Hilary took her sisters with her, only because she was afraid of what would happen if she didn't. And the store looked as seamy as everything else around them. Most of the houses were either crumbling brick, or wood with faded, peeling paint on them. And everything in the neighborhood looked as though it was battered and beaten and broken. Hilary bought two cans of tuna fish, a jar of baby food, a loaf of bread, some mayonnaise, butter, half a dozen eggs, a container of milk and a can of beer for their hostess. Hilary figured she could make a halfway decent dinner out of all of it, and she could use the rest of the eggs and the bread to make breakfast the next morning. But as she came in the front door struggling to carry the package and Megan and still hold Axie's hand, Eileen asked her two questions.

“Where's my beer?”

“I have it in the bag.”

“Then get it.” She barked at Hilary, and Axie started to whimper. She hated people who shouted at her, or her sisters. Their mother never had, and even their nurse didn't shout at them, even though they didn't like her much and she said ugly things about their parents.

Hilary handed Eileen the beer as quickly as she could, and Eileen glared at her and asked the second question. “Where's the change?”

Hilary handed her three cents, and Eileen threw it back at her, hitting the baby near the eye with one of the pennies. “What'd you do, buy yourself a T-bone? This isn't Park Avenue, you know. Where the hell's the rest of the money?” She seemed to have forgotten the thousand dollars Arthur had given her for just this purpose.

“I had to buy them dinner,” Hilary explained. “And there was nothing for breakfast tomorrow morning.”

“When I want you to buy breakfast, I'll tell you. You got that? And next time, don't spend so goddam much money.”

Hilary was stunned at what she was hearing, and her hands shook as she made them dinner. With expert ease, she had food in front of them in less than ten minutes. A soft-boiled egg and toast and baby food for Megan, and tuna fish sandwiches with mayonnaise for herself and Axie, and big glasses of milk for all three of them, which they drank gratefully. They were hungry and exhausted after the drive from New York and the emotional shock of Eileen and Charlestown.

Hilary did not offer her aunt anything to eat, and Eileen showed no interest in what they were doing. Hilary had them eat in their own room. The simultaneous blare of the radio and television made it impossible to talk and Eileen frightened all of them, even the baby. But just as Hilary was putting their dishes in the sink and starting to wash them, Eileen's husband came home, and Hilary was even more frightened when she saw him. He was a huge, burly man with enormous arms and powerful shoulders, and he was wearing work pants and an undershirt and the cloud of booze that surrounded him reached her all the way to the kitchen. He started to yell at Eileen almost the instant he walked in the door, but before he could hit her, she waved the envelope at him and showed him what he thought was all the money. Five hundred dollars. He broke into a big foolish grin, never suspecting that his wife had hidden an equal amount in a pile of old stockings where she kept her own money.

“Woooo … baby! Look at that! Ain't it purty?” Hilary watched him, long before he had seen her. “What's that for?”

“Them.” She pointed vaguely to the back of the house and Jack suddenly spotted Hilary in the kitchen.

“Who's that?” He looked blank, and Hilary noticed that he had an incredibly stupid face, and eyes that reminded her of a pig. She hated him on sight, he was even worse than Eileen, and he looked meaner.

“Remember my brother's kids I told you about?”

“The one who snuffed his old lady?”

“Yeah. Him. Well, they came today.”

“How long we gotta keep 'em?” He looked less than pleased as he glanced over Hilary like a piece of meat. He did not seem to think of their arrival as good news, in spite of the windfall.

“A few weeks, till that lawyer finds them someplace to live.”

So that was it. Hilary heard the news with a shiver. Arthur hadn't explained it to them before they left, and she suddenly wondered what would happen to their apartment.

But Eileen was smiling at her husband, as Hilary watched them. She was impervious to the children in the back room, as was he. It was as though they didn't exist, and to the Joneses they didn't. “Hey, baby, let's go dancing tonight.” They both looked too drunk to Hilary, but Jack Jones seemed to like the idea, as Hilary watched them. He had an oily-looking face and thinning hair, and thick hands that looked like roast beefs.

“Can we leave the kids?”

“Sure, why not? The older one does everything.”

“Everything?” He leered at his wife and moved closer, as Hilary sensed with a shiver that what he was suggesting was improper, but Eileen only laughed at him and pulled him closer.

“Come on, you horny old sailor … she's only nine years old for chrissake….” Eileen was laughing at him as he pressed his mouth down hard on hers, and slipped a fat hand into her bathrobe.

“And how old were you the first time?”

“Thirteen,” she said primly, but they both knew she was lying, and then with a raucous laugh she went to get herself another beer, and saw that Hilary was watching. “What the hell are you doing here, spying on us, you little brat?”

“I was just … cleaning up after dinner … I'm sorry … I …”

“Go to your room!” she shouted, slamming the refrigerator door with a vengeance. “Goddam kids.” She knew they were going to be a real nuisance before she got rid of them again, but as long as Jack didn't mind too much, they were good for the money.

The Joneses went out at eight o'clock that night. Megan and Alexandra were already asleep in their narrow airless room, but Hilary was lying in the dark, thinking of their mother. She would never have let something like this happen to them. Never. She would have read Eileen the riot act, taken her children home, and somewhere, somehow, she would have made a home for them, and that was just what Hilary had to do. And she knew it. She had to find a way, and a place to go … and enough money to do it. She wasn't going to let anything happen to her little sisters. She would do anything to protect them. And in the meantime she just had to keep them away from Jack and Eileen, keep them amused, outside in the weed-choked yard, or in their room. She'd make their meals, give them their baths, take care of their clothes. She lay in bed and planned everything until she fell asleep, and she didn't wake up again until morning, when Megan woke her up at six-fifteen with a dirty diaper. She was a good-natured child with her mother's red hair, which hung in loose coppery curls, and she had her father's big blue eyes, just as Hilary herself had her father's dark hair and her mother's green eyes. But it was Alexandra who really looked like their mother, and it tore at Hilary's heart sometimes to see her looking so much like Solange, and she sounded just like her whenever she giggled.

