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Storm By R. Johnston Chapter 1: The Arrival The unmarried Kennedy sisters' small farm was on a quiet stretch of the coast just about a mile from the sea. Jane in her early forties and Maggie younger by a few years, managed to make a living from their small dairy herd and a flock of free range hens. The farmhouse was a two storied solid building surrounded by elm trees planted half a century ago to protect it from the prevailing north wind. It could not be seen from the main road, except at night, when its lights seemed like a beacon in a wilderness. They had few neighbours, the nearest being their cousin Sam McCrea who lived with his family half a mile away. Other than contact with Sam's family, most of their visitors were in connection with the business of the farm. The women didn't mind the solitude; indeed, they loved their country life and were, in the main, contented with their lot. The one real lack that they felt in their lives was the absence of a child. They'd gone to bed anxious in the small hours of an autumn night as a fierce wind tore tiles from the roof of their isolated farmhouse. Neither could remember such a wild storm. As they snuggled in bed, together that night for the first time in years, they recalled stories told by their grandfather of how in the early part of the century a storm of exceptional ferocity in the county had swept people to their deaths. They were scarcely asleep when, in the early hours, they were wakened by an ominous banging on the heavy front door. They listened breathlessly for minutes, half expecting the door to collapse under the pressure of the wind's force. It was Jane who first recognized that the hammering was regular, who thought she heard frantic squealing. Maggie wanted her to 'leave well alone', as they say in those parts, but despite her younger sister's objections Jane donned her old dressing gown and headed for the front door. Unbolted, it flew open almost unhinging itself and there stood a young woman bedraggled and frantic holding tightly the hand of a terrified child of four or five years. "Quick, quick, get in, get in!" she said and in they stumbled and the door was slammed behind them. "In God's name what are you doin' out in a night like this?" The couple was singularly ill dressed for such an inclement night. The child was wearing only a blouse and little red jeans and the young woman an expensive looking dress with a light cardigan for warmth. Drenched and cold, neither could speak. Jane ushered them to the large kitchen - range that was kept alight in summer and winter. They huddled in front of it as Jane revived its fire with firm thrusts of the heavy poker. "Maggie, Maggie" she called urgently, "Will ye get up out of your bed! We've got an emergency down here." Fifteen minutes later, with her hands wrapped around a hot mug of tea and feeling safe now in the warmth and the presence of the assured Jane, the young woman disjointedly told the story of the wild night and their current predicament. They had left Mullanglass hours earlier heading for town along the coastal road, a distance of not more than ten miles. The journey was half completed when Cathy said she had the first flat tire since she had learnt to drive. And what a time and place to have it! The sea had been washing over the road and she and the child were in terror of being swept away. There was no question of repairs. "I picked up Fran and ran for all I was worth. We wandered for ages and then, thank God, I saw the light from your farm." The child sat on her knees shivering as she told her alarming story. Maggie, now risen from her bed and listening captivated by the drama, leaned across and touched the frightened child's hand gently. "Are ye alright now wee one?" The child nodded, and in a tiny voice whimpered, "Yes, but I'm so cold." The always sympathetic Maggie said, "Don't worry love I'll run and fetch you a blanket to keep you nice and warm." As she wrapped Maggie's blanket tightly around the child, Cathy said, "Look I really must get in touch with my mother. She'll be wondering what's happened to us. I left my mobile phone in the car and I should have contacted her hours ago." Jane, always calm in an emergency said, "Tell me her number; I'll ring and you can talk to her. It's no problem." The exhausted young woman smiled and nodded, "Thanks awfully." Jane took the details and as she left to phone, Cathy held the child tightly to her and said, "There, there, you'll be alright now Fran, we'll be there in no time at all." As she came back from the living room Jane Kennedy's furrowed brow told there was a problem. "I'm not surprised," said Jane, "but I'm afraid the lines are down. It's a regular occurrence here when there's any kind of wind at all. You'll have to stay here tonight. I really don't want to take the car out in this weather and it's no problem to put you up." "No, I really want to get home tonight. My mother's a terrible worrier and she's been ill. It's only a few miles and if you'll lend me