.

"I'm glad Mrs. Boston brought you all my old clothing," she said. "I'd much rather you have it than throw it out or give it to the help. And I'm sorry about the things I did to you," she added quietly, "but I didn't know who you were, and I didn't think it was right then that Philip should like you so much. I must have had a prem . . . prem . . ."

"Premonition?"

"Yes," she said. "Thank you. I know you're smart and I'm glad." She pushed aside some of the clothing and sat on my bed. "So, you can tell me," she said, her face lighting with anticipation. "I know he took you to his favorite spot. You must have kissed and kissed, right?"

"Not exactly, no," I said, sitting down beside her. Maybe it would be wonderful to have a sister close to my age, I thought. Maybe I could forgive her for all the terrible things she had done, and we could learn to really get to like each other and share thoughts and dreams as well as clothes and other things. I had always wanted a sister near my age. Girls needed other girls to confide in.

She looked at me with inquisitive eyes, urging me on with her soft, sympathetic look.

"Was Philip your first boyfriend?" she asked.

I nodded.

"I haven't had a real boyfriend yet," she said.

"Oh, you will. You're a very pretty girl."

"I know that," she said, shaking her head. "It's not that I couldn't have a boyfriend. There have been a number who have wanted to be, but I didn't like any one enough, And none of them were as nice as Philip or as good-looking as he is. All my friends have crushes on him and were jealous of you."

"I thought so," I said.

"You know Louise had a terrible crush on Jimmy." She laughed. "I found this love letter she wrote to him but never had the nerve to mail. It was full of 'I love you' and 'You're the nicest boy I have ever met and the best-looking.' And she even wrote love words in French! I stole it and showed it to all the other girls."

"You shouldn't have done that. It must have been painful for her," I said. She blinked her eyes quickly and sat back on her hands.

"She's a freak anyway. You were the only one who ever paid her any attention. And anyway," she said, sitting up, "I used the letter to make her do things, like spy on you and get her to cooperate when we sprayed you with that stuff,"

"It was a horrible trick, Clara Sue, no matter how much you didn't like me."

She shrugged.

"I said I was sorry. Look, you ruined one of my best coats," she retorted. "I had to throw it out."

"You threw it out? Why didn't you just clean it?"

"What for?" She smiled slyly. "It's easier to get Daddy to buy me a new one. I just told him someone stole it, and he sent me money for a new one." She sat forward eagerly. "But let's forget about all that and talk about Philip and you. What else did you two do besides kiss?"

"Nothing," I said.

"You don't have to be afraid to tell me," she urged.

"There's nothing to tell."

She looked very disappointed.

"You let him touch you and stuff, right? I'm sure he wanted to. He did it to one of my friends last year, slipped his hand right under her sweater, even though he denies it."

I shook my head quickly. I didn't want to hear these things about Philip, and I couldn't imagine him doing anything to a girl that she didn't want him to do anyway.

"I don't blame you for being embarrassed about it, now that the truth is out," Clara Sue said. She narrowed her eyes, eyes which became as cold metallic gray as our grandmother's eyes. "Look, I saw him kiss you in the car the night of the concert. It was a movie star kiss, a long kiss, with tongues touching, right?" she asked, her voice nearly a whisper. I shook my head vehemently, but she nodded, believing what she wanted to believe.

"He came looking for you as soon as he got here, didn't he? I heard him drop his suitcases and go rushing out of his room. Did he find you?" I nodded. "Well, what did he say? Was he angry? Did he feel like a fool?"

"He's understandably upset."

"I'll bet. I hope he doesn't forget you are his sister now," she added curtly. She gazed at me a moment. "He didn't kiss you again on the lips, did he?"

"Of course not," I said, but she looked skeptical. "We both understand what's happened," I added.

"Um." Her eyes brightened with a new thought. "What did my father say when he net you?"

"He said . . . he welcomed me to the hotel," I said, "and he told me he would have a long talk with me, but he hasn't yet. He's been very busy."

"He's always very busy. That's why I get whatever I want. He'd rather give it to me than be bothered.

"What do you think of Mother?" she asked. "You must have quite an opinion of her." She laughed anticipating. "If one of her fingernails breaks or Mrs. Boston leaves a hairbrush out of place, she has a breakdown. I can just imagine what she was like when she heard about you."

"I'm sorry she's so nervous and sick so often," said, "because she is very beautiful."

Clara Sue nodded and folded her arms under her bosom. She was becoming a full-figured girl quickly, her baby fat already softening into what I knew most boys would consider a voluptuous look.

