Midnight Whispers (Cutler 4)

"She wasn't sick, was she?" Aunt Bet said. "Thank you, Christie. Please bring in the glasses," she said and headed for the kitchen with some of the dishes.

"Here," Melanie said, thrusting her glass at me after I had picked up four already. She let it go before I had my fingers on it and it fell over a bowl, shattering both the bowl and the glass.

"What happened?" Aunt Bet cried from the kitchen doorway.

"She's so clumsy," Melanie accused.

"That's not true. You didn't give me a chance to hold the glass," I retorted.

"She tried to take too much," Richard said, pulling the corner of his mouth in. "It wasn't Melanie's fault"

"That's a lie!"

"All right, children. All right." Aunt Bet glared at me. "Just leave everything for me before something else gets broken," she said.

Both Melanie and Richard looked satisfied, both softening their lips identically in the corners. I glanced once more at Aunt Bet and then rushed from the room and the house, frustrated by the irony that I wanted to leave my own home as quickly as I could.

8

NO ONE UNDERSTANDS

ALL OF THE HOTEL STAFF HAD LEFT, OF COURSE WITH the hotel burned down, there wasn't anything for them to do. But some of the grounds people had been kept on to help with the removal of debris and the rebuilding. Since the family still needed a chauffeur, Julius remained on salary and continued to live in the staff quarters behind the hotel. I found him outside;- washing the limousine.

"When you're finished, Julius, will you please take me to my grandmother's," I asked.

"Sure, Christie. I'm just about done. Get in. I'll do the detail work while you're visiting," he said.

I got into the limousine and stared out the window at the workers buzzing around the debris and machinery. I could see Jefferson standing beside Buster Morris. Jefferson stood with his hands on his hips just like Daddy used to. It made me smile, but it also brought tears to my eyes. How much he missed his father, I thought. How cruel it was to live in a world where a young boy's father could be ripped away from him before they had a chance to really get to know each other.

It made me think of Mommy and how horrible it must have been for her to learn that the man and woman she thought were her parents weren't, and how difficult and frightening it was for her to be returned to her real family after so many years. As the limousine turned down the driveway and headed toward Buella Woods, Bronson Alcott's home, I couldn't help wondering what it must have been like for Mommy the first day she came face to face with her real mother. How I wish my grandmother was clear-minded enough to tell me about those days. However bad things were for her then, they were wonderful for her now. She was married to a man who loved her dearly. She should feel secure and happy.

Buella Woods stood on a high hill looking down on Cutler's Cove. The house was big enough to be a castle. It had been built with gray stone wall cladding and decorative half-timbering. It had a prominent round tower with a high conical roof. The tower housed the main entrance, which was a dark pine door set in a single arched opening. Under the windows on the second floor were small wrought-iron decorative balconies. Jefferson always wanted to crawl out on those balconies and could never understand why anyone would have built them just for show.

Julius opened my door for me and I went up the steps and rang the door chimes. The entry way was so deep, the chimes sounded like chimes in a cathedral. Mrs. Berme, Grandmother's private nurse, surprised me by answering the door. Usually, Bronson's butler, a dark-haired, stout man named Humbrick, did.

"Oh Christie," Mrs. Berme said. "Your grand-mother just dozed off in the parlor, but Pm sure she won't be asleep long. Come in," she said. "Mr. Alcott's in his office."

"Thank you, Mrs. Berme," I replied and walked down the corridor. I looked in on Grandmother and saw she was asleep in her favorite soft chair, a blanket tucked around her and up to her throat. She looked gray and pale, except for where she had dabbed her rouge too hard on her cheeks. I hurried on to Bronson's office. The door was open, but I knocked on the jamb. He was behind his desk reading some papers.

"Christie," he said, standing immediately. "I'm glad you've come."

"Grandmother's asleep," I said.

"I'm sure she won't be for long. Her naps are frequent but short these days. Come in. Sit down. Tell me how you and Jefferson have been getting along," he said, pointing to the burgundy leather settee. I sat down quickly.

"Terribly," I said.

"Oh?" He lifted his eyebrows and tightened his mouth and narrowed his eyes. "What's wrong?"

"Everything, Bronson. Aunt B

et is horrible to us. And she's fired Mrs. Boston!"

"What? Fired Mrs. Boston? I don't believe it," he said, sitting down.

"She did. My cousins got sick with stomach aches and she blamed it on Mrs. Boston's cooking and cleaning," I said.

"Really? How extraordinary."