never as nice to the staff as Mommy was and frequently spoke harshly to the servants. Mommy said it was because of the way Aunt Bet had been brought up. Her parents were so rich, she had always lived like royalty.
"Yes ma'am," Mrs. Boston replied.
"I don't want anything," I said defiantly.
"Now come on, Christie. You heard what the doctor said. You're going to need your strength," Aunt Bet advised. Reluctantly, I nodded. They were right; I couldn't bury myself in make-believe and refuse to face the truth. Jefferson needed me to be strong. But I felt like a small lost child myself, scared of tomorrow. How could I be strong enough for someone else when inside I was shaking so hard I could barely breathe?
"Do Granddaddy Longchamp and Gavin know what's happened yet?" I asked. "And Aunt Fern?"
Aunt Bet nodded. "I have Mr. Dorfman calling everyone who should be informed," she said.
"And Bronson and Grandmother Laura?"
"Yes. Bronson is beside himself. Thankfully, I think, your grandmother is too confused to understand."
"I'd better go see Jefferson," I said, sitting up again, this time more slowly. My body ached as if I had been running for hours and hours.
"He's still sleeping, Christie," Aunt Bet said. "I promise I'll let you know as soon as he awakens. Just lie here and rest," she ordered. "I'm going to see about Richard and Melanie. My poor dears: they are so upset." She sighed deeply, patted me on the hand and got up. "Rest," she said and shook her head. Her eyes shone with unshed tears. Then she turned and left me.
I closed my eyes and fought the urge to sob and sob and sob until my throat ached badly. A short time later, I heard someone enter my room and opened my eyes to see Uncle Philip carrying a tray with my cup of tea and toast on it. Although his face was ashen with grief and mourning, he had brushed his hair, straightened his clothing, buttoned his shirt and retied his tie, the knot as perfect as ever. He set the tray down on my night table and smiled. His eyes were no longer glazed with confusion.
"How's my poor princess doing?" he asked.
"I can't believe my parents are gone, Uncle Philip. I won't believe it," I said, shaking my head.
He fixed his eyes on me and I watched them grow small and dark. His lips trembled and then he turned back to the tray. "You need something hot in your stomach."
"Where's Mrs. Boston?" I asked.
"She's busy trying to settle everyone down and get some meals together, so I offered to bring your tray up to you," he said. "Try to sit up and drink some of this and maybe eat a bite or two."
"I want to do what the doctor says, but I don't think I can swallow anything right now, Uncle Philip."
"I know," he said, nodding sympathetically, "but you have to keep up your strength."
I sat up and he brought the tray to my lap and sat down on the bed.
"Oh Christie, Christie," he moaned and took my hand into his. "A terrible, terrible thing has happened," he began. His fingers moved over mine as he spoke. "And we are all suffering because of it, but I promised myself, I promised your mother I would take care of you."
"You promised? When?"
"When she ran back inside," he replied. "She cried out to me and said, 'If anything happens to me, take care of my Christie.' "
"Mommy said that?" He nodded. "What about Jefferson?"
"Oh, Jefferson too, of course. Anyway, I will. From now on," he said, the blue in his eyes softening, "you will be no different from my own. I will love and cherish you no less," he added, holding my hand tightly.
"We're going to be all right," he continued, his fingers traveling up my forearm and then down as if he were searching for an invisible line. "We're still a family and we'll rebuild the hotel quickly."
He looked up, his eyes small and determined. "We've got insurance and we'll put it right to work. Oh, we won't be able to open the hotel this summer, but well restore it to just the way it was before this horrible thing happened. Of course, we'll modernize so
"Yes ma'am," Mrs. Boston replied.
"I don't want anything," I said defiantly.
"Now come on, Christie. You heard what the doctor said. You're going to need your strength," Aunt Bet advised. Reluctantly, I nodded. They were right; I couldn't bury myself in make-believe and refuse to face the truth. Jefferson needed me to be strong. But I felt like a small lost child myself, scared of tomorrow. How could I be strong enough for someone else when inside I was shaking so hard I could barely breathe?
"Do Granddaddy Longchamp and Gavin know what's happened yet?" I asked. "And Aunt Fern?"
Aunt Bet nodded. "I have Mr. Dorfman calling everyone who should be informed," she said.
"And Bronson and Grandmother Laura?"
"Yes. Bronson is beside himself. Thankfully, I think, your grandmother is too confused to understand."
"I'd better go see Jefferson," I said, sitting up again, this time more slowly. My body ached as if I had been running for hours and hours.
"He's still sleeping, Christie," Aunt Bet said. "I promise I'll let you know as soon as he awakens. Just lie here and rest," she ordered. "I'm going to see about Richard and Melanie. My poor dears: they are so upset." She sighed deeply, patted me on the hand and got up. "Rest," she said and shook her head. Her eyes shone with unshed tears. Then she turned and left me.
I closed my eyes and fought the urge to sob and sob and sob until my throat ached badly. A short time later, I heard someone enter my room and opened my eyes to see Uncle Philip carrying a tray with my cup of tea and toast on it. Although his face was ashen with grief and mourning, he had brushed his hair, straightened his clothing, buttoned his shirt and retied his tie, the knot as perfect as ever. He set the tray down on my night table and smiled. His eyes were no longer glazed with confusion.
"How's my poor princess doing?" he asked.
"I can't believe my parents are gone, Uncle Philip. I won't believe it," I said, shaking my head.
He fixed his eyes on me and I watched them grow small and dark. His lips trembled and then he turned back to the tray. "You need something hot in your stomach."
"Where's Mrs. Boston?" I asked.
"She's busy trying to settle everyone down and get some meals together, so I offered to bring your tray up to you," he said. "Try to sit up and drink some of this and maybe eat a bite or two."
"I want to do what the doctor says, but I don't think I can swallow anything right now, Uncle Philip."
"I know," he said, nodding sympathetically, "but you have to keep up your strength."
I sat up and he brought the tray to my lap and sat down on the bed.
"Oh Christie, Christie," he moaned and took my hand into his. "A terrible, terrible thing has happened," he began. His fingers moved over mine as he spoke. "And we are all suffering because of it, but I promised myself, I promised your mother I would take care of you."
"You promised? When?"
"When she ran back inside," he replied. "She cried out to me and said, 'If anything happens to me, take care of my Christie.' "
"Mommy said that?" He nodded. "What about Jefferson?"
"Oh, Jefferson too, of course. Anyway, I will. From now on," he said, the blue in his eyes softening, "you will be no different from my own. I will love and cherish you no less," he added, holding my hand tightly.
"We're going to be all right," he continued, his fingers traveling up my forearm and then down as if he were searching for an invisible line. "We're still a family and we'll rebuild the hotel quickly."
He looked up, his eyes small and determined. "We've got insurance and we'll put it right to work. Oh, we won't be able to open the hotel this summer, but well restore it to just the way it was before this horrible thing happened. Of course, we'll modernize so
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