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"But let's not talk about it anymore," she suggested and smiled. "You're here now; you've been returned. The horror is behind us."

"The monument is still there," I said, remembering what Sissy had told me.

"Oh, dear, how morbid you can be."

"Why did they steal me, Mother?"

"No one has told you that?" She looked at me slyly, her head tilted. "Grandmother Cutler didn't tell you?"

"No," I said. My heart paused. "I was afraid to ask her anything like that."

Mother nodded understandingly.

"Sally Longchamp had just given birth to a stillborn

baby. They simply substituted you for the dead baby.

"That's another reason why Grandmother Cutler wants your name changed so much, I guess."

"What is?" I asked, my voice so weak it was barely audible.

"Not many people remember anymore. Randolph never knew. I just happened to know because . . . I just happened to know. And of course your grandmother knew. There wasn't much she didn't know if it happened anywhere near or on the hotel grounds," she added acridly.

"What?" I repeated.

"The dead Longchamp baby was a girl, too. And they were going to name it Dawn."

I could see there wasn't much point to my continuing to plead for my mother to intercede between me and my grandmother. Mother's attitude was to do what Grandmother Cutler wanted because in the long run that was the easiest route to take. She told me that somehow Grandmother Cutler always managed to get her way anyway. It was futile to fight.

Of course, I didn't agree. The things she had told me about Momma and Daddy and my kidnapping left me stunned. No matter how terrible it must have been for Momma to give birth to a stillborn, it was still horrible of them to steal me from my real parents. What they had done was selfish and cruel, and when my mother described my father crying in the doorway, my heart ached for him.

I returned to my little room and plopped down on the bed to stare up at the ceiling. It had begun to rain, another summer storm rushing in from the ocean. The staccato beats on the building and windows were military drums to take me into dreams, into night-mares, to exactly where I didn't want to go. I envisioned Momma and Daddy sneaking up the stairs at night when everyone was asleep. Although I had not met her, I imagined Nurse Dalton dead asleep in the nursery suite, perhaps her back to the door. I pictured Daddy tiptoeing into the suite and scooping me up in his arms. Perhaps I had just started to cry when he handed me to Momma, who pressed me dearly to her bosom and kissed my cheeks, giving me the sense of comfort and security again.

Then, with me wrapped firmly in my blanket, they stole down the stairs and through the corridor outside my room to the rear door. Once out in the night they easily made their way to their awaiting vehicle, with infant Jimmy asleep in the backseat, unaware that he was soon to have a new sister.

In moments they were all in the car and off into the night.

I pressed my eyelids tightly shut when I then imagined Nurse Dalton finding the crib empty. I saw my parents come rushing out of their room, my grandmother charging out of hers. Philip was awakened by the shouting and sat up terrified. Surely, he had to be comforted, too.

The hotel was in an uproar. My grandmother was shouting orders at everyone. Lights were snapped on, the police were called, staff members were ordered out and about the grounds. Moments after the little beach town of Cutler's Cove came to life, all the inhabitants discovered what had happened. Sirens were sounded. Police cars were everywhere. But it was too late. Momma and Daddy were some distance away by then, and I, just a few days old, didn't know the difference.

My heart felt as if it would split in two. The ache traveled up and down my spine. Maybe I should give up, I thought. My name was a lie; it belonged to another little girl, one who had never had the chance to open her eyes and see the dawn, one who had been taken from one darkness to another. My body shook with my sobs.

"You don't have to lie there crying," Clara Sue said. "Just do what Grandmother tells you to do."

I spun around. She had come sneaking into my room, not knocking, but opening the door as softly as a spy. She stood there with a terribly satisfied grin of self-satisfaction on her face and leaned against the doorjamb. Obviously intending to tease and torment me, she nibbled on a chocolate-covered pastry.

"I want you to knock before you come into my room," I snapped and ground the tears out of my eyes quickly. I wiped my cheeks with the back of my hands as I sat up.

"I did knock," she lied, "but you were crying so loud, you couldn't hear me. You don't have to go hungry," she lectured and took another bite of her pastry, closing her eyes to telegraph how delicious it was.

"That stuff will make you even fatter," I said in a sudden burst of nastiness. Her eyes popped open. "I'm not fat," she insisted. I only shrugged. "Pretend what you want, if it makes you happy," I said casually. My tone infuriated her more.

"I'm not pretending. I have a full figure, a mature woman's figure. Everyone says so."

"They're just being polite. How many people have the nerve to tell someone she's fat, especially the owner's daughter?"

She blinked, finding it hard to refute the logic.