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"It's disgusting and disgraceful, and Grandmother would never have permitted it. It hurts the hotel's reputation," she insisted.
I turned on her, my hands clenched into fists, and walked toward her slowly, my eyes fixed on her so firmly that the hateful smile evaporated quickly from her face and was instantly replaced by a look of fear. With every step I took forward, she took one backward.
"I'm going to say this once and only once, so make sure you listen. Don't you ever, ever say anything to make Christie seem like something evil! If there is anything that is disgusting and disgraceful in this hotel, it's you. Keep away from Christie. I don't want you anywhere near her!" I cried. "And if I hear about you spreading any nasty stories, I'll beat those extra pounds out of your face and body myself," I added, raising a fist. Clara Sue shot me one last dark look before she fled.
In the days that followed, little of this changed. I really began to feel like an orphan. I already knew that Randolph, who had always been distracted by his busywork, had become very melancholy after Grandmother Cutler's death. Once a man with one of the most charming smiles and the most suave, sophisticated Southern demeanor, Randolph moped about the hotel and grounds speaking to people only when it was necessary. His eyes became shadowed, and when he spoke, it was barely above a whisper.
I had met very few men who were as concerned and as fastidious about their appearance as Randolph had been, but now he was taking even less care of his clothing, wearing wrinkled shirts and pants, creased and stained ties and scuffed sho
es. I knew Mother had to have noticed all this herself, but she chose to ignore it. I was positive that if anyone did bring it up to her, she would complain about the stress, press her palm against her forehead and declare the entire subject one of those "unmentionables."
With Clara Sue off in a sulk most of the time, and Philip brooding because I wouldn't spend any of my free time with him, the atmosphere in the hotel became a heavy, dreary one that the guests soon felt and began to complain about. All of them missed Grandmother Cutler, who, say what I would about her, had created a charming and elegant atmosphere for her clientele. Now everyone was anxious for the summer and the high season to come to an end.
A little more than a week after we had returned with Christie, Jimmy had to go. His leave was finished, and he had to report for duty. He had been at my side during so much of the turmoil and agony I had experienced over the past weeks that I couldn't help being frightened and depressed about his departure. Once again I felt like someone being deserted. Our parting was very sad for both of us. We said our final good-byes in the privacy of his car in front of the hotel.
It was a gray day, overcast with clouds that looked so heavy, I thought they were made out of iron. They loomed over the ocean, which had turned a dull gray itself and looked like a field of cement. Across the grounds, leaves blown by a severe wind rained down and were then scattered everywhere. They seemed to hop madly over the lawns and driveway.
"Don't look so sad," Jimmy cajoled. "I'll call you every chance I get, and I'll be back as soon as I get my next leave."
"I can't help the way I feel, Jimmy. This is a big hotel with many people in it, but no one's there for me," I said. I couldn't keep the tears from burning under my lids. Jimmy's dark eyes gleamed.
"I just knew you were going to be this way when I left. I just knew it. And so," he said, stretching, "I had to move up my plans."
"Move up your plans?" I smiled through my emerging tears. "I don't understand." Like a Cheshire cat he sat there grinning at me. "Are you going to explain?"
"Uh-huh," Jimmy said, and he dug into his uniform jacket and came up with something in his closed fist. I waited as he brought his hand to me and then opened his fist. Glittering there in his palm was the prettiest diamond engagement ring I had ever seen, and big, too! My breath caught and held and for a moment. I couldn't speak.
"Jimmy, when did you get this? How did you get something so expensive?" I finally cried, practically bouncing on the seat. He laughed and slipped it on my finger.
"I got it in Europe," he confessed, "when I took a short hop over to Amsterdam. That's where the real bargains in diamonds are, you know," he added, proud of the worldly knowledge he had acquired during his travels. "Of course, my buddies made fun of me saving every nickel and dime I could, but"—he took my hand into his and gazed into my eyes—"it was worth it just to see the look on your face and to be able to wipe some sadness out of your eyes."
I shook my head. My heart beat with such excitement, it took my breath away. In fact, I felt a little dizzy, and for a moment the car seemed to spin.
"You all right?" Jimmy asked when I gasped.
"Yes. I suppose I'm just . . . so surprised. Oh, Jimmy," I said, and I threw my arms around him. Then we kissed as we had never kissed before, both of us clinging lovingly to each other. I held on to him as long as I could, and then we pulled away from each other, and he wiped the tears from my cheeks gently with his handkerchief.
"Just think," he said, his dark eyes twinkling with that impish brightness I had learned to love, "someday soon I'll be making you Dawn Longchamp again."
"That's right. Oh, Jimmy, isn't that funny? I can't wait." We kissed again, and then he said he really had to be going.
"They don't take kindly to us being late. It's not like getting assigned detention at Emerson Peabody," he said with a smile. "Well, take care of yourself and little Christie," he said.
I hated getting out of the car, but I had to let him go. He rolled down his window, and we kissed good-bye one last time. Then he started the engine and drove off. I waved until his car disappeared around the bend in the driveway.
The cold winds of autumn lifted my hair and made it dance over my forehead. I embraced myself and turned to go back into the hotel, the sight of the diamond engagement ring on my finger filling me with warmth and hope.
The combination of the excitement and the sadness in saying good-bye to Jimmy left me very tired and eager to go upstairs and take a nap alongside Christie. I walked up the stairs slowly, not thinking of anything at all, my eyes half closed. When I entered the room I went directly to Christie's crib. I wanted to place her beside me on the bed and sleep with her cradled in my arms. But when I leaned over to get her, I found she wasn't there.
For a moment it didn't register in my mind. It was as if my eyes were playing practical jokes on me. I actually smiled in disbelief, closed my eyes and opened them. That didn't help. Christie was gone!
Mrs. Boston must have taken her somewhere, I thought. My heart began to pound. No, it did more than pound; it thumped sharply, as if it were trying to break out of my chest. I lost my breath, and for a few seconds I stood there gasping. Then I caught hold of myself, forced myself to stay calm and left the room to go down to find Mrs. Boston. I didn't find her in her room. I finally found her in the kitchen talking to Nussbaum, the chef. They both turned as I came walking briskly toward them. I was sure my face was terribly flushed. I felt as if my skin were on fire. I could barely speak.
"What is it, Dawn?" Mrs. Boston asked, seeing the wild look in my eyes. She didn't have Christie in her arms and wouldn't have brought her in here anyway.
"Christie . . ." I had to swallow before I could continue. "Christie's missing," I said, and my tears burst forth, charging out of my eyes like water crashing through a weakened dam.
"Vot are you sayin'?" Nussbaum asked.
