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"No, I never saw her after we were brought to the station. They took me to what they called a holding house where there were other kids waiting to be assigned to foster homes. Some were older, but most were younger than me. We slept on bunk beds not much bigger or nicer than this one," he said, "and we were crowded four in a room. One little boy kept whimpering all night. The others continually shouted at him to shut up, but he was too frightened. I got into a fight with them because they wouldn't stop terrorizing the kid."
"Why doesn't that surprise me?" I said, smiling.
"Well, it made them feel big to bully him," he said angrily. "Anyway, one thing led to another, and I was put in the basement of the house to sleep. It had a dirt floor and lots of bugs and even rats!
"A day later I was told they had already found a home for me. I think they were determined to get rid of me first. The others were jealous, but that was only because they didn't know where I was going.
"I went home with this chicken farmer, Leo Coons. He was a stout, grouchy man with a face like a bulldog, and he had a scar across his forehead. It looked like someone had hit him with an ax. His wife was half his size, and he treated her like another kid. They had two daughters. It was his wife who encouraged me to run away. Her name was Beryle, and I couldn't believe she was only in her thirties. She had gray hair and looked as worn down as an old pencil. Nothing she did made Coons happy. The house was never clean enough; the food never tasted right. Complain, complain, complain was all he did.
"I had a nice room, but he had come to the holding house to get a foster kid my age to make into a slave. First thing he did was show me how to candle eggs and had me up before dawn working alongside his two daughters, both older than me, but both as skinny as scarecrows and both with big, sad dark eyes that reminded me of frightened puppy dogs.
"Coons moved me from one job to the next—shoveling chicken manure, lugging feed. We worked before the sun rose until an hour or so after it went down.
"At first I didn't care what happened to me; I was that depressed, but after a while I got so tired of the work and hearing Coons shouting this and shouting that . . .
"What did it, I suppose, was the night he hit me. He was complaining about the supper, and I said I thought it was pretty good, too good for him. He hit me with the back of his hand, but so hard, I fell off the chair.
"I was going to just punch and kick at him, but Dawn, this guy is big and he's as hard as bricks. Later that night Beryle came to me and told me the best thing I could do for myself was run away like the others. Seems he's done this before—go fetch a foster kid and make him work until he drops. They don't care back at the home, because they get so many kids, they're glad anyone comes to get one."
"Oh, Jimmy . . . if Fern was given to mean people . . ."
"I don't think so. It's different with babies. Lots of good people want babies because they can't have their own for one reason or another. Don't look so glum," he said, smiling. "I'm sure she's all right."
"It's not that, Jimmy. What you just said reminded me of something terrible. They tell me that's why Momma and Daddy stole me—she had a baby right before, and the baby was born dead."
His eyes widened, and then he nodded as if he had always known it.
"So Daddy talked her into taking you," he concluded. "It was just like him. I don't doubt any of it. Now look what a mess he got us all in. I mean, I'm in. You ain't in such a mess, I guess."
"Oh, Jimmy," I said, sitting beside him quickly. "I am. I hate it here."
"What? With this big, fancy hotel and all? Why?"
I began by describing my real mother and her continuous nervous condition. Jimmy listened intently, his eyes full of wonder as I related the story of my kidnapping and how it had affected her and made her into some kind of invalid soaked in luxury.
"But weren't they glad to see you when you were brought here?" he asked. I shook my head.
"As soon as I arrived here, I was made a chambermaid and put into a little room away from the family. You won't have much trouble imagining how mean Clara Sue has been," I said. Then I told him about being accused of stealing and related the horrible search I had been put through.
"She made you take off your clothes?"
"Strip to the bone. Afterward, she locked me in my room."
He stared at me in disbelief.
"What about your real father?" he asked. "Did you tell him what she did?"
"He's so strange, Jimmy," I said and told him how he had come to the door and refused to do anything until I had agreed to the compromise over my name. "Then he left, claiming he had to get the key, but Philip said the key was in the door when he came to fetch me to bring me to you."
He shook his head.
"And here I thought you were living high on the hog."
"I don't think my grandmother's ever going to let up on me. For some reason she hates me, hates the sight of me," I said. "I just can't get it through my head that Daddy did this. I can't." I shook my head and stared down at my hands in my lap.
"Well, I can," Jimmy said sharply, drawing my eyes to his. Fiery anger filled his eyes. "You don't want to believe it; you never liked believing bad things about him, but you gotta now."
I told Jimmy about my letter to Daddy.
