Family Storms (12 page)

Mrs. March looked satisfied. She leaned toward me as Mrs. Duval returned to the kitchen. “That means ‘very pretty' in Spanish,” she whispered. “Do you know any Spanish?”

“Not really,” I said. “I mean, I know some words.”

“Alena spoke fluent Spanish, because Mrs. Duval had been her nanny since birth. I'm sure you'll learn quite a bit just being around her. It's the best way to learn a language, better than in a classroom. That's what Donald says.”

“I know some Chinese words because of my mother,” I told her.

She didn't look that excited about it. “That's nice. Educating yourself as much as possible is important. I bet you are a good reader, too, right?”

Mrs. Duval brought in our salads and set them down without looking at me or speaking.

“I haven't read that much for a while,” I said

“Of course. I understand. But you're going to see that Alena had a wonderful library in her sitting room. Unless you've already explored those shelves.”

“No, I haven't yet.”

“Getting Kiera to read anything is like trying to feed her cod-liver oil. She has barely passing grades. Donald's at his wit's end with that, and it isn't because we haven't paid for tutors. She never liked any, but I'm sure you're going to like Mrs. Kepler. Doesn't this salad look good? You like figs in your salad? We all like that. Alena loved it.”

“I never had it before,” I said, but I nodded. It did taste good.

That pleased her, and she became even more talkative, telling me about her own youth, her high school years, and her years at a private college she called “more of a charm school than a real educational institution. But I wasn't meant to have any sort of career,” she added. “I was born to be who I am.” She laughed. “That's what Donald says.”

Everything was what Donald said, I thought. I couldn't help but wonder what he was really like and what he would think of me.

“Is he coming home tomorrow?” I asked.

“No. He'll be away the rest of the week, but that's all
right. We'll have plenty of company, with your tutor coming tomorrow, your doctor checkup, lots to do. No worries,” she said. I was waiting for her to add, “as Donald would say,” but she didn't.

The Irish stew was delicious. I had eaten so much for lunch that I couldn't eat as much of it as I would have liked, especially with Mrs. March continually warning me to leave room for our special dessert. After the dishes were cleared off the table, I sat in anticipation. Moments later, Mrs. Duval returned, carrying a tray with something on fire. Mrs. Caro was right behind her, smiling. It remained in a flame until Mrs. Duval lowered it to the table.

“It looks beautiful,” Mrs. March said.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Banana flambé,” she said.

Mrs. Duval served us each a dish, and Mrs. Caro added scoops of vanilla ice cream. I couldn't remember anything so delicious.

“Wait until Kiera finds out we had this. She'll be sorry she wasn't here,” Mrs. March said, and then clapped her mouth shut and lowered her eyes.

“It's wonderful,” I said. It brightened her face.

“I'm so glad you enjoyed your first dinner here, dear. I hope there will be many, many more, and all happy and delicious.”

After dinner, she gave me a more detailed tour of the rooms we had passed on our way to dinner. There was so much to see. I simply couldn't take it all in, and I was very tired by then. This did seem to be one of those days that Mama called longer than twenty-four hours. Mrs. March
realized I was getting very tired and brought me quickly to the elevator. In fact, she fell into a kind of frenzy as she rushed to get me up and into bed.

“I know I shouldn't get you this tired,” she said as we went up in the elevator. “I just forget. I'm sorry.”

“It's all right. I'm fine,” I told her, but she had the look on her face that people have when they realize they've done something terrible.

She hurried me down the corridor to my bedroom. “I'll help you get ready for bed,” she said. “I know you're exhausted.”

“It's all right,” I insisted, but she was at me, getting me out of the sailor outfit. Then, after I had on the nightgown she had laid out earlier, she pushed me to the bathroom.

“There's a brand-new electric toothbrush here for you, and different kinds of toothpaste. Alena hated the peppermint-flavored ones. She said they burned her tongue. This one is sort of plain. She liked it the best,” she told me. “You should have had a sponge bath. I'll send Mrs. Duval in first thing to help you have one in the morning.”

“I can bathe myself,” I said sharply.

“It's no disgrace to have help when you need it.”

“I don't need it,” I insisted.

“Okay. She'll be available if you do. Remember, if you need anything, you simply pick up the phone, okay?”

“Yes.”

She stood watching me brush my teeth for a few moments. “Let me help you get into bed, at least,” she said when I finished.

I didn't say no. I thought I might need her to do that.
Despite someone's having come in to turn down the sheets while we were at dinner, the bed was a little high, and I was afraid of putting any pressure on my right leg. Mrs. March put her arms around me and guided me into the bed. Then she fixed the blanket and the pillow.

“Would you mind very much if I gave you a kiss good night?” she asked.

“I'd rather you not,” I said, even more sharply than I intended.

Her face seemed to melt into a look of deep sadness. She forced a smile and wished me a good night's sleep.

How mean,
I thought I heard my mother say.

“Mrs. March,” I called. She turned abruptly at the door. “I'm sorry. You can kiss me good night.”

She smiled and returned to kiss me on the cheek. “You're a brave little girl,” she said. “Braver than I would be at your age. You must have grown very strong during your desperate time.”

