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"She told her to leave and Uncle Philip refused to interfere. He says she's the mistress of the house now and the servants have to get along with her," I cried.

"Well . . . he's right about that, I'm afraid. But I can't imagine anyone not getting along with Mrs. Boston. Why, she was one of the few servants Grandmother Cutler respected." He shook his head and then looked up at me. "I'll ask Philip about it, but if there's a personality clash between Mrs. Boston and Betty Ann, there's not much that can be done. Why did you say that your Aunt Bet's horrible to you and Jefferson?"

"She is. She's always yelling at Jefferson for being too messy. She wants us to take our shoes off before we come into the house," I said. The moment the words were out of my mouth, I realized how silly and petty I sounded. I could see Bronson thought so, too.

"Well, you know Jefferson can be a little Huckleberry Finn, Christie," he said, smiling. "I remember that time he crawled into the wood pile out back. I'm sure Betty Ann's just trying to get him to be a little more responsible. And now, with Mrs. Boston gone . . ."

"That's her fault," I moaned.

"Maybe. But it's happened and we'll have to live with it," he said.

"She moved Richard into Jefferson's room and they don't get along," I said, moving quickly to a new complaint so Bronson would see my justification for being so upset. He squeezed his chin between his forefinger and thumb and nodded.

"Young boys should share a room. I'm sure after a while they will get along better. Anyway, what choice did Betty Ann have? She would have had to have Richard and Melanie share a room otherwise, right?"

"Yes," I said and blew air out of my lips with frustration.

"It doesn't sound so terrible, Christie."

"She's moved most of my mother's things into the attic," I moaned, "and Daddy's."

"Well, what could they do? They need space," he said.

"She kept some of my mother's jewelry, but I know each and every piece . . ." Bronson smiled as my words slowly drifted to a stop.

"I doubt that they'll be a problem with jewelry, Christie. Betty Ann comes from a rather wealthy family. She doesn't need to keep someone else's things."

I folded my arms and sat back, my failure to impress him expanding like a balloon about to burst.

"I know this isn't easy for you. On top of losing two wonderful parents, you have to get used to living with another family, and that's difficult even though the family's your uncle and aunt," Bronson said softly. I stared at his kindly face for a moment.

"Bronson, you told me you would tell me everything you knew about my family," I said.

"Whatever I can," he replied, sitting back, his soft smile becoming a serious expression.

"When Mommy went to that fancy public school with Daddy, she met Uncle Philip and they became boyfriend and girlfriend, didn't they?"

"She didn't know Philip was really her half-brother," he said quickly.

"Were they. . . were they in love?" I asked tim-idly.

"Oh," he said smiling again. "They were young, teenagers, just infatuated. It was nothing," he added, shaking his head.

"Uncle Philip doesn't think so," I blurted with-out thinking. I didn't want to tell Bronson about my visit to my parents' graves at night and my overhearing Uncle Philip's conversation with my dead mother. He might think I was spying on my uncle.

Bronson's eyes grew small again and he leaned forward. "What makes you say such a thing?"

"Just the way he talks about her and something Mommy said to me not long before . . . before the fire," I replied.

"What did she say?"

"She said Uncle Philip's never gotten over their young romance and the discovery they were brother and sister," I said. He nodded thoughtfully.

"Well, it had to have been quite a shock. I don't know any more about it than I've been told, Christie, by both your mother and Philip. And of course, what your grandmother knew. As far as I've been told, it was a very short, school crush. They had barely gotten to know each other before the police arrived to take her back to Cutler's Cove. What sort of things does Philip say?" he wondered.

I hesitated and then blurted.

"He always talked about how beautiful she was and how much he loved her."