She made the girls' breakfast before Jack and Eileen woke up, and she took them outside to play, after dressing them in matching blue gingham dresses. She wore a red dress herself with a little apron. Her mother had bought it for her before she died, and she still loved it best of all. And it comforted her to wear it now, and think of her mother.

It was noon before Eileen Jones appeared in the doorway to glare at them. She looked as though she were sick, and had they been older, they would have known she was desperately hung over.

“Can't you brats shut up? You make enough noise for a whole neighborhood. Christ!” The screen door slammed and she went back inside, and they didn't see her again until after lunch. She stayed inside all day and watched television and drank beer, and Jack seemed to go somewhere else to do his drinking. The only change during the week was that Jack left earlier and wore work clothes. He rarely spoke to them, except once in a while, he'd make a crack at Hilary, and tell her she'd be nice-looking one day, and she never knew what to say to him. Eileen didn't speak to them at all. And it seemed aeons before they heard from Arthur. He called exactly one week after he had left them and inquired how everything was. Hilary spoke mechanically and told him they were fine, but it was obvious to anyone that they weren't. Axie had started having nightmares and Megan was waking up at night. The room was breathlessly hot and the food inadequate. Hilary did everything she could to compensate for all of it, but there was only so much she could do. She was a nine-year-old child after all, and she was slowly drowning in deep waters.

But she told none of that to Arthur.

“We're fine.” But she sounded tired and unenthusiastic.

“I'll call you again in a few days.” But he didn't. He had his hands full at the office, with a difficult case, and he was still trying to close out Sam's affairs, and find someone to take the girls, but by August, it was plainly obvious that that wasn't going to happen. And he had given up trying to convince his wife. She had finally told him it was her or the children. The die was cast. Arthur was not going to take them.





Chapter 7




By the end of the summer two of Arthur's colleagues came to him quietly, quite unexpectedly, and offered to solve his problem.

The first to do so was one of the oldest partners in the firm. George Gorham was nearing retirement age, but only the year before, he had married an extremely attractive young socialite in her early twenties. Margaret Millington had been one of the prettiest debutantes of the year when she came out, and after that she had impressed everyone by doing extremely well at Vassar. But after that she had left the expected mold, and instead of marrying one of the young men her parents expected her to, she had gotten involved with George Gorham. A widower, he was forty years older than she, and perfect for her in every way. Except that he was unable to have children. He had been honest with her and she insisted that it didn't matter. But he was afraid it might someday, and he didn't want to lose her. And little Alexandra would fill the only void between them. He had discussed with Margaret adopting all of the Walker children and keeping the family intact, and although it seemed a noble deed, it seemed a little excessive to them. He didn't feel young enough to take on a child of Megan's age, and a child as old as Hilary when she was adopted could present problems. But a five-year-old sounded ideal to them, and Margaret was ecstatic.

And on the same day that George approached Arthur about adopting Alexandra, David Abrams had privately come to see Arthur. He was only thirty-four, and he and his wife Rebecca were both attorneys, although Rebecca worked for another firm with more liberal leanings. They had been married since their senior year in college and had been attempting to have a baby since their last year in law school, with no success. And they had finally been told that the situation was hopeless. Rebecca was unable to have children. It had been a tremendous blow to both of them, particularly as they had hoped to have several children, but now they found they would be grateful for one, which was really all they could afford at the moment. Like the Gorhams, they had briefly thought of adopting all three, but they felt unable to take on that large a burden. What they wanted was to adopt Megan, the baby.

Which left only Hilary. And Arthur with an enormous decision. Should he break up the family? Did he have a right to do that? But then again, Sam had murdered Solange, and in so doing, had destroyed all of their lives. Maybe all Arthur could do was save each one separately. The Gorhams were wonderful people, and both of them were enormously wealthy. There was no doubt in Arthur's mind that Alexandra would have everything she needed, and from what George had said, it was obvious that they would love her deeply. What's more, they would be nearby, and Arthur could keep an eye on things, not that he needed to with George and Margaret Gorham.

And although Rebecca and David Abrams were less comfortably circumstanced than George, they were certainly two hardworking young people, with promising careers ahead of them, with families from New York, so it was unlikely they would stray far, and once again Arthur could play guardian angel to Megan.

But it was Hilary who worried him most. What would happen to her now? It was a great shame that neither the Gorhams nor the Abramses were willing to take on a second child, but when he inquired again, both of them were definite when they said they wouldn't. He mentioned it to Marjorie once again, but her answer was an adamant “no.” And he sensed that their relationship might be in jeopardy if he persisted. He had promised her weeks before not to bring the subject up again. But that left Hilary with nowhere to go, except where she was, with the Joneses in Boston, if they would even keep her. There was going to be about ten thousand dollars in Sam's estate after everything was sold, and Arthur thought about the possibility of offering that to the Joneses for the care and feeding of Hilary for as long as it lasted. It was better than nothing, but not much, and he was unhappy with the solution as he made the final arrangements for the others. The papers were drawn up, and both couples were wildly excited. Rebecca planned to take a month off from work, and Margaret and George planned a trip to Europe in the fall with their new daughter. George had already ravaged F.A.O. Schwarz and Alexandra's new room looked like a toy store, whereas Rebecca's mother had bought enough sweaters and snowsuits and underwear for quintuplets. They were two very lucky little girls and their arrivals were anticipated with breathless excitement. But it was Hilary who continued to worry Arthur.