Cutler 3 - Twilight's Child (35 page)

"Clayton!" Leslie screamed. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying I don't want her in this house, not until she apologizes to me for telling these lies," he said. He turned to Jimmy. "Take her out of here. Take whatever things of hers she needs and take her with you. Only when you realize how wrong you are and how mean she can be, don't come crawling back to me for help. You spend the money on psychiatrists and special teachers. Yes," he said, liking his idea. "She's your sister. Suffer with her. I'm going to my office," he said to Leslie. "Make sure they're all out of here within the hour," he added, and he stormed away.

"Clayton!" she called. His footsteps echoed. "Kelly," she said, turning back to Fern. "Go apologize to your father this very moment."

"I'm not apologizing," Fern said defiantly.

"But you know he would never do such things to you," she said, smiling through her tears. "You know that."

"He did! He did, and I don't care if he's mad anymore! He did do those things! Do you want me to show you where he touched me?" she screamed back at the woman who had tried to be her mother.

Leslie clapped her hands over her ears and shook her head.

"Just go upstairs and pack a few things, honey," I said softly. "You don't need much. We'll buy you whatever you need later."

"Okay," she sang, and she shot off toward the stairway. Leslie Osborne shook her head and backed herself against the sofa. She sat down hard and began to cry.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Osborne," I said, going to her. "But if Fern has been and continues to be abused—"

"She's hasn't. Clayton's not that sort. He's firm with her, and he's worried about her, but he would never do anything to hurt her," she said.

"Maybe you just never knew," Jimmy said.

"I would know something like that," she replied. Jimmy shook his head.

"Not if you bury yourself in your art studio and even forget to make dinner or celebrate her birthday," he said.

"What? I never . . . Did she say that, too?" She looked toward the doorway and shook her head.

"My sister belongs with us," Jimmy said. "It's time she came back to her real family."

Leslie snapped her head around and stared at him. Her tears looked frozen in her eyes.

"We
are her real family.
We
made a good home for her here," she said slowly. "We gave her everything she could ever want or need."

"Except real love," Jimmy replied. He was unmerciful. Even I winced for Leslie Osborne. She sat there dumbly, the tears streaming down her face.

Moments later we heard Fern bouncing down the stairs.

"I'm ready," she announced, a small suitcase in hand. To me it seemed as if she had already had it packed and waiting. She had returned that quickly.

Jimmy smiled.

"Then let's go."

They started away.

"Fern," I said.

"What?"

"Don't you want to say good-bye to Leslie, at least?" She looked back at the woman who had been her mother. A tiny smile formed at Fern's lips.

"Sure. Good-bye, Leslie," she said, and then she turned and rushed forward to open the door.

Leslie Osborne shook her head hard to deny what she was seeing and hearing.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Osborne," I said. "I really am, but this might be the best for everyone concerned."

She sobbed silently but didn't respond.

"Dawn," Jimmy called from the doorway.

I took one last look at her and then joined him. Fern was already at the bottom of the stairs.

"Jimmy," I said, "I hope we're doing the right thing."

"We are. How can it not be the right thing? We're bringing her back to her real family. It's what Momma would want, don't you think?"

"I guess," I said. "I hope so," I added.

"Listen," he said quietly, "if Clayton Osborne weren't guilty, would he be so willing to let us take Fern away without a fight? Obviously he was shocked at how we simply confronted him with the truth. All that anger is merely his way of covering up."

I nodded. What Jimmy said made sense. How could Clayton send Fern out so quickly and easily? After all, she had been his and Leslie's daughter, for better or worse, all these years.

We walked up to the corner to hail another cab. Fern was so eager to get away, she practically ran up the sidewalk, her suitcase swinging in her hand. Now that the traumatic event was apparently ended, we all confessed to being hungry. As soon as we returned to the hotel and put Fern's things in our suite we went down to dinner. At the table she talked a mile a minute, and whenever she did pause, Jimmy fired a question. It was as if both of them wanted to catch up on all the years in minutes. All night I kept watching her and waiting for the reality of what was happening to sink in. I expected her to break into tears when she realized she was leaving the only home she could really remember and the only people she could really have thought of as parents. But she must have really been unhappy and suffered terribly under Clayton Osborne's abuse, for she hardly mentioned either of them.

I couldn't help but be nervous. My eyes continually shifted to doorways, and every time someone new entered I expected to see either Clayton himself coming for Fern, or some police officer, but no one came. When we returned to our suite to retire I anticipated finding a message, but there wasn't any.

