When she moved those arms. however. I could see
that they weren't flabby. She was tall, at least Jake's
height, and she had a small bosom but wide hips.
There were rolls of flesh up the back of her neck
making it look like a spring upon which her large
round head bobbed as she gazed down at me with a look of surprise. I imagined she had been expecting a lily-white Southern girl. Who else would Victoria
Randolph have for a niece?
"I'm Mrs. Bogart," she said raising her voice on
Mrs. Her stern expression, cold ashen eves clearly
telegraphed her insistence on being addressed that
way. There would be no familiarity, no use of
Christian names. This was no mammy out of Gone
with the Wind, and there was no question in that face
about who I was and wasn't.
Looking from me to Jake, she brought her thick
lower lip over her upper, stretching the skin on her
chin until I could see her jawbone clearly outlined. "I'll take her from here," she told him. If he had any intention of arguing with her, her
quick, decisive move to seize the handles of my chair
ended it. She practically knocked him out of her way
and shoved me and my chair into the house. Once
inside, she paused and looked back at him.
"Put anything of hers right here," she ordered
nodding at the table in the entryway,
"Yes sir," Jake said and saluted.
I laughed, but before I could thank him, she
moved me forward,
"Wait," I said. "I want to thank Jake," "You can thank him later. We've got to get you
acclimated as soon as possible," she said.
"This is my home. I'm acclimated already." Instead of replying she pushed me along, past
the sitting room and the formal dining room and the