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Richard made labels out of adhesive tape and printed his name boldly on the white strips. Then he pasted them over the drawers that were to be his. Because they had lost so much in the fire, Aunt Bet took the twins shopping and returned with bags and boxes of new clothes, underwear and socks. Richard then made an inventory of his things and neatly folded them in his drawers. When he complained he didn't have enough room, Aunt Bet consolidated Jefferson's clothes even more to provide Richard with an additional set of drawers and more closet space. She then ordered Mrs. Boston to go over and over the carpet, insisting it was so dirty, she wouldn't want Richard to take his socks off and put his naked foot down.
"I do that room every day, Miss Betty," Mrs. Boston protested. "That rug don't have a chance to get that dirty."
"Your idea of what clean is and my idea are obviously miles apart," Aunt Bet declared. "Please, just do it again," she said. She then proceeded to go about the house inspecting shelves, checking the corners of rooms, running her fingers over appliances and under tables, finding dust and dirt everywhere. Melanie followed her around with a pen and pad and took notes. At the end of the inspection, Aunt Bet gave the sheets filled with complaints to Mrs. Boston and asked her to attend to these things immediately.
Not having spent much time in their living quarters at the hotel, I never realized how obsessed with cleanliness Aunt Bet was. The sight of a cobweb would throw her into a tirade and when Melanie brought her hand out from under a sofa and demonstrated dust on her palm, Aunt Bet nearly swooned.
"We're shut up in here so much of our time," she explained to Mrs. Boston, "and we're breathing this filth. Dust and grime is going in and out of our lungs, even when we sleep!"
"Ain't never had any complaints about my work before, Miss Betty," Mrs. Boston said indignantly, "and I worked for the toughest woman this side of the Mississippi, Grandmother Cutler."
"She was just as busy and distracted as my poor dead sister-in-law was," Aunt Bet replied. "I'm the first mistress of Cutler's Cove who's not wrapped up in the business so much she can't see the dust in the air in her own home."
Aunt Bet took personal control of the cleaning and reorganizing of my parents' room. She had some men take out all the furniture and then had the rugs steam-cleaned as if my parents had been full of contamination. Jefferson and I stood off to the side and- watched her supervise the work. All of Mommy and Daddy's things were piled outside the door. The walls of the closets were papered over, the drawers in the dressers relined, the mir
rors and furniture cleaned and polished.
"I'm going to have all this neatly packed and placed in the attic," she told me, indicating Mommy and Daddy's clothes and shoes, "except for anything I can use or anything you need now. Go through it neatly and take what you want," she ordered.
It broke my heart to do it, but there were many of Mommy's things I didn't want to see shut away in the dark, damp corners of the attic. I quickly pulled out the dress she had worn to my Sweet Sixteen party. There were sweaters and skirts and blouses that were dear to me because I could still vividly see Mommy wearing them. When I held them in my hands and brought them to my face, I could smell the scent of her cologne, and for a moment, it was as if she were still there, still beside me, smiling and stroking my hair lovingly.
Aunt Bet seized all Mommy's jewelry quickly, and when I protested about that, she said she would only be holding these things until I was old enough to appreciate them.
"I'll keep exact account of what was hers and what's mine," she promised and flicked me one of her short, slim smiles.
She had the linens and bedding changed and, literally overnight, redid the curtains and blinds. Then she attacked their bathroom, deciding she wanted to change the wallpaper.
"In fact," she declared at dinner one night after all this had started, "we should reconsider all the walls in this house. I was never crazy about the decor."
"You have no right to make all these changes," I retorted. "This house still belongs to my parents and us."
"Of course it does, dear," she said, her thin lips curled up at the corners, "but while you're underage, your uncle Philip and myself are your guardians and have the awesome responsibility of making important decisions, decisions that will affect your lives."
"Changing wallpaper and repainting the house is not going to affect our lives!" I responded.
"Of course it is," she replied with a small, thin laugh. "Your surroundings, where you live, have a major impact on your psychological well-being."
"We like it the way it is!" I cried.
She shook her head.
"You don't know what you like yet, Christie dear. You're far too young to understand these things, and Jefferson . . ."
She looked at him and he swung his eyes up to glare back at her.
"Poor Jefferson is barely able to care for his basic needs. Trust me, my dear. I was brought up surrounded by the best things. My parents hired the most expensive and renowned decorators and I learned what good taste is and what it isn't. Your parents, although they were delightful people, grew up in the most dire poverty. Wealth and position were thrust upon them and they didn't have the breeding to understand what had to be done and how to spend their money."
"That's not true!" I cried. "Mommy was beautiful. Mommy loved pretty things. Everyone complimented her on the things she did at the hotel. She . . ."
"Just as you say, dear, at the hotel, but not at her own home. This was"— she looked around as if we had lived in a hovel—"merely a retreat, a place to which they could run away for a few hours. They did all their real socializing at the hotel. Rarely did they have important guests to dinner here, right?" she sang. She leaned toward me. "That's why Mrs. Boston, as sweet as she is, is not really schooled in serving properly. She didn't have to do it very much, if at all.
"But all that is going to have to change now, especially in light of the fact that the hotel has been destroyed and is being rebuilt. While that's being done, Philip and I will have to have our important guests over here for dinners and parties, and you can't expect us to invite the leaders of the community to this house as it is.
"But please," she concluded, "don't let all this disturb you. Let me worry about it. I have willingly accepted my responsibility and my burdens. All I ask is that you and the rest of the children cooperate. Okay?"
I choked back my tears and looked to Uncle Philip, but as usual, he was quiet and seemingly distracted. How different our meals were from what they had been. Gone was the humor and the music and the laughter. No wonder Richard and Melanie were the way they were, I thought. All of the discussion at their dinner table was initiated by Aunt Bet, and Uncle Philip rarely had anything to say.
"One of the ways you can cooperate," Aunt Bet continued, "is to be sure you take off your shoes whenever you come into the house. Take them off at the door and carry them upstairs, please."
