“C-costly?”
“For people of your obvious means, that shouldn’t be a difficulty, now, should it? Not when the fate of two innocent children is at stake. Two children whom you’ve come to dearly love.”
“Yes, but…”
“Three thousand dollars, perhaps a bit more. That should go quite a distance toward resolving these legal issues.”
“Three…three thousand?”
“Perhaps four.”
“What are you saying?”
Another pause and then, “Nothing matters more than your family, don’t you agree?” I can hear that horrible smile in Miss Tann’s voice. I want to run in there and tell the truth. I want to point at her and yell, Liar! We don’t even have a grandma! And I had three sisters, not two. And a baby brother, and his name was Gabion, not Robby. And you took him away, just like you took my sisters.
I want to tell all of it. I can taste the words on my tongue, but I can’t say them. If I do, I know what’ll happen. Miss Tann will take us back to the children’s home. She’ll give Fern to someone else, and we won’t be together anymore.
Mrs. Sevier sniffles and coughs again. “Of…of course, I agree, but…” She breaks down in sobs again, apologizing for it all the while.
A chair creaks and groans, and heavy, uneven footsteps cross the floor. “Talk with your husband. Express your sincere feelings on the matter. Tell him how much you need the children and how much they need you. I won’t bother with seeing the girls today. I’m sure they’re doing quite well under your care. Thriving, even.”
Her footsteps move closer to the doors at the other end of the room. I push off the wall and run up the stairs. The last thing I hear is Miss Tann’s voice echoing through the house: “No need getting up. I can show myself out. I’ll expect to be hearing from you by tomorrow. Time is of the essence.”
Upstairs, I hurry to Fern’s room. I don’t even get her out from under the bed. I just slip under there with her. We lay face-to-face the way we always did on the Arcadia. “It’s all right,” I whisper. “I won’t let her take us back. I promise. No matter what.”
I hear Mrs. Sevier pass by in the hallway. Her sobbing echoes off the wood walls and the high ceiling with the gold edges. The door closes at the end of the hall, and I hear her take to her bed and cry and cry and cry, just like she used to when I first came here. Zuma comes up and knocks on the door, but it’s locked, and Mrs. Sevier won’t let anyone in. She’s still in the bed when Mr. Sevier comes home for lunch. By then, I’ve got Fern cleaned up, and I’ve read her a book, and she’s sound asleep with her thumb in her mouth and the teddy bear she calls Gabby, like it’s our baby brother.
I listen while Mr. Sevier unlocks their bedroom. After he goes inside, I tiptoe out where I can listen better. I don’t even need to be very close to hear how mad Mr. Sevier is after his missus tells him what happened. “This is blackmail!” he shouts. “It’s nothing but outright blackmail!”
“We can’t let her take the girls, Darren,” Mrs. Sevier pleads. “We can’t.”
“I will not be blackmailed by this woman. We paid the adoption fees, which, by the way, were exorbitant, particularly the second time around.”
“Darren, please.”
“Victoria, if we let this get started, there will be no stopping it.” Something metal topples over and clatters across the floor. “Where does it end then? Tell me that.”
“I don’t know. I don’t know. But we have to do something.”
“Oh, I’ll do something, all right. That woman doesn’t know who she’s dealing with.” The door handle rattles, and I hurry to my room.
“Darren, please. Please. Listen to me,” Mrs. Sevier begs. “We’ll go to Mama’s home in Augusta. Bellegrove has more than enough space, and the place is too much for her now that Daddy is gone. The girls will have aunts and uncles and all of my friends there. We’ll take Hoy and Zuma and Hootsie. We can stay as long as need be. Permanently, even. Mama is lonely, and Bellegrove House needs a family. It’s a wonderful place to grow up.”
“Now, Victoria, this is our home. I’ve finally gotten my little studio building under way down by the lake. The McCameys aren’t the fastest workers, but they have the piers and the flooring in place, and they’re making progress on framing up the walls. We can’t let Georgia Tann put us out of our home, my family home, for heaven’s sake.”
“Bellegrove has acres and acres along the Savannah River. You can build another studio. A bigger one. Any kind you want.” Mrs. Sevier talks so fast I can hardly make out the words. “Please, Darren, I can’t live here knowing that woman could come knocking on our door at any moment to take our children!”
Mr. Sevier doesn’t answer. I close my eyes and dig my fingernails into my fuzzy pink wallpaper, waiting, hoping.
“Let’s not do anything rash,” Mr. Sevier says finally. “I have a meeting to go to in the city tonight. I’ll pay a visit to Miss Tann and settle this matter face-to-face, once and for all. We’ll see how bold she is in her demands then.”
Mrs. Sevier doesn’t argue any more. I hear her crying softly and the bed creaking and him comforting her. “Come now, darling. No more tears. It’ll be taken care of, and if you’d like to take the girls to visit in Augusta, we can arrange that as well.”
I stand there with my mind rushing through a hundred thoughts, and then it stops and settles on one. I know what I have to do. There’s no more time to waste. I hurry to my dresser to get what I need and then run downstairs.
In the kitchen, Zuma has lunch ready, but she’s over in the corner with her head in the laundry chute, so she can listen to what’s happening with the Seviers. Hootsie’s probably halfway up the chute telling everything she hears. On the chopping block, there’s a little picnic basket ready to go down to the McCameys’ construction camp. Normally, Zuma would make Hootsie take it down there. Hootsie hates that, and so does Zuma. Zuma says the McCameys are nothing but white trash and they’ll steal Mr. Sevier blind if he turns his back. The only good thing is Zuma and Hootsie hate us less now, because they’re busy hating the McCamey boys and their daddy.
I grab the basket and run out the door, yelling, “I’ll take this to the camp. I’ve got a movie handbill to give to the boy down there anyhow.” I’m gone before Zuma can argue that I’ll be late for lunch.
I bolt out the back, jump off the veranda, and cross the yard as fast as my legs will take me, all the while looking over my shoulder to see if Hootsie’s following me. It’s a relief that she doesn’t.
Down by the lake, Mr. McCamey is more than ready to settle under a shade tree when I show up with the basket. Near as I can figure, he’s always willing to stop working. The only reason he’s got a sweat worked up today is because his two biggest boys went to the neighbor’s place to help cut a lightning-felled tree off their barn and fix the roof. They won’t be back for a day or two, until that job’s done. The only help Mr. McCamey’s got right now is the youngest boy—Arney is his name, but Mr. McCamey just calls him boy.
I nod at Arney, and he follows me up the path to a willow tree where we’ve sat and talked before. I slip under the branches and give Arney a sandwich, an apple, and two sugar cookies I squirreled away in my pocket. Arney’s a scrawny little thing, so usually when I come down here I bring him food he doesn’t have to share with the rest of the McCameys. I figure he needs it. He’s a year older than me but not even as tall as I am yet.
“Brought you something else today.” I give him the handbill from the movie theater.