The sofa in the sitting room of our suite pulled out into a bed. We had the hotel maid prepare it for Fern. I felt certain that Fern would experience anxiety and fear now that she had to go to sleep in a strange place with people she barely knew, but she didn't cry or express any reluctance. The only thing that upset her was that she had forgotten to pack her toothbrush. I sent down for one from the hotel shop.

While Jimmy prepared for bed in the other room, I helped her slip into her nightgown. She showed me the things she had packed.

She had a half dozen pairs of panties, another training bra, socks, a pair of her favorite sneakers, some blouses and skirts. Under the clothing she had some romance magazines, her hairbrush and a tube of lipstick. She confessed she would never put it on in the house, but only after she had left for school. Clayton forbade it.

When I recalled myself at her age and my own little well-used suitcase, I remembered how important it was for me to be sure to pack my favorite doll. It was a rag doll, so ragged that it had worn thin in the cheeks of the face, showing the cotton filling. Fern had no dolls, no loving mementos. Her suitcase was more expensive than any I would have dreamt of having, and she had more expensive clothing, but she had nothing to remind her of some cherished moment, some loving time. I truly felt sorry for her.

She joined me in the bathroom to watch me brush out my hair.

"I'm going to let my hair grow longer now," she said, "down to the middle of my back. Clayton hates long hair."

"You have to take good care of it when it's long," I pointed out.

"I will. But you have a beauty shop in the hotel, right? Jimmy said so."

"Yes, we do."

"Good. And there's a maid in the house, too, right?" she asked.

"We all still take care of our own things," I said. "The maid helps out, but she's no one's slave," I warned.

"Oh, I won't be sloppy, but I want to work at the hotel, too. Just like Jimmy said." Her excitement brought a smile to my face. How different from my arrival it was going to be for her when she first arrived at Cutler's Cove, I thought. She would come right into a house of love, a place where she was wanted.

"And I just can't wait to meet Christie and see the twins!" she exclaimed.

I couldn't help myself. I had to ask.

"Don't you have any regrets, feel any sadness at all about leaving the Osbornes, Fern?"

"Well . . ."

Here it comes, I thought. Finally.

"I'll miss my friends," she said, nodding, "especially Melissa. But," she added, brightening quickly again, "I'll make new ones, won't I?"

I stared down at her, thinking about each and every time I had been ripped out of one world and carried off to another. Not once did I overcome my sadness by thinking about the new friends I would make or the new places I would see. It was always so tragic and sad to leave people behind. Friendship, real friendship, was not something easily replaced. Each time I left somewhere, I left something of myself behind. I had begun to fear there would be nothing left to take away to a new place. You had just so much love and loyalty in you.

Apparently Fern had not given much of herself to anyone yet, not even the people she had once thought to be her real parents. Then again, I thought how horrible it must have been for her to grow up being sexually abused by the man she assumed was her father. That was enough to make anyone want to run off.

I smiled again. Jimmy was right. It was good she was coming home.

I tucked her into the sofa bed.

"Do you want me to leave this lamp on, honey?" I asked.

"No, that's all right. I've slept in a hotel many times before," she replied.

"Okay. We're close by if you need us. Good night."

"Good night," she said.

"How's she doing?" Jimmy asked when I got ready to crawl in beside him.

"Very well, but I don't know if the full impact of what's happening has hit her yet," I said. Jimmy nodded and then smiled.

"Isn't it something, Dawn? We're taking care of little Fern again. Momma would be so happy, and Daddy's going to be ecstatic," he said. "I guess if you hope and pray enough, the right and good things can happen. Don't you think so, Dawn?" he asked.

"I want to think so, Jimmy," I said.

But I was afraid, still so afraid to be happy. I swallowed my fears the best I could and closed my eyes, still expecting a knock on the door. I even had nightmares about it, but it never came.

But I knew that didn't mean it never would.

15

IT WAS AS IF SLEEP HAD INTERRUPTED FERN IN THE MIDDLE OF A sentence. From the moment she awoke, she talked. The morning after had laid no harsh realities on her head. There were still no regrets, no signs of sadness. On the contrary, Jimmy and I were overwhelmed with her bountiful energy. Before we had risen she had washed and dressed herself. Chattering as happily as a little bird in the morning, she tagged behind me throughout the suite while I got myself ready to go down for breakfast. Without pausing for a breath she moved from one subject to another: the clothes her friends wore, their hairstyles, the singers she liked, the movies she loved. After I told her a little about our new house, she described the homes of her wealthy friends, homes she had slept in whenever Clayton had permitted it.