This is still my desperate time,
I thought, but said nothing.

She turned and walked out slowly, shutting off the light and closing the door softly. There were so many lights on outside that the glow kept the room from being totally dark. I was glad of that, not that I was afraid of darkness. Mama and I had slept in too many dark and dingy places over the past year for me to have that sort of fear. Most of the time, the darkness had been more like a friend, keeping us from being seen by people who might prey upon us and take what little we had. Darkness became our cocoon.

But it wasn't like that now. There were probably not many safer places in the world to be than in this house,
surrounded by its walls, lit brightly and protected by security cameras. Darkness made little difference. No, what frightened me the most was the utter loneliness I sensed, not only in Mrs. March's face and voice but also in the faces of her employees. When they looked at her, they, who had far less and were her servants, seemed to be pitying her.

I had come there to escape from loneliness, to escape from becoming no one in some orphanage or foster home. I wanted to hold on to my name and cherish my memories of Mama, but Alena March still haunted this house, this room. The thing was, she didn't haunt it because she wanted to haunt it.

She haunted it because her mother would not let her go.

Maybe she would never let me go, either.

Maybe I should be more afraid of that than of anything else.

9
Mrs. Kepler

M
rs. Duval was there first thing in the morning to wake me and ask me if I wanted her to help with my bathing. I was prepared to refuse any help, but I saw something different in her face. Yesterday she seemed not only quite indifferent to me but even a bit resentful. Perhaps she had been thinking,
Who is this poor nobody who has stolen her way into Alena's world?
Perhaps she thought I wanted to take Alena's place and was taking advantage of Mrs. March. Maybe, like that maid Rosie, she didn't know the whole story. Maybe now she had learned about it all. There was warmth in her eyes, a welcome in her smile.

“Yes,” I said. “Thank you.”

Dr. Milan had made sure that I left the hospital with plastic bags to put over the cast. Mrs. Duval took one out of the case and fastened it so that the cast would not get wet. She then helped me into the bathroom, and together we managed to get the rest of me washed and dried. She brought me one of my new outfits to wear and then called
down and had Rosie bring up my breakfast, which she set out on the table in the sitting area. Even with Jackie in the hospital, I hadn't gotten that sort of treatment.

While I was having breakfast, Mrs. March came in to tell me that my tutor, Mrs. Kepler, would be arriving in about an hour.

“After I introduce her to you, I'll leave and let you two work, unless you want me to stay.”

“I'll be all right, I think,” I told her.

I couldn't imagine why she would want to stay, unless she wanted to see how smart or how stupid I was. If I didn't do well, perhaps she would change her mind and send me away. I hadn't been much of a student during the last year when I was in school. Mama took some interest in my work, but she was always overwhelmed with something herself, even when Daddy was still with us, or maybe because he was. The fighting took its toll on her, and I recalled many mornings when she was too tired or depressed to get out of bed before I left for school. Often, I made my own lunch to take. I never blamed her. I always blamed Daddy.

Despite my attempt to be indifferent about my tutoring, I couldn't help but be nervous. Even when we were living in the streets, I didn't like being thought of as stupid. No matter what the circumstances, most people who looked at the homeless thought their failures were their own fault. How could anyone not manage a roof over her head for herself and her child? How could she not find enough food and clothing?

Mrs. March expressed her pity and her sympathy for Mama and me, but what did she really think about Mama?
Certainly, if her daughter had not been involved, she wouldn't have been there at the hospital to help me and wouldn't have seen to Mama's funeral arrangements. Perhaps she sent checks to charities or attended affairs as she told me, but did she really see the people the money was meant to help? More important for me right then was the question
Does she really see me?

When Mrs. Kepler first appeared, I thought she was going to be as stern and as unsympathetic as the people who had walked past Mama and me on the street and either shook their heads in disgust or looked away quickly. Mrs. March had told her I had been out of school for some time, but she didn't say that her daughter had caused the accident. I could tell when we spoke afterward and I heard the way Mrs. Kepler made Mrs. March sound charitable.

“This is Sasha,” Mrs. March said. “We want to get her up to speed so she can enter school on par with the other students who will be in her class. Sasha, Mrs. Kepler.”

“Hello,” I said.

Mrs. Kepler nodded, fixing her hazel eyes on me as intently as a doctor. She was a full-figured woman with dark-brown hair that showed gray roots. Nevertheless, she looked as if she had just come from a beauty salon. Her hair was nicely styled about her ears, with trimmed bangs. She stood about two inches shorter than Mrs. March but held herself stiffly erect. The weakness in her face was her far too thin lips, which looked in danger of disappearing entirely if she stretched them.

“What do you think of our little sitting area, Mrs. Kepler? It's quiet up here.”

She studied the room for a moment as if it really mattered. It occurred to me that in her mind, she was being tested as much as I was and knew it. She was trying too hard to be a perfect schoolteacher.

“Yes, this will be fine,” she said.

“I could have a blackboard brought up.”

“No, that's not going to be necessary. There's just the two of us.”

“I did try to make sure there were enough pens and pencils, paper, and such. Of course, the computer is there if you need it.”