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"Shh," I warned. His eyes widened. I looked over at Richard who was turned away and asleep and indicated we should not wake him. Then I went to Jefferson's dresser and took out some of his under-wear and socks, scooped up a couple of pairs of his pants and some shirts and threw it all quickly into his smallest suitcase. I brought him something to wear and had him slip quietly into his pants and shirt, shoes and socks. Then I handed him his jacket and indicated he should follow me quietly and quickly.

I had left my own suitcase in the hallway. I picked it up quickly, and moved Jefferson and myself as quietly as I could to the stairway. I looked back once. Confident no one had been woken, I started down the stairs with Jefferson right behind me. We went to the front door.

"Where are we going?" he whispered.

Away," I said. "Far, far away."

I looked back one more time at the house that had been so happy and safe. I closed my eyes and heard Daddy's and Mommy's laughter. I heard the music from my piano and Mommy's beautiful voice. I heard Mrs. Boston calling us to come in for dinner. I heard Daddy coming home from work and crying, "Where's my boy? Where's my birthday boy?"

I saw Jefferson scurrying quickly from the living room to rush into Daddy's arms. He lifted him and kissed him and carried him in to join Mammy and me.

It was a world of smiles and love, of music and laughter. I opened the door and looked out at the darkness that awaited. Then I took Jefferson's hand in mine and stepped forward, closing the door behind me.

The music and the laughter died.

All I heard was the beating of my frightened heart.

We were truly orphans, fugitives fleeing from the great curse. Could we escape its hold or would it trail behind us through each and every shadow that awaited?

10

A REAL FATHER

WE WALKED ALL THE WAY INTO CUTLER'S COVE. JEFFERSON had never been outside this late. The stillness around us, the gleam of the stars on the inky calm ocean and the depth of the pockets of darkness in every corner kept him clinging to my side, his little hand wrapped tightly around mine. The only sounds we heard were the squeaks and creaks of the docks and Mats as the waves lifted and fell, and the click-clack of our own footsteps over the sidewalk and street. It wasn't until the street lights of the seaside village loomed brightly ahead of us that Jefferson relaxed some. His surprise and excitement overtook his fear and fatigue and he began to throw questions at me.

"Where are we going, Christie? Why are we walking so much? Why don't we just ask Julius to drive us?"

"Because I don't want anyone to know we're leaving, Jefferson. I told you?we're running off," I said, my voice low. It just seemed natural to whisper.

"Why?" Jefferson whispered too. "Christie?" He pumped my hand. "Why?"

I spun around on him.

"Do you want to stay and live with Aunt Bet and Uncle Philip, Richard and Melanie for the rest of your life? Do you?"

Frightened by my outburst, he shook his head, his eyes wide.

"Neither do I, so we're running off."

"But where will we go?" he demanded. "Who will we live with?"

I walked on faster, practically dragging him along. Where were we going? It wasn't until this very moment that I actually thought of a destination. We couldn't go to Aunt Trisha. She was on a road trip. Suddenly, I had an idea.

"We're going to New York City," I said finally. "We're going to find my real father and live with him. Nothing can be worse than where we're living now and whom we're living with," I muttered.

I didn't look back to see how Jefferson had reacted to the idea; I just continued along, moving us down the side of the street, clinging to the shadows for protection. I didn't want anyone to see us and report us.

One of the only places open in Cutler's Cove this late at night was the bus depot. It was a small station with a lobby that had just one worn wooden bench, a water fountain and a cigarette machine. Behind the counter was a man who had salt-and-pepper curly hair, the spiraling curls falling over his forehead. He looked at least fifty years old. When we entered, he was reading a paperback novel. For a moment he didn't realize we were there. Then he sat up quickly and gazed at us, his squirrel-like eyes full of curiosity and surprise.

"Well, what are you two doing out so late?" he demanded, his slightly gray eyebrows lifting and turning like two question marks.

"We're here to catch the next bus to New York City," I said, trying to sound older. "My cousin dropped us off at the wrong place and we walked," I added. He scrutinized us suspiciously.

"How much is it to New York City?" I asked firmly. "And when is the next bus?"

"New York City, huh? Well, round trip fare is . . ."

"No, just one way," I said quickly. He looked up sharply. "We have another way to get back," I added.