Listening to her stories, Jimmy and I understood that Clayton and Leslie Osborne really had taken her many places. She had been to London and the English countryside, as well as France and Spain and Italy. Every winter they had taken two Caribbean vacations as well. When we arrived at the airport for our trip home we could see that Fern was indeed a seasoned traveler. She strapped herself into her seat expertly and settled back for the trip without the least trepidation.

As the plane lifted and we flew into the clouds I gazed at Fern to see if there were signs of regret, but she had her eyes fixed excitedly on everything going on around her. She turned and smiled at me, and Jimmy winked. He couldn't have been more pleased.

The weather was perfect. Although it was mid-fall, it was still as warm as summer. Tourists continued to flock to the beaches and seaside resorts, so the airport in Virginia Beach was busy and crowded, and there was a heavy flow of traffic.

Julius was waiting for us at the gate. He wore an expression of surprise when he saw us approaching with Fern between us, holding both our hands, and his eyebrows rose when Jimmy introduced her as his sister. Fern shook his hand firmly and politely said, "Pleased to meet you."

Charmed by Fern's handshake and smile, Julius opened the door quickly for her, and she jumped into the limousine.

"See," Jimmy whispered, thinking about the way Clayton Osborne had treated her in our presence, "she doesn't have to be threatened to behave."

Fern raved about the scenery on the way to Cutler's Cove, and when we arrived in our seaside village she clapped her hands excitedly;

"I love it!" she exclaimed. "It's like a storybook village with the little sailboats and fishermen and small shops. I can't wait to explore everything!"

Jimmy beamed. His eyes had been so full of love and happiness all morning, I felt my heart would burst with joy for him. Every time Fern said something cute or surprised us with her worldly knowledge, he brightened with pride. And I was truly amazed at how quickly and completely she had taken to him and accepted him as her brother. It was as though all the years of separation had been more like minutes. She held his hand as much as she could and hugged and kissed him at every opportunity. Jimmy was elated by her flood of affection. Normally, having a precocious ten-year-old throw her arms around him and kiss him in public would bring the blood to his face and make him somewhat uncomfortable, but he put a tight lid on his modesty and welcomed her display of emotion, shifting his eyes to me every time to show me his pleasure.

When she first set her eyes on the hotel Fern seized Jimmy's hand.

"Oh, Jimmy, it's just the way I dreamed it would be," she exclaimed in a loud whisper.

"Dreamed?" I said.

"Yes. I fell asleep thinking about it last night, and I dreamed it would be high on a hill so you could stand on the front porch and see the ocean for miles and miles," she explained. Jimmy looked at me as if there was some spiritual meaning in a child's fantasies, as if it proved she had belonged here with us all along.

"Oh, how I wish you had come for me long ago," she said wistfully. It nearly brought us both to tears.

"We'll make up for it, Fern," Jimmy said. "I can promise you that," he added firmly.

"I know you will, Jimmy," she replied, and she hugged him again. I couldn't help wincing every time Jimmy made her a promise. Promises to a little girl were the stars in her dream sky. If they were broken, they left the world dark and lonely and made her distrustful of everything adults told her. I was afraid Jimmy would make a thousand promises because each time he made one, Fern's eyes grew more loving.

We didn't stop at the hotel; we had Julius take us directly to the house. By this time Christie was home from school. When we drove up she burst out on the porch with Mrs. Boston right behind her and charged down the steps, her two golden pigtails bouncing on her shoulders, to leap into Jimmy's arms. I gazed at Fern and saw her eyes grow narrow as her lips tightened into a small smile. Holding Christie in his arms, Jimmy turned toward her.

"Christie, I want you to meet my sister Fern. She's come to live with us," he said.

Mrs. Boston widened her eyes and tilted her head in surprise.

"Hi, Christie," Fern said. Christie stared at her suspiciously, obviously unsure of her own emotions. She was excited by the prospect of having another child in the house, but she was also threatened by the prospect of sharing Jimmy's love with anyone. "Can I give you a hello kiss?" Fern asked her. Christie shifted her gaze to me to see my reaction. I stood smiling, so she nodded softly.

Fern leaned forward and kissed Christie on the cheek. Christie fingered one of her pigtails and continued to stare in awe.

"This is Mrs. Boston, Fern," I said. "Our housekeeper and our dear friend," I emphasized.

"Hello," Fern said quickly.

"Welcome, honey," Mrs. Boston said. She and Julius exchanged quick glances of wonder as he carried our bags into the house.

"Fern's going to take the room next to Christie's," I explained. Mrs. Boston nodded.

"I'll see that the bed's freshened and the room's aired out well," she said, turning to get right to it.

