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"I didn't say that, Jimmy. Of course she won't, but Fern hasn't been around a child this young, and especially not one who is so bright and quick. If you could just have a talk with her, too . . ." I suggested softly.
His face relaxed, and he sat back.
"Sure," he said. "I'll talk to her, but we've got to be understanding. She's been through hell. We don't want her to feel she's left one horror only to fall into another."
"I hardly think living here with us will ever resemble a horror, Jimmy," I said.
"No, no, of course not. Okay," he said, taking a deep breath. "I'll handle it. I'm sorry if I seemed abrupt. I just can't help getting furious about what happened to her."
"I understand, Jimmy," I said. I went over to him to plant a kiss on his cheek. He smiled and went back to reading his magazine, but I couldn't help feeling that the tiny crack in the veneer of our marriage had widened some.
And for reasons I didn't quite understand.
If Fern was unhappy about my chastising her the night before, she didn't show it the following morning. In fact, for the first time, when she and Christie were about to leave for school in the limousine, she stood waiting while Christie kissed me good-bye. Then she stepped forward.
"Good-bye, Dawn," she said. "I'll see you in the hotel after school," she promised, and she threw her arms around me the way she threw them around Jimmy and kissed me on the cheek. Before I could respond, she took Christie's hand and rushed out with her. When I turned, my hand on my cheek, I saw Jimmy smiling widely.
"She's like a flower that was kept imprisoned in a dark, dank basement and finally set free in the sun," he said. "Now she's blossoming. She's quite a little girl."
"I guess she is," I said, still amazed.
That afternoon, however, some of my optimism waned when the school principal, Mr. Youngman, phoned.
"I know you're very busy, Mrs. Longchamp," he began, "so I thought I would simply phone you rather than ask you to come down. Do you have a moment?"
"Yes, Mr. Youngman. What is it?" I asked, my heart beginning to flutter with anticipation.
"We received Fern's—I should say, Kelly Ann's—school records today from the Marion Lewis School. I'm afraid her past performance leaves much to be desired. Were you aware of how poorly she was doing in her academic subjects?"
"We did understand she was unhappy there," I began.
"She was failing everything," he said, and then he repeated "everything" for emphasis. "But not only that. Her old teachers are on record complaining about her behavior."
"I think a lot of that might have had to do with her unfortunate home life, Mr. Youngman," I said. "Perhaps my husband and I should stop by to see you. There are some special circumstances."
"Well, yes, I suppose, considering all this, that might be helpful," he said. "I'm sorry to pull you away."
"No, I'm sure Jimmy would want us to come. What time later today would be convenient for you?" I asked, and I made an appointment with him for Jimmy and myself.
When I told Jimmy, he was in complete agreement.
"We'll have to tell him all of it," he said. "Anyway, her teachers should be aware. It will help them be more understanding and tolerant."
Later, when we had our meeting with Mr. Youngman and he had heard all of it, he shook his head glumly and said he was very happy we had confided in him.
"It would explain most of this," he agreed. "I'm sure her rebellious behavior in school was her way of reaching out for help. Why, just her decision to give up the name Kelly Ann and take back her real name is testimony to how much she wants to forget. Poor little thing. Rest assured, I will handle this discreetly for you, Mr. and Mrs. Longchamp. We will do our very best to turn things around."
"Please don't hesitate to phone us should there be any problems," I told him.
"See?" Jimmy said after we left. "That's an intelligent, compassionate and understanding man. It's the way we have to be."
I nodded, but I couldn't help worrying that the problems might be a great deal bigger than Jimmy anticipated. And then, as if I were a gypsy and saw the future, something happened to fan the flames of my anxiety and concern.
Two days later Mrs. Bradly came to see me. She was very flustered and actually had tears running down her cheeks. I rose immediately from my chair and went to her.
"What is it, Mrs. Bradly? Something to do with your family?" I asked quickly. She shook her head. I helped her to the leather settee and poured her a glass of water.
"Thank you," she said, gulping it down. Then she sat back, took a deep breath and revealed the source of her misery. "We're missing nearly three hundred dollars from the petty cash fund," she said. "It's the first time this has ever happened since I've been working here, and you know, Dawn, that's a considerable number of years."
