Cutler 03 - Twilight's Child

would be forever worried about Fern's influence on Christie, too.
    But Fern was Jimmy's sister, and something stronger in me rejected the idea of sending away family. I had seen and lived through too much of that myself.
    "I don't think her going back to the Osbornes is the answer, Jimmy. They are obviously not as mean and as evil as Fern had painted them to be, but they are two people who are overwhelmed by her and unwilling, perhaps, to make the sacrifices of time and energy required to give her the love and attention she needs to overcome her nasty ways.
    "No, she should stay, but stay under a different set of rules and circumstances," I concluded. Jimmy nodded. Then we heard the door open and close downstairs. The children were home. Christie ran for the kitchen, where Mrs. Boston had her milk and cookies waiting, but Fern began a slow ascent to her room. We waited until she reached the second-floor landing, and then we both stepped out to greet her. She looked up with surprise.
    "Why is everyone home already?" she asked, her eyes narrowing suspiciously at me.
    "We want to talk to you, Fern," I said firmly. "In your room."
    "What? Why?" she countered.
    "Now," I commanded, and she hurried along. We followed her in. She dropped her books on her bed and flopped back on it, folding her arms defiantly over her chest.
    "So?" she said. "You're mad because I told Jimmy about you seeing Michael Sutton, I suppose."
    "I'm mad about that, yes—mad because of the way you went about it—but that's not why we want to speak to you right now," I said.
    She lifted her eyes with new interest.
    "Then what is it?" she asked.
    "This," I said, holding out the magazine. As soon as she realized what was in my hand, her face blanched and her eyes filled with fear. She tried to cover it with anger.
    "You went snooping in my things?" she cried.
    "Dawn doesn't go snooping in anyone's things," Jimmy said sharply; stepping up beside me.
    "That's not what's important here, Fern," I said. "It's what's in this magazine, what you read and memorized and pretended had happened to you."
    "I didn't," she cried, real tears emerging.
    "You did! You did!" I insisted, slapping the magazine over my open palm. It sounded like a gunshot, and her sobbing stopped instantly. "We're not going to pretend anymore, and you're going to tell the truth once and for all. And I warn you, Fern: If you lie to us just once—just once, mind you—we'll ship you out of here. If the Osbornes don't want you, you'll go to a home for wayward girls."
    I don't know where I garnered the strength and coldness to pronounce these words, but as I spoke them I saw flashes of Grandmother Cutler before me, her face stern, her shoulders hoisted, her fury fierce.
    Fern cowered.
    "I . . . I hated it there," she said.
    "All you had to do was tell us the truth," Jimmy said.
    "I knew you couldn't get me back, because I was legally theirs."
    "So you made it all up, copied the ideas from this story?" I demanded. I had to have her confess it. She hesitated and then nodded. "What?" I said.
    "I made it up. But please, please don't send me back to them. Clayton is cruel, he really is mean, and he doesn't love me, and Leslie doesn't help. He treats her like a child, too," she claimed.
    "In that shoe box in your closet there is a lot of money," I said, nodding toward it. "How did you get it? All of it?"
    "I stole it," she muttered.
    "What?" Jimmy asked, wanting her to speak louder and own up to her crimes.
    "I stole it," she shouted through her tears. "Some of it from Leslie and Clayton, and some of it from the front desk," she admitted.
    "Why would you steal from us?" Jimmy asked. "We never denied you anything you needed or wanted."
    "I thought you might ask me to leave someday, and I was going to run away if you did, so I needed money."
    "You did a terrible thing, Fern," I said. "Not just the stealing of the money, but the attempt to steal our love and concern for you. You tried to win our love by turning us against the Osbornes. No matter what life was like with them, it was wrong to make such accusations about him."
    The tears grew heavier, thicker down Fern's cheeks.
    "Are you sending me back?" she asked, looking from me to Jimmy.
    "That's up to Dawn," Jimmy said firmly. Fern's eyes widened, and then she looked at me, expecting the worst.
    "We should," I began. "You said you came home with us because you wanted to be with a family where there was love in the home, but you have tried in all