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Jefferson glared back at her and then turned toward Richard.
"I sit there," Jefferson said.
"Oh, where we all sit isn't that important," Aunt Bet quickly replied, keeping her smile. "As long as we sit properly and eat our meals politely. We should always remember," she instructed before we had even taken any seats, "that there are other people eating at the table and they might be upset if we don't follow the proper etiquette."
I looked at Uncle Philip. Although he had a small, tight smile on his face, his eyes looked glazed. He looked like a man who was still in a daze. He said nothing; he just waited, his hands tented and under his chin, his elbows on the table. Richard sat back, a self-satisfied smile on his face. Melanie looked bored and annoyed.
"We can't begin until you take your seats, children," Aunt Bet said.
"Maybe Christie should sit here, beside me," Uncle Philip said, indicating where Richard was sitting. "After all, she is the oldest child."
"I'll sit with my brother," I replied quickly. I moved Jefferson and myself to the table, placing myself beside Melanie. I nodded to the seat across from me and Jefferson took it reluctantly.
"Now, then, we're all together," Aunt Bet declared. "Mrs. Boston, you can begin," she commanded.
"Yes, ma'am," Mrs. Boston said from the kitchen and brought out the pitcher of juice. Usually she placed it at the center of the table and we just served ourselves. Mrs. Boston helped Mommy with the preparation of food and looked after the house, but we never made her into a waitress, too. Neither Aunt Bet nor Uncle Philip lifted the pitcher to pour the juice, however. They sat back and waited for Mrs. Boston to do so. She winked at me and began pouring juice into everyone's glass.
"Now then," Aunt Bet began, her hands clasped on the table before her, "it will be in everyone's interest to set ground rules right away, don't you think?" Her smile became colder, sharper. "Philip will be busy with the reconstruction of the hotel," she began, "which means I will have to bear most of the responsibility for looking after you children this summer. I want everyone to get along, of course. Our lives have been dramatically disrupted and changed. Everyone . . . everyone," she repeated, fixing her eyes on me, "has to make some compromises, but I don't see why," she added, bursting into a brighter smile, "we all can't become one happy family."
She turned to Uncle Philip, who, I thought, was watching intensely for my reactions.
"Philip always wanted us to have a larger family. Now, he's got one. But," she said, sighing, "all this responsibility has fallen on his shoulders like an avalanche. Richard and Melanie understand how important it is to be cooperative." At the mention of their names, the twins widened their eyes simultaneously and turned toward us. "We've got to want to help each other," she concluded.
Mrs. Boston began bringing out the eggs and serving. Richard put his spoon into his soft-boiled egg and smirked.
"It's too hard," he complained immediately.
"I didn't cook it more than a minute," Mrs. Boston said.
"Let me see that," Aunt Bet demanded and Richard handed his dish to her. She poked the ell with her spoon and shook her head. "Maybe the fire was too hot or something, but this is a bit too hard for Richard?'
Mrs. Boston became upset.
"I think I've made enough eggs in my time to know if the fire's too hot or not," she said.
"It must have been this time," Aunt Bet insisted. "Or maybe you just misread the clock."
"I thought we were all going to make some compromises," I said quickly. "A few seconds more or less boiling an egg doesn't seem like much of one to me."
Aunt Bet's eyes turned to glass for a moment but just when I thought they would shatter and spray me with the slivers, she smiled.
"Christie's perfectly right, Richard. This isn't so bad and after a while, I'm sure Mrs. Boston will get better at preparing eggs the way you like them," she said, handing the dish back to her son, who grimaced.
"I'll eat as much as I can," he offered.
"That's very nice of you, Richard," she said. I nearly laughed at the way Mrs. Boston raised her eyebrows and shifted her eyes in my direction. She finished serving the eggs. Jefferson just poked at his. He'd only sipped once at his juice.
"Jefferson," Aunt Bet said. "You're going to eat, aren't you? We don't want to waste any
food."
Reluctantly, Jefferson put a forkful in his mouth.
"Christie, dear. Wasn't Jefferson ever taught to place his napkin on his lap?" Aunt Bet asked.
"Yes," I said. "But I don't think he's worrying about that right now."
"Neatness and cleanliness are the twin sisters of a healthy, happy life," Aunt Bet recited. "We always have to worry about those things.