"Grandmother says she got sick right after you were kidnapped, and the only thing that saved her and made her happy at all again was my birth," she said, obviously proud of that. "They had me as quickly as they could to overcome their grief about losing you, and now you're back," she added, not disguising her note of disappointment. She gazed at me a moment and then smiled again.

"Grandmother made you into a chambermaid, huh?"

"Yes."

"I'm one of the receptionists now, you know," she boasted. "I get dressed up and work behind the counter. I'm letting my hair grow longer this year. Grandmother told me to go to the beautician tomorrow and have it styled," she said, gazing at herself in the mirror. She glanced quickly at me. "All the chambermaids usually cut their hair short. Grandmother likes them to."

"I'm not cutting my hair short," I said flatly.

"If Grandmother tells you to, you will. You'll have to, otherwise your hair will be dirty every day anyway. It looks dirty right now."

I couldn't argue with that. I hadn't washed it for days, not caring about my looks. It was easier to wear the bandanna.

"That's why I don't do menial jobs," Clara Sue said. "I never did. And now Grandmother thinks I'm pretty enough to be at the front desk and old enough to handle the responsibilities."

"That's very nice. You're very lucky," I said. "But I'd rather not be meeting a lot of people and forcing smiles anyway," I added. It wiped the condescending leer from her face.

"Well, I'm sure everyone's embarrassed about all this, and for now they're just trying to hide you from the public," she said curtly.

I shrugged. It was a very good theory, but I didn't want to show her that what she said might be true. "Maybe."

"I still can't believe it." She stood up and looked down at me sharply. "Maybe I'll never believe it," she said. She tilted her head to one side and thought for a moment. "Maybe there's still a chance it's not so."

"Believe me, Clara Sue, I wish more than you that it wasn't."

That took her back a pace. Her eyebrows lifted.

"What? Why not? You certainly weren't better of living like a pauper. Now you're a Cutler and you live in Cutler's Cove. Everybody knows who we are. This is one of the finest hotels on the coast," she bragged with what I was beginning to recognize as a family arrogance she had inherited from Grandmother Cutler.

"Our lives were hard," I admitted, "but we cared about each other and loved each other. I can't help missing my little sister Fern and Jimmy."

"But they weren't your family, dummy," she said, shaking her head. "Whether you like it or not, we're your family now." I looked away. "Eugenia," she added. I spun around on her self-satisfied smile.

"That's not my name."

"Grandmother says it is, and whatever Grandmother says around here, goes," she crooned, moving toward the door. "I've got to get dressed and start my first shift at the front desk." She paused at the door. "There are a number of kids our age who come to the hotel every season. Maybe I'll introduce you to one or two of the boys, now that you can't chase after Philip anymore. After work change into something nice and come to the lobby," she added, throwing her words out as someone would throw a bone to a dog. Then she left, closing the door behind her. It clicked shut, sounding more like the door of a prison cell to me.

And when I looked around my dull and tedious room with its bland walls and worn furniture, I felt so empty and alone, I thought I might as well have been placed in solitary confinement. I folded my hands in my lap and dropped my head. Talking about family with Clara Sue made me wonder about Jimmy. Had he been given to a foster family yet? Did he like his new parents and where he had to live? Did he have a new sister? Maybe they were kinder people than the Cutlers, people who understood how terrible it had been for him. Was he worrying about me, thinking about me? I knew he must be, and my heart hurt for the pain he was surely feeling.

At least Fern was still young enough to make a quicker adjustment, I thought, even though I couldn't help but believe she missed us terribly. My eyes filled with tears just thinking about her waking up in a strange new room and calling for me, and then crying when a complete stranger came to pick her up. How terrified she must be, I thought.

Now I understood why we had always left so quickly in the middle of the night and why we'd moved so often. Daddy must have been spooked or thought he or Momma had been recognized. Now I knew why we couldn't go too far South those times and why we couldn't return to Daddy's and Momma's families. All the time we were fugitives and never knew it. But why had they taken me? I couldn't stand not knowing everything.

An idea came to me. I opened the top drawer of my night table and found some hotel stationery and began to write a letter I hoped would find its way.

Dear Daddy,

As you know by now, I have been returned to my rightful home and real family, the Cutlers. I do not know what has become of Fern and Jimmy, but the police told me that they would be farmed out to foster families, most likely two different families. So now we are all apart, all alone.

When the police came for me and accused you of kidnapping me, my heart sank because you did nothing to defend yourself, and at the police station all you could say was you were sorry. Well, being sorry is not enough to overcome the pain and the suffering you have caused.

