Page 74

"However," he said, "I've planned a night out for all of us. I'm just waiting on Laura Sue to decide which night. Then your mother and I, and Philip and Clara Sue and you will go to one of the finest seafood restaurants in Virginia. Doesn't that sound nice?"

"Yes, it does," I said.

"Well," he said, laughing softly, "you don't sound very excited about it."

"I can't help it. I know that in time, I'm supposed to get used to my new life, my real family, and forget all that has happened . . ." I looked down.

"Oh, no," he said, "no one expects you will completely forget the past. I understand. It will take time," he said, sitting forward and stroking his ruby pinky ring as he spoke.

"So, what can I do for you?" he asked. His understanding tone of voice encouraged me.

"I can't understand why they did it. I just can't."

"Did it? Oh, you mean the Longchamps. No, of course not," he replied, nodding. "It's hard enough for other adults to understand these things, much less young people."

"And so I wrote a letter," I added quickly and produced the envelope.

"A letter?" His eyes widened and his eyebrows jumped. "To whom?"

"To my daddy . . . I mean, to the man I always thought was my daddy."

"I see." He sat back, thoughtful, his eyes narrowing and taking on some of that metallic tint I saw so often in my grandmother.

"I want him to tell me why he and Momma did this. I've got to know," I said with determination.

"Uh-huh. Well, Dawn." He grinned and lowered his voice to a loud whisper. "Don't tell my mother I keep calling you that," he said, half in jest and half seriously, I thought. His grin faded and his eyes turned severe. "I was hoping you would not try to keep in contact with Ormand Longchamp. It will only make things more difficult for everyone, even for him."

I looked down at the envelope in my hands and nodded. Tears blurred my vision. I rubbed at my eyes as a child would, feeling a child in a crazy adult world. My heart began to feel like a fist made of stone clenched in my chest.

"I just can't start a new life without knowing why they did it," I said. I looked up sharply. "I just can't." He gazed at me quietly for a moment.

"I see," he said, nodding.

"I was hoping you would find out where they sent him and get this letter to him for me."

My suggestion surprised him. He raised his eyebrows and gazed quickly at the door as if he feared someone might be listening at the keyhole. Then he brought his left forefinger and thumb to his pinky ring and began to turn it and turn it as he nodded and thought.

"I don't know," he muttered. "I don't know whether or not that would create complications with the authorities," he said.

"It's very important to me."

"How do you know he will tell you the truth anyway?" he asked quickly. "He lied to you, told you terrible stories. I don't mean to be the one who hardens your heart against him," he added, "but what is true is true."

"I just want to try," I pleaded. "If he doesn't write back or if he doesn't tell me, I'll put it aside forever and ever. I promise."

"I see." Suddenly he picked up his pile of papers and put it down in front of him again, practically blocking me out of his vision. "Well, I don't know," he mumbled. "I don't know. I have all this work . . . Grandmother Cutler wants things running smoothly," he repeated. He started to staple papers. It seemed to me he wasn't even looking at what he was putting together.

"We shouldn't just run of doing things, half-cocked. There are responsibilities, obligations . . . preparation," he chanted.

"I don't know who else to ask, who else could do it for me," I said, my voice full of pleading. "Please!" I cried vehemently.

He stopped and looked at me.

"Well . . . all right," he said, nodding. "I'll see what I can do."

"Thank you," I said, handing him the envelope. He took it and looked at it. I had already sealed it. He put it in his top desk drawer quickly. As soon as it was gone, his face changed. The worried look disappeared and he smiled.

"Well, now," he said, "I've been meaning to talk to you about your wardrobe. Laura Sue and I discussed it last night. There are a number of things Clara Sue doesn't wear anymore that might fit you. Mrs. Boston will bring them down to your room later today, and you can go through them and see what's good and what's not."