"Why don't you show Fern our house, Christie?" I suggested when Jimmy lowered her to the walk. Christie looked up at Fern to see if she wanted that, and Fern nodded and brightened her eyes.

"Okay," Christie said. "Come on," she cried, and she shot up the stairs. Fern threw a smile back at Jimmy and then followed.

"Isn't this great? Isn't this just wonderful?" Jimmy said. I took his hand, and we entered the house behind the excited children.

Christie was truly fascinated with her new young aunt. She couldn't wait to show her all her toys and all her pretty clothes. After Fern had seen everything, including the gazebo and Christie's swing and slide set in the backyard, and after she had been settled in her room, we went to the hotel. Jimmy was eager to introduce her to everyone. She met Philip and Betty Ann immediately, and then Christie took her hand and rushed off with her to see the twins. I went to my office to catch up on what had occurred while we were gone. I saw from my messages that Mother had been calling all day.

"Why didn't you tell me you were off to New York to shop?" she demanded when I phoned. "I might very well have gone along. Or didn't you want me with you?" she whined.

When I explained what our real purpose was and what had happened, she was astounded. I was quite surprised by her sympathy for Fern, however, half expecting her to go on and on about how difficult it would be for me to have another child in my care.

"Poor thing," she said softly, and then she added, "I understand what it means to be sexually abused. Is she quite withdrawn?" she asked.

"No, Mother. On the contrary, she's a very outgoing, exuberant little girl."

"Really? I can only remember how I was after your . . . my father-in-law . . . took advantage of me," she said.

"Maybe it's because she's still a little girl at heart," I suggested. "As Jimmy says, children are more resilient. When I think about all he and I went through, I guess he's right," I added. Mother didn't want to hear any of that.

"Yes," Mother said. "Well, now, I'll have to have a dinner to celebrate all this. I'll call you as soon as I make all the arrangements."

"Mother," I warned, "make it a simple dinner. No mob scene."

"Really, Dawn, I don't have mob scenes," Mother protested.

"You know what I mean, Mother. We don't want to overwhelm Fern."

"I think I know how to make a proper family dinner," she bragged.

"All right, Mother. Thank you," I said, and I left it at that.

The next few days I was quite occupied with Fern. I took her shopping to get her more clothing and the things she would need to start school, most of which she had left behind in New York because of her abrupt flight from the Osbornes. Jimmy assured me Clayton Osborne wouldn't forward a single thing.

"He won't bear the expense," Jimmy said.

However, I could see from the clothing Fern chose and her selections of shoes and other things that she was accustomed to buying the most expensive goods. She was quite familiar with brand names, especially designer names. Clayton Osborne obviously hadn't been any sort of Scrooge when it came to the things she needed and wanted, I thought. When I asked her about it, she snapped back quickly with, "He bought me whatever I wanted so I wouldn't tell anyone what he was doing."

"Why didn't he buy you the dollhouse you wanted that Christmas, then?" I inquired as we were leaving the department store in Virginia Beach.

She didn't answer for a long moment, and then she said,

"Oh, he did, finally, after he came in to give me a bath again. Do I have to talk about that?" she asked quickly afterward. "Of course not, honey," I said. "I was just curious." She looked satisfied.

The next day I registered her in the Cutler's Cove School. The principal, Mr. Youngman, said he would have to contact the Marion Lewis School for Fern's records.

"We have to know where her strengths and weaknesses are in order to place her correctly. Do you play an instrument, Fern?" he asked her.

"No," she said quickly. She glanced at me and then added, "I wanted to play the flute, but my stepfather thought it was a waste of time."

"I see. Well, maybe we can start you on the flute here, if you'd like. Your niece Christie is quite a little pianist already," he added, smiling.

I thought Fern might be excited about starting an instrument, but she didn't seem enthusiastic. In fact, when we left she was glum for the first time since her arrival. I imagined it was because of her nervousness at starting a new school. Goodness knows, I understood what that was like, having had to leave and start one new school after another. Each time was a major emotional crisis because new students were always the objects of close scrutiny. When I entered a school after it had already begun I was singled out and put under a magnifying glass. I knew other girls were inspecting my clothing and thinking about my hair. I knew boys were gawking at my figure and my face, and I knew teachers were wondering what sort of student they were getting now.

From what Fern had told us, she had been transferred to and from a number of schools and had gone through similar experiences.

"This is a very nice school system, Fern," I reassured her. "You'll like it here. Everyone is friendly and concerned. The teachers know their students well, and because it's a small community, they know the families well, too."

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.