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Page 11 of Smuggler’s Cove (Twin Lights #1)

Madison rubbed her hands together and went to work.

The next thing she picked was an apricot bow-blouse with a matching pleated skirt.

Then she came upon a photo of Princess Diana wearing a sweatshirt, jeans, boots, and a baseball cap.

“Look, Mommy. You have the same hair!” It was true.

Every woman in their neighborhood donned the style and the color.

Next, she found a cherry-red jacket with shoulder pads, which went to mid-thigh, over a short, tight black skirt.

The outfit included a wide black belt and red patent leather pumps.

But what stopped Madison was a photo of Iman, a stunning Black woman wearing a thigh-length white satin jacket, and a matching long white skirt.

Several strings of pearls finished the outfit.

“Ooh. She is beautiful.” Madison stared at the Somali-born supermodel.

“Yes, she is. It’s been said that she inspired Calvin Klein and Yves Saint Laurent. You have one of his outfits there.” She pointed to a blue peplum jacket over a black pencil skirt.

“So do men make clothes for ladies?” Madison asked.

“Lots of men. I think there are more men than women. In fact, I am almost certain of it.”

“But why?” Madison asked innocently.

Gwen remembered her first chat with Sandra in the ladies’ room a decade before. “It’s a man’s world.” But she was not about to feed that information to her daughter. She wanted Madison to approach life with an “I can do anything” attitude.

“Maybe they can sew better?” Gwen offered. Madison giggled, and the two continued to cut out slacks, dresses, shoes, and accessories.

Gwen continued the conversation. “There are a few very influential female designers, though. Coco Chanel for one. She was a pioneer for women in fashion.” She pointed to one of Madison’s choices. “This is one of her classic suits.”

“You have a bunch of them,” Madison said as a matter of fact.

Gwen chuckled. “I suppose I do.” She could count over a dozen in her head.

Once they finished cutting up the magazines, Gwen helped Madison begin to glue the pieces on the board.

The first one was the photo of Iman, all in white.

Then she began to place a pair of jeans with a peplum jacket.

She then went on to create her own combination of tops, bottoms, shoes, scarves, and dresses.

When they finished, Gwen spotted another talent in her daughter.

She had a good eye for color and style. Gwen checked the time.

Jackson would be home soon. “Why don’t you go practice piano for a little bit while I clean up here?

” Gwen didn’t want Jackson to think they had been dawdling and wasting time while Madison could be honing her skills on the subjects he was most concerned about.

Madison was long past “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star” and “The Itsy Bitsy Spider.” She was determined to master “Für Elise” before she left for school.

Maybe then her father would be proud of her.

But more importantly, she could be proud of herself.

* * *

A month before the school term began, Gwen and Madison took a quick trip to Tarrytown. It took about an hour along the scenic route of the Henry Hudson Parkway. Gwen explained that Madison would come home on the weekends, which eased some of Madison’s angst. Gwen’s, as well.

The car turned into the long, beautifully landscaped driveway of the three-hundred-acre campus.

Madison smushed her face against the window.

“It looks like a castle!” Gwen could tell Madison’s mood was a little more promising than it had been most of the summer.

Ever since her father’s announcement, Madison had become pensive.

Reticent. The unknown filled her with fear, but she dared not complain or pout.

When they arrived at the school, the headmaster, Nelson Bridwell, took them on a tour of the sprawling compound.

They were shown the lower-grade classrooms, the physical education center, art classrooms, and the performing arts center.

Madison was in awe. “I can play the piano, but will I be able to take art?” she asked, looking up at Mr. Bridwell.

He leaned over and said, “Yes, of course. And there is an art show at the end of the year. It’s all part of the curriculum.”

Madison nodded and repeated the word curriculum .

“Do you know what that means?” Mr. Bridwell asked kindly.

Madison was not sure how to answer. If she said she didn’t, would they not allow her into the school? She decided honesty was the best avenue. “No, sir. I do not.”

He smiled. “It’s a combination of all the classes you will be taking. Math, science, art, music, and physical education.”

“All at once?” Her eyes grew wide.

