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"Of course, they will, Gavin. What's here for them? You know how Fern's used to a lot of excitement. Why, she always complained about being bored at the hotel with all the activity in full swing."
In trying, to convince him, I was helping to convince myself. But it was as if the horrid fates that haunted me had heard my protests of hope and were determined to stifle even the smallest notes of optimism. Aunt Fern and Morton came bursting out of the house, laughing as they pounded over the porch floor and down the steps to their car.
"Could they be leaving?" Gavin muttered.
He and I stepped to the side to watch them back up and then come down the driveway. They stopped alongside us and Aunt Fern rolled down her window.
"Where the hell are you two going . . . back to your love nest at the lake?" she asked and laughed.
"We're just taking a little walk, Aunt Fern," I replied sharply.
"Sure, sure. Anyway, we're going into town to buy some things. Morton wants steak for supper and we want some decent things for our other meals. Also, I don't like the soaps and shampoo you have here."
"Don't forget the fresh whiskey," Morton quipped and they both laughed.
"Yeah, there's no gin and we both like gin. You better go back and clean up the kitchen," she added. "We've got to keep our little hideaway clean. Which reminds me, I want to get some other rooms in shape, make them liveable. We'll do a tour later and I'll show you what I want done."
She rolled up her window and Morton drove on. My heart contracted and my throat closed.
"So much for your belief that they will leave today," Gavin said. "I swear, if she does any more mean things to you, I'll grab her by the scruff of her neck and boot her out the door."
"Let's just humor them a little longer, Gavin. They'll grow bored soon," I promised. "Please," I pleaded. "I don't want to make any more trouble for anyone else."
His eyes grew small.
"All right," he said, "but I don't want to see you walking away from this house ever again without me. Promise? Promise me you won't do anything stupid, Christie," he insisted.
I lowered my eyes and nodded, but he wasn't satisfied. He reached out and lifted my chin so I would have to look into his eyes.
"Christie?"
"All right, Gavin," I said. "I promise." "Good," he said, satisfied.
"I'll go in and clean up the kitchen. No reason why Charlotte has to have extra work," I told him and started back for the house.
Aunt Fern and Morton returned with bags filled with the things they liked to eat. They had two quart bottles of gin and a dozen small bottles of tonic water. Almost immediately, Morton made them drinks. I was ordered to unpack the bags and organize the dinner. While I did so, Aunt Fern made her promised tour of the plantation house. A short while later, I heard her shouting for me. Charlotte had returned to prepa
re lunch for Luther and the others.
"Oh dear, why is she screaming so loud? What does she want?" Charlotte wondered behind me. We found her standing at the top of the stairway, her drink in one hand and the doll from the crib in the old nursery in her other. Charlotte froze.
"Be careful, please," she cried up to Aunt Fern.
"Be careful? Be careful of what? What is this? Why is there a doll in a crib?" she demanded.
"Please put it back, Aunt Fern," I said, starting up the stairway toward her. "It's Charlotte's."
"She still plays with dolls?" she asked incredulously.
"No, but it has important memories for her and . . ."
"This is ridiculous. What a ridiculous place," Aunt Fern declared.
"Please," Charlotte said. "Put him back. We don't take him out of the nursery."
"Oh we don't?" Aunt Fern teased. "What do you think will happen? Will he cry?" She held up the doll by its feet and bounced it up and down over the railing, threatening to drop it.
"Stop!" Charlotte cried and started up the stairs behind me.
