Twilight's Child (Cutler 3)

Jimmy's face turned so crimson, I thought the top of his head would burst into flames.

"What?" he cried. "Still does?"

"You're old enough to give yourself baths," I said, my voice almost a whisper again.

"I know I can do it myself, but he always comes in on me and tells me I don't wash myself properly. He says I miss the important places," she said. "And when I once tried to lock the door, he got furious and pounded and pounded on it until I had to get out of the tub and open it."

I swung my gaze to Jimmy. He was on the edge of his seat and looked as if he would leap off any moment and go charging out the hotel room door. Maybe even charge through it! His neck was taut, and his eyes were bulging.

"I knew when I first set eyes on that guy?

?"

"Jimmy, don't jump to any conclusions," I advised. "Jump to any conclusions? Listen to her," he said, holding his hands out toward Fern.

I nodded and turned back to her.

"Do you know what you're telling us, dear, what you seem to be saying?"

She nodded.

"Your father . . . Clayton . . . comes in on you when you're taking a bath and touches you?" She nodded again.

"He makes me stand up and turn away from him. I close my eyes because I can't stand it anymore," she said. "He takes the washcloth and starts down my back, but soon his hands come around and . . ."

She covered her face with her hands again and sobbed. I embraced her and pulled her to me, rocking her gently and stroking her hair.

"It's all right now. It's all right," I assured her.

"You're damn right it's all right now. She's finished with that," Jimmy swore. He stood up, pulling his shoulders back and throwing his chest out. "I want to go see this man immediately," he declared.

"Wait, Jimmy. Let's do this right so we don't make things worse. Let me call Mr. Updike and get some legal advice, find out what we have to do," I begged. "If you go charging off, you might ruin it."

His face relaxed a bit, but he kept his posture stiff and his fists clenched.

"Go call him, then," he commanded.

"Why don't you go to the bathroom, honey, and wash your face?" I said to Fern.

"Okay," she said. "But I'm scared. He's going to be so mad I told you. He made me swear I would never tell anyone. You won't make me go back there to live, will you?

Please don't make me," she begged, her mouth twisting with apprehension. She looked positively terrified.

"You're not going back there. Not now, not ever," Jimmy promised. "Don't you worry about that or about him," he added, nodding.

She smiled through her tears. I helped her up and directed her to the bathroom. Then I went to the phone. Jimmy stood by my side as I called Mr. Updike.

As soon as I explained where we were and what we had learned, Mr. Updike referred us to a New York attorney he knew, a Mr. Simington, who told us we would have to contact the child welfare agencies and ask for an investigation. He said that the seriousness of the situation would make it impossible for things to be done overnight.

"From what you told me," he said, "Mr. Osborne has already been in contact with his own attorney about you two. He and his wife do have rights they can expect will be protected. There will be legal maneuvers, court action."

"What happens to my husband's sister during all this?" I asked.

"The child welfare agency will keep her in one of their homes until the matter is resolved. I can tell you from observing similar cases from time to time that it is an ugly mess for everyone concerned, especially the child. Most likely she will have to testify in detail in an open court. Make sure she understands that, and be absolutely certain she's telling the truth.

"Kids say the most incredible things when they're unhappy with a punishment or frustrated by a parent's refusal to permit them to do something, things they don't really mean," he continued.

"Oh, she means it," I assured him. "She's very, very disturbed by it. If you took one look at her . . . but I just hate putting her through any more. She's suffered enough, and for years and years, it seems."