I do not understand why you and Momma would have taken me from the Cutlers. It couldn't have been because Mommy wasn't able to have any more children. She had Fern. What possessed you to do it?

I know it doesn't seem all that important to know the reason anymore, since it has been done and is over with now, but I can't stand living with this mystery and pain, a pain I am sure Jimmy feels as well wherever he is. Won't you please try to explain why you and Momma did what you did?

We have a right to know. Keeping secrets can't mean anything to you anymore now that you are locked in prison and Mamma is gone.

But it matters to us! Please write back.

Dawn

I folded it neatly and put it in a Cutler's Cove envelope. Then I left my room and went to the one person I hoped would be able to get this letter to Daddy: my real father.

I knocked on my father's office door and opened it when I heard him call. He was seated at his desk, a pile of papers and a stapler before him. I hesitated in the doorway.

"Yes?" The way he squinted at me, I thought for a moment he had forgotten who I was.

"I must talk to you. Please," I said.

"Oh, I haven't got much time at the moment. I have fallen behind on my paperwork, as you can see. Grandmother Cutler gets so upset when things aren't running on time."

"It won't take long," I pleaded.

"All right, all right. Come in. Sit down." He lifted the pile of papers and moved them to the side. "So, have you seen Philip and Clara Sue yet?"

"Yes," I said. I took the seat in front of the desk.

"Well, I imagine it will be quite an experience for the three of you to get to know each other as brother and sisters, now that you knew each other as school chums, eh?" he asked, shaking his head.

"Yes, it will."

"Well," he said, sitting up. "I'm sorry I don't have more time to spend with you right now . . ." He gestured at his office as if the responsibilities and the work were hanging on his walls. "Until we get things rolling in their proper rhythms, there is always so much to do.

"However," he said, "I've planned a night out for all of us. I'm just waiting on Laura Sue to decide which night. Then your mother and I, and Philip and Clara Sue and you will go to one of the finest seafood restaurants in Virginia. Doesn't that sound nice?"

"Yes, it does," I said.

"Well," he said, laughing softly, "you don't sound very excited about it."

"I can't help it. I know that in time, I'm supposed to get used to my new life, my real family, and forget all that has happened . . ." I looked down.

"Oh, no," he said, "no one expects you will completely forget the past. I understand. It will take time," he said, sitting forward and stroking his ruby pinky ring as he spoke.

"So, what can I do for you?" he asked. His understanding tone of voice encouraged me.

"I can't understand why they did it. I just can't."

"Did it? Oh, you mean the Longchamps. No, of course not," he replied, nodding. "It's hard enough for other adults to understand these things, much less young people."

"And so I wrote a letter," I added quickly and produced the envelope.

"A letter?" His eyes widened and his eyebrows jumped. "To whom?"

"To my daddy . . . I mean, to the man I always thought was my daddy."

"I see." He sat back, thoughtful, his eyes narrowing and taking on some of that metallic tint I saw so often in my grandmother.

"I want him to tell me why he and Momma did this. I've got to know," I said with determination.

"Uh-huh. Well, Dawn." He grinned and lowered his voice to a loud whisper. "Don't tell my mother I keep calling you that," he said, half in jest and half seriously, I thought. His grin faded and his eyes turned severe. "I was hoping you would not try to keep in contact with Ormand Longchamp. It will only make things more difficult for everyone, even for him."

I looked down at the envelope in my hands and nodded. Tears blurred my vision. I rubbed at my eyes as a child would, feeling a child in a crazy adult world. My heart began to feel like a fist made of stone clenched in my chest.

"I just can't start a new life without knowing why they did it," I said. I looked up sharply. "I just can't." He gazed at me quietly for a moment.

"I see," he said, nodding.

"I was hoping you would find out where they sent him and get this letter to him for me."

My suggestion surprised him. He raised his eyebrows and gazed quickly at the door as if he feared someone might be listening at the keyhole. Then he brought his left forefinger and thumb to his pinky ring and began to turn it and turn it as he nodded and thought.

"I don't know," he muttered. "I don't know whether or not that would create complications with the authorities," he said.

"It's very important to me."

"How do you know he will tell you the truth anyway?" he asked quickly. "He lied to you, told you terrible stories. I don't mean to be the one who hardens your heart against him," he added, "but what is true is true."

"I just want to try," I pleaded. "If he doesn't write back or if he doesn't tell me, I'll put it aside forever and ever. I promise."