Cutler 04 - Midnight Whispers

the way it is!" I cried.
    She shook her head.
    "You don't know what you like yet, Christie dear. You're far too young to understand these things, and Jefferson . . ."
    She looked at him and he swung his eyes up to glare back at her.
    "Poor Jefferson is barely able to care for his basic needs. Trust me, my dear. I was brought up surrounded by the best things. My parents hired the most expensive and renowned decorators and I learned what good taste is and what it isn't. Your parents, although they were delightful people, grew up in the most dire poverty. Wealth and position were thrust upon them and they didn't have the breeding to understand what had to be done and how to spend their money."
    "That's not true!" I cried. "Mommy was beautiful. Mommy loved pretty things. Everyone complimented her on the things she did at the hotel. She . . ."
    "Just as you say, dear, at the hotel, but not at her own home. This was"— she looked around as if we had lived in a hovel—"merely a retreat, a place to which they could run away for a few hours. They did all their real socializing at the hotel. Rarely did they have important guests to dinner here, right?" she sang. She leaned toward me. "That's why Mrs. Boston, as sweet as she is, is not really schooled in serving properly. She didn't have to do it very much, if at all.
    "But all that is going to have to change now, especially in light of the fact that the hotel has been destroyed and is being rebuilt. While that's being done, Philip and I will have to have our important guests over here for dinners and parties, and you can't expect us to invite the leaders of the community to this house as it is.
    "But please," she concluded, "don't let all this disturb you. Let me worry about it. I have willingly accepted my responsibility and my burdens. All I ask is that you and the rest of the children cooperate. Okay?"
    I choked back my tears and looked to Uncle Philip, but as usual, he was quiet and seemingly distracted. How different our meals were from what they had been. Gone was the humor and the music and the laughter. No wonder Richard and Melanie were the way they were, I thought. All of the discussion at their dinner table was initiated by Aunt Bet, and Uncle Philip rarely had anything to say.
    "One of the ways you can cooperate," Aunt Bet continued, "is to be sure you take off your shoes whenever you come into the house. Take them off at the door and carry them upstairs, please."
    She paused, her lips tightening, her eyes growing narrow as she looked across the table at Jefferson.
    "Jefferson, dear, didn't anyone ever show you how to hold a fork properly?"
    "He holds it like a screwdriver," Richard commented and smirked.
    "Watch how your cousins use their silverware, Jefferson, and try to copy them," she said.
    Jefferson looked at me and then at her and then opened his mouth and dumped all the food he was chewing back onto his plate, the globs falling over his meat and vegetables.
    "Ugh!" Melanie cried.
    "Disgusting!" Richard screamed.
    "Jefferson!" Aunt Bet stood up. "Philip, did you see that?"
    Uncle Philip nodded and smirked.
    "You get right up, young man," Aunt Bet said, "and march yourself upstairs right now. There'll be no dinner for you until you apologize," she said and pointed at the door. "Go on."
    Jefferson looked anxiously at me. Even though I understood why he had done it, the sight of the globs of chewed food was revolting. My stomach churned from that and from all the tension and anger I felt inside.
    "I'm not going upstairs," he shot back defiantly. He got up and ran out of the dining room and to the front door.
    "Jefferson Longchamp, you don't have permission to go out!" Aunt Bet called, but Jefferson opened the front door and shot out anyway. Aunt Bet sat down, her face and long thin neck beet-red. "Oh dear, that child is so wild. He's gone and ruined another meal," she complained. "Christie . . ."
    "I'll go after him," I said. "But you're going to have to stop criticizing him," I added.
    "I'm just trying to teach him good things," she claimed. "We've all got to learn to get along now. We've got to adjust."
    "When are you going to adjust, too, Aunt Bet?" I asked, rising. "When are you going to show some compromise?"
    She sat back, her mouth agape. I thought I detected a slight smile on Uncle Philip's lips.
    "Go get your brother and bring him back," he said. "We'll talk about all this later."
    "Philip . . ."
    "Let it be for a while, Betty Ann," he added