a flashlight I can make my way." It seemed like madness to the sisters, for the storm had not abated one whit. "What do you think Fran?" Cathy asked the child on her knee. How extraordinary it seemed to Jane and Maggie to ask the opinion of such a small child. "It's scary out. Can't we stay here for a while Cathy?" "Oh, but I'm not going to take you Fran. You'd slow me down. I'm sure Jane and Maggie will look after you until I come to fetch you. I can do it in a couple of hours." At this the formerly placid child became agitated; "No, no, you can't leave me here. I'm coming with you." "Please," said Cathy, ignoring the pleas, "Can Fran stay here and I'll make my way as quickly as possible. He'll be no trouble." The glaring pronoun caused both sisters to look again at the child. Fran was fair-haired and cherubic. It was hard to see a boy in this pretty child. The shortness of the soft golden hair did not diminish the feminine appearance. Cathy saw their puzzlement. "Oh, I see, you thought Francis was a girl. It happens all the time. Fran's my little cousin. Yes, and he's a bit older than he looks," she said, turning to the child, "you're thirteen on your birthday, aren't you love?" The little boy nodded in a way that showed that this misunderstanding was about to be explained for the umpteenth time in his life. And he was right. Cathy told the story. Fran, amazingly, was only five years younger than his cousin. She'd been like a lovely big sister since her widowed mother, had begun to look after him when his own mother, Cathy's aunt had died. His mother had been unmarried and he had never known his father. He had been four at the time. He had always been, of course, an exceptional child. He had been tiny - or 'petite' as Cathy preferred to say ? and had not added more than a few centimetres to his miniature frame since that time. He was perhaps 33 or 34 inches in height. Her mother had treated little Fran as her own child. It had not been easy. The child had been the focus of fascination to neighbours and to the authorities. A normal schooling had been impossible and Fran had always had his tutoring at home. He had been unavoidably cosseted all of his life. "Of course," said Cathy, "it was wonderful for me. I'd always wanted a little brother or sister and I've adored this wee darlin' since he came to us. I know it wasn't easy for my mum...always having to explain Fran's tiny size, making special arrangements with the Education Department, sorting out the clothes dilemma, dealing with social workers and all that stuff. But Fran was just my baby and the problems of my mother passed me by. Well, almost..." and she hesitated. "I suppose the biggest problem was with other kids. Wasn't it Fran?" "Yes, I don't like children," said the child flatly and Jane and Maggie looked down at the little sad face. Cathy held Fran tightly as the thought of many bitter experiences came to his mind. There was no awkwardness in this little encounter. Of course the Kennedy sisters could not help but think how remarkable it was to see a pretty young woman holding a twelve-year-old boy on her knees as one might an infant. But then, on the other hand, as they gazed, it was an infant they saw. There was no doubt that Fran was an exceptionally pretty child...yes, "pretty and petite," they were the correct words. He was wearing little red jeans, boiler-suit style, and the trade name "Lilliput" could be seen on the pocket. "You see," Cathy went on, "most kids who come in contact with Fran naturally think his size and appearance indicates his age. Well, so do adults, just as you two did when we arrived. But you can explain things to adults that you can't to a small child. It wasn't so bad when he was four or five, but when he was seven or eight and little girls were trying to pick him up, it was awful. I'm the only one who's allowed to pick him up now. My mother sometimes insists when she's in a hurry but he hates it. I don't like her to do it because, as I said, she's really not well enough, even though Fran is so light. Last week mother took him shopping, at the last moment they had to rush for a bus and she automatically picked him up, tucked him under her arm, with the shopping in her other hand. He kicked his little feet," she giggled and ruffled his hair as Fran pretended a frown at the recollection, "but mother was firm that time, wasn't she?" and the child smiled, as they all smiled at the idea of it. "Really, when you think of it, you can see how difficult it was at times for mother. Buying clothes for Fran is a nightmare and it breaks mother's heart trawling the shops trying to find reasonably appropriate wear. I mean, he won't wear anything that's obviously for a small child. But how can you buy underpants for a twelve- year- old the size of a four-year-old? It's not possible. I love Fran but sometimes I feel sorry for mum when he complains. Now, these jeans, don't you think they're okay?" Maggie, nodded, though thinking they were suitable only for a tiny boy or girl and wondering how indeed you would find