Cutler 03 - Twilight's Child

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.
    Now a widow, she lived alone in a small Cape Cod home in the village. Her two daughters were married and living away, one in Washington, D.C., and one in Richmond. I didn't know a soul who had difficulty getting along with Mrs. Bradly, and that included children of all ages. She had three grandchildren of her own. So when I introduced Fern to her and told her how much Fern wanted to help out at the front desk, she beamed with pleasure and welcomed her with open arms.
    "I've been looking for a qualified