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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 assistant," she said, smiling. Fern's smile was more of a smirk, I thought. She resembled a child who knew there was no such person as Santa Claus and resented being told children's stories.
"Okay, then," I said, "I'll leave you here with Mrs. Bradly, who will explain what you do, okay?"
Fern nodded. Without going into any detail, I took Mrs. Bradly aside and told her that Fern had been going through a very difficult time and needed a great deal of tender loving care.
"You just leave her with me, Dawn," she said. "I don't get a chance to practice being a grandmother enough."
"Thank you, Mrs. Bradly," I said, and I went back to work myself.
Fern amazed me again. She was very outgoing and made sure everyone knew she was Jimmy's sister. She was beside him every opportunity she had, even going outside to be with him for hours and hours when he was supervising ground maintenance. She loved eating dinner in the hotel dining room and sat proudly—almost arrogantly, I thought—at Jimmy's side. It didn't take her long to get to know all the waiters and busboys. In fact, she took so quickly to the routine at the hotel and settled in so easily and comfortably at the house, it was as if she had been there for years and years. When I mentioned it to Jimmy after dinner one night a little over a week later, he nodded.
"I see that myself," he said, and then he shrugged. "I suppose that comes from her being on her own so much. You know, not being able to depend on Leslie Osborne to do the things anyone would expect a mother to do, and . . . living with that pervert. She must have searched for opportunities to be alone and away from him."
"I suppose," I said. Then I laughed.
"What?"
"I was just recalling Fern as a baby. Remember how demanding she could be, how she would get absolutely hysterical until I took her in my arms and sang to her, or how she would cry the moment Daddy came into a room if he didn't come right to her? She wasn't born shy," I concluded. "There's no reason for her to be shy now."
Jimmy smiled.
"Daddy's working out his trip," he said. "When I told him we had Fern I could hear the tears in his voice. He'll call in a few days and tell me exactly when he, Edwina and Gavin can be here.
"Won't it be wonderful?" he added. "All of us together again."
"All but Momma," I said sadly. I didn't want to throw a pail of cold water on his warm smile, but I couldn't help thinking about her and wishing that somehow she could have been there, too.
Jimmy's eyes filled with tears, but he held them in and swallowed. Sorrow, like sour milk, always wanted to come back up.
* * *
In the evening, when we would all return from the hotel, Christie would immediately beg Fern to come to her room to play, but I wanted to be sure that Fern got herself off to a good start at the Cutler's Cove School.
"You have to let Fern do her schoolwork," I advised. "When she's finished she can go to see you."
Christie screwed her face into a tiny pout and went off to wait. Usually Fern would go to her and they would sit and do coloring books or play with some of Christie's dolls and toys. One evening when I was walking by Christie's room I heard Fern firmly instruct her to refer to her as "Aunt Fern." I paused at the doorway to listen.
"I'm Jimmy's real sister, which makes me your aunt, so you have to call me Aunt from now on, or pretend I don't hear you. Do you understand?"
