Twilight's Child (Cutler 3)

"And what do they say, Mrs. Boston?" I pursued.

"That your mother broke his heart so bad, he couldn't love anyone else if he wanted to. But that's enough of this idle chatter," she added quickly, pulling her shoulders back. "I do have work waiting."

"Mrs. Boston," I called as she started toward the doorway. She turned. "When did Mr. Alcott stop being a frequent visitor?" She tightened her lips as if she wasn't going to add any fuel to the fire.

"Right after you were born and stolen away," she said. "But that don't mean they stopped seeing each other," she added, and then she bit down on her lower lip as if to stop a runaway mouth. "Now don't make me into some gossip monger and ask me anymore." She pivoted before I could and was gone, leaving all sorts of questions dangling in my mind.

3

LEARNING THE ROPES

DURING THE MONTHS THAT FOLLOWED, CHRISTIE GREW RAPIDLY. The features of her tiny face became more and more distinct, as did her personality. She continued being a contented, happy baby who cried only to let us know her diaper was wet or that she was hungry, but she wasn't one who craved a great deal of attention and had to be doted upon, even though everyone in the hotel enjoyed doing so. Whenever I brought her down with me the receptionists, the chambermaids, even the dining room staff were drawn to her, eager to hold her or pinch her plump cheeks. She would smile and pummel their faces gently with her tiny pink fists.

Her curiosity and remarkable perception kept her occupied. There was nothing she looked at that didn't attract her interest. She could be content sitting for hours turning a toy in her hands, tasting it, testing its firmness and tracing its shape with the tips of her fingers. Whatever she reached, she explored, and when something made her laugh she slapped her hands together and widened her eyes, revealing a joy of life that made everyone around her feel good. On the grayest of days Christie brought sunshine and warmth.

When I sat her in my lap she would inevitably explore my face with her fingers, touching my nose, my lips and occasionally going "Ooooh." If I smiled, she smiled. If I stopped to gently chastise her, she would grow serious and always listen. Often I would play peekaboo with her, lowering the blanket to reveal my hair and forehead. But she would laugh only when she saw my eyes. Then she would explode in delight.

By the time she was nine months old her hair had grown down to the base of her neck, and I could comb and brush it. She was already very feminine, a little lady, eager to sit quietly to have her hair brushed, happy to be bathed, and attracted to any affection or loving caress. Whether it was I or Mrs. Boston who sang to her, she would lie quietly and listen intently, her eyes so still, we both felt she had already memorized our songs and was waiting to hear the parts she knew would come.

Any musical expression interested her, whether it be our singing or the radio and records. Crib toys that played tunes were her favorites, and if she cried for anything to be done, other than to be fed or changed, it was to have me pull the cords that set the toys tinkling. Everyone knew she had a propensity for music, and on her first birthday she was flooded with picture books that had built-in music boxes, windup toys that played children's songs, recorders and a toy piano for her to play. That was her favorite. She was already fascinated with her ability to produce melodic sounds.

In the beginning I tried to look after Christie and learn about the hotel business every day, but as it drew closer to spring and the business and activity increased for the hotel, I decided I needed help with her. I found out that Sissy, the young black girl who had been my chambermaid partner when I had first come to the hotel years ago, was in need of employment again. Grandmother Cutler had fired her for helping me find Mrs. Dalton, the woman who had taken care of me when I was born.

Mrs. Boston knew Sissy and her mother very well, and she thought Sissy would be ideal as a mother's helper. Sissy was overwhelmed with the changes that had come about for me since she and I had last seen each other. She didn't look much different from that day. We sat and talked for a while, reminiscing. She told me Mrs. Dalton had passed away.

"She was a very sick woman when I met her," I said. Sissy nodded sadly. "I was very sorry to hear that Grandmother Cutler had punished you for helping me, Sissy. I hope it didn't create too much hardship for you and your mother."

"No, we've been all right. I worked in a department store for a while, and that's where I met Clarence Potter."

Sissy explained that she and Clarence were practically engaged, and as soon as they had both saved up enough money they would get married.

"But I'd love to help take care of Christie until then," she emphasized.

Christie took right to her. Sissy was patient and gentle and almost as thrilled with every new thing Christie did as I was. She couldn't wait to come down to the office to tell me Christie had stood up and taken a step, and she was claiming that Christie said her own name when she was only eleven months old. Christie was precocious and did develop faster than normal babies. She was barely over thirteen months when I distinctly heard her say, "Momma."

As soon as I heard her pronounce "Momma" with some clarity I began to teach her other words, and everyone who heard her utter the syllables remarked at how brilliant she was. One of the words I wanted her to be able to pronounce was "Daddy." I was hoping that when Jimmy pulled his next leave and came to the hotel, she would greet him with it.

Not a week went by that Jimmy didn't call, or write when he wasn't able to

get to a phone. My letters to him were volumes. I filled page after page, first describing all the things Christie had done, and then I described my activities at the hotel. I'm sure I bored him to death with my details concerning accounts and purchase orders and meetings with Mr. Dorfman, but Jimmy never complained.

"Everyone here's jealous of the mail I receive," he told me over the phone. "Some guys get nothing from their families."

Jimmy had tried to return on leave a number of times, but something always came up that kept him away. Finally he was able to get a weekend free. What he didn't tell me until he was about to leave again was that he had volunteered for a final six months of duty to be spent in Panama, guarding the canal.

"The deal is that I can get discharged six weeks earlier than I'm scheduled if I do this, so I figured it was worth it," he said. He kissed my trembling chin. "That means we'll be married six weeks earlier, you know. Aren't you happy about that?"

"I am, Jimmy," I said. "But I don't like the idea of your being so far away again."

"Well . . . you're going to be so busy now. Time will pass quickly for both of us. Anyway, we can make definite plans, wedding plans," he pointed out.

I knew he was right, and we did have a wonderful weekend together. The hotel had two sailboats and a motorboat down at the dock, and we went motorboating. It was nearly summer, so it was already very warm. We anchored the boat a mile or so offshore, and I went swimming while Jimmy did some fishing. Mrs. Boston had packed a picnic basket for us. We stayed out all day and watched the sun begin to fall below the horizon, making the sky orange and turning the ocean into a dreamy dark blue. He and I sat in the boat with his arm around me, and we just let the waves rock us soothingly as we gazed back at the shore. The Cutler's Cove Hotel was visible on the hill overlooking the sea.

"It's very beautiful here," Jimmy said. "I'm sure we're going to be happy. That is," he warned, "if you don't turn into one of those crazy businesswomen who work, work, work all the time. I've heard about them, and Grandmother Cutler was like that, from what I've learned."

"I'll never be like that, Jimmy."

"Yeah, you promise now," Jimmy said, "but I can see in just the short time I've been here watching you around the hotel—signing this, talking to some department head about that, listening to this one complain and that one—that you like it already."