Cutler 04 - Midnight Whispers

could come to see me a whole week earlier than he had originally planned. I hated the idea that he had sold something he had cherished, but he wrote that nothing was more important than his getting back to see me. He had already discussed and confirmed it with Granddaddy Long-champ.
    The news washed away my recent unhappiness and depression. When I returned to the piano, I played lighter, happier music, my fingers dancing over the keys. I permitted the sunshine and blue sky to find their way into my heart, and my music was filled with renewed energy. Mrs. Stoddard interrupted her housework to come in to listen.
    Afterward, I ran upstairs to write back to Gavin, but I wasn't spread out on my bed and writing for long before I heard the screaming across the hall. I opened my door and listened. It was Aunt Bet. Her faucet had turned cold again. This, time she sounded hysterical, her voice so high-pitched, I thought she would break her vocal cords.
    "HE'S JUST A LITTLE ANIMAL!" she cried. "HOW COULD HE NOT KNOW WHAT HE STEPPED IN? HOW COULD HE TRACK IT INTO OUR HOME?" She appeared in Jefferson's bedroom doorway, Richard beside her looking very self-satisfied. Her arms were extended so that the shoes she held in her hands were as far away from her as could be. She pulled her head back as well and turned her nose away.
    "What is it, Aunt Bet?" I asked in a tired and disgusted voice.
    "Your brother, your little beast of a brother . . . look!" she exclaimed, holding the shoes toward me and lifting them so I could see the soles clearly. Gobs of what looked like dog droppings were stuck to the bottoms.
    "Richard was complaining about an odor in his room. I sent Mrs. Stoddard up here to redo the rug, but nothing seemed to help. Then I came up and looked in Jefferson's closet and found this on the floor. How could he take off these shoes and carry them up here without noticing the stink? How could he? He must have done it deliberately. It's another one of his horrible pranks," she said, drawing up her puckered little prune mouth like a drawstring purse.
    For a moment I wondered if it really could have been one of Jefferson's shenanigans. Jefferson would have loved to have found a way to torment Richard, I thought. I was unaware that the possibility had brought a small smile to my lips.
    "Do you think this is funny?" Aunt Bet demanded. "Do you?"
    "No, Aunt Bet."
    "The moment he comes through that front door, I'm sending him upstairs," she declared. "The very moment." She held the shoe away from her and started away. "I should just throw these in the garbage. That's what I should do instead of giving them to Mrs. Stoddard to clean," she muttered and descended with her eyes closed, Richard trailing behind her and guiding her down.
    It was terrible to think it, but I had come to the point where I hoped Jefferson did do it deliberately. I returned to my room and described the whole incident to Gavin in my letter. I was sure it would bring a smile and laughter to his lips. When I was finished writing, I went downstairs and out the back door where I found Mrs. Stoddard cleaning Jefferson's shoes. She worked with a pail of soapy water and a sponge.
    "He's a terror, that one," she said shaking her head, but I could see some amusement in her eyes.
    "I don't know if he did it deliberately, Mrs. Stoddard, but I'll find out when he comes home."
    She nodded and started to dry off the shoes with an old towel. Suddenly though, I took a closer look at the shoes.
    "Let me see them please, Mrs. Stoddard," I asked. She handed the right one to me and I turned it over, thinking. "Jefferson doesn't wear these shoes anymore, Mrs. Stoddard. He's outgrown them. My mother was going to give them to the Salvation Army."
    "Is that right?" she asked.
    "Yes," I said, pressing my lips together and nodding with the realization of what this meant. "Richard's still doing it. He's still trying to get my brother blamed for things," I concluded. Mrs. Stoddard understood and nodded in sympathy. I took the other shoe from her and marched back into the house. I found Aunt Bet in the living room reading one of her magazines and smiling proudly down at Richard and Melanie who were demonstrating their self-taught fluency in basic French.
    "You little bastard!" I cried from the doorway.
    Aunt Bet's mouth gaped open. Melanie and Richard turned and mimicked her look of shock. I strutted into the room, holding the shoes out, soles up, and approached Richard. He cowered