“Not exactly,” he explained. “You’ll have a few different classes every day with different teachers.”

Madison bit her lower lip. “I only had one teacher every day.”

“Yes, and now you’ll have a bunch,” Gwen chimed in. She placed her hands on Madison’s shoulders. “Won’t that be fun?”

Again, Madison wasn’t sure how to answer. Instead, she simply nodded, not necessarily in agreement, but in understanding.

“You’ll also have a ‘Buddy’,” Mr. Bridwell explained. “Someone from the fourth grade will be your friend. A partner. This way, if you need any help with anything, they’ll be someone you can talk to besides a grown-up, because we know sometimes grown-ups don’t understand.”

Madison became increasingly more interested in this new way of life. “Where will we live?”

“Come. I’ll show you.”

The three meandered through the garden-lined walkways and past the tennis courts. “I was learning this summer,” Madison said, looking at the court, “but my father told me I need to do better.” She grimaced.

“Well, that’s something we can work on.” He gave Mrs. Taylor a quizzical glance.

“You have a lot of activities, Madison. We’ll introduce you to the tennis coach and the music teachers.

They will be able to suggest the appropriate lessons for you.

How does that sound?” He chuckled. “We don’t want to wear you out. ”

Madison slipped her hand through her mother’s. “Sounds okay to me.” She wanted to skip but thought better of it. Her mother was right. This was going to be an adventure.

They continued to the building where Madison would live during the week. “This is the residence building,” he explained as he pressed the bell. A disembodied voice responded through a speaker. “Good morning. How can I assist you?”

“Good morning, Gladys. Mr. Bridwell, here.” A buzzer sounded, and the door unlocked. He turned to Gwen and Madison. “I have my own key, but I wanted you to experience our level of security for anyone who intends to enter the building.”

Bridwell noticed a look of relief and concern on Gwen’s face.

“We are quite resolute when it comes to safety, and I am pleased and proud to report that we have never had an incident.” He held the door open for them.

“That’s very reassuring,” Gwen replied. Leaving your six, soon-to-be-seven-year-old child in the custody of strangers is fraught with anxiety.

At least it was for her. Jackson was only concerned about the prestige the school produced.

Had he considered safety? she wondered. Each time she tried to approach the entire school subject with her husband, he shut her down.

His modus operandi was to simply walk out of the room.

Just like the time when she wanted to discuss parenthood: case closed.

Her next concern was how Madison would adjust to this new life.

Her home was posh. Comfortable. Easy. There would be many challenges now.

Then she wondered how well she would do with the new living situation.

It was going to be a big adjustment for all of them.

Except Jackson. He was barely there. She also wondered what it was going to be like when Lincoln left home.

She squashed a shudder and smiled at the woman who stood behind a desk.

“Gladys, this is Mrs. Taylor and her daughter, Madison.”

“Hello, Madison.” Gladys acknowledged the little girl first. “I’m Gladys.”

“Nice to meet you, Gladys.” Madison held out her hand the way her mother taught her.

Gladys then turned to Gwen. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Taylor.” Gladys was the stereotypical housemother: mid-fifties, maybe sixties. It was hard to tell with her short, gray, curly locks, her reading glasses on a chain, rosy cheeks, and sensible shoes.

Gwen felt comfortable immediately. “Likewise.” They shook hands.

“I hear you are going to be joining us next month.” Gladys beamed. “They’ll be thirty-five of you staying here during the week. And there are lots of fun things to do besides schoolwork.” Gladys winked at Madison, who broke out in a big smile.

“I am going to give them a tour. See you in a few minutes.” Mr. Bridwell motioned for the Taylors to walk through the small, well-lit lobby.

Two modern sofas joined a corner table that contained several art books.

A staircase and elevator were to the right.

Mr. Bridwell pushed the UP button. “The living quarters are on the second floor. Most of the children are encouraged to take the stairs. We try to promote conscious physical activity. But we’ll make an exception today.

Just for fun.” Bridwell was the consummate ambassador.

“We have stairs in our house,” Madison said. “But we do not have an elevator. Well, there is one in the building, but not in our apartment.”

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