something suitable for such a boy. Jane was sympathizing in her mind with Mrs. McVeigh and understanding her frustration. She and Maggie had had it tough too. As a child she had worn at times her mother's discarded and adjusted dresses and the younger Maggie was naturally even more of a "second- hand Rose." But she looked at Fran and said, "I think they're very pretty." The child didn't blush at the feminine description. He was well used to it. Cathy said, "There, didn't I tell you they were nice," and returned to Fran's terror of other children. "As I said the worst thing of all for Fran was other kids. You remember Joan Fearon?" Fran's look answered the question. "Some kids didn't mean any harm, but Joan was a monster; she terrorized Fran for years until we wouldn't allow him out on his own any more. At first I tolerated it, but not when it got really heavy. She's about a year younger than this wee darlin' and a neighbour from the time that he came to live with us. So at three and four they played with each other all the time. Now, just as Fran is tiny, Joan's big for her age; at three she was a head taller. By the time she was eight, she towered over him. I think that's about when the bullying began," and she looked at Fran who confirmed with his eyes. "Fran never told us about it at first, even to the extent that when Joan called for him to play he always went with her, taking her hand without complaining. He was frightened of her and was embarrassed to tell us. Silly wee thing! When they were out of our sight she'd pick him up ? and, as I told you, he hates that! He just wanted to be friends with her. We used to wonder where his pocket money went to and eventually we realized that she was taking it from him. It was just luck that one afternoon I heard him crying not a hundred yards from his own house and there he was with Joan Fearon and a gaggle of younger girls and she pulling him along despite his complaints. She'd smacked him because he didn't want to play with her and the other girls. Of course, when she hit him he was terrified and too scared to resist. I tell you even though she was only eight or nine, I boxed her ears." "We thought that was an end to it. Of course Fran wouldn't go out alone any more. So I always had to be with him or one of the friends he was confident with. All girls, of course; there were never any boys who'd play with him. And that was a problem, because all of the girls were very protective and Fran never had to stand up for himself. He was always in the company of girls. I think it's one of the reasons you're so girly, Fran." There was no discomfort for the child in this observation of Cathy's. He'd often been mistaken for a little girl, just as he had been by the Kennedy's. It bothered him more for its inexactness in respect of his age. What he found really painful was the perception of himself as a little child when in a few months time he was to be thirteen. Of course we adapt to our situations, and Fran was no different to the rest of us. Angry he might be at the mistaken impressions about himself but his coping strategies reinforced perceptions and didn't undermine them. Like any infant, he cried when he was upset. He had tantrums when he was denied what he wanted and he could be cute with grown-ups. You couldn't behave like this and then expect to be treated as a teenager. It was never more evident as he sat there in Cathy's lap as though it were the most natural thing in the world. "I don't think I'm so girly," he said looking up to his cousin. "It's just that I'm little and look a bit nice." The voice was tiny with those feminine intonations that people recognize and respond to. A little girl evokes protective instincts, an adolescent boy does too, but there's always a challenge in a youth's voice, but not Fran's. "Not girly!" laughed Cathy, "What about last year when Joan took you away?" Jane and Maggie listened fascinated as Cathy continued her story forgetting, it seemed, for the moment the earlier experience of the night and her desire to get home. "Last summer his confidence was back a bit and he wanted to go out on his own. The weather was lovely; he'd no teaching that day and my mother allowed him out to the back garden only," and she looked severely at Fran. "Mum, looked out of the back window occasionally to check on him. She was delighted to see him looking so happy. He was pleased because mum had been able to buy him a little soccer strip that any big boy would have been happy to wear. She was called to the phone and when she came back there was no sign of Fran. I was at college at the time and when I came home he'd been gone three hours or more!" "It was that naughty girl Joan Fearon again! Wasn't it Fran?" She talked to him as though he were a small child. "I rang her parents and they told me that Joan had gone into town with her pals. As you know, the town's not so big and mum and me decided to look around the town before we contacted the police. In ten minutes we'd found poor Fran. We saw Joan with two younger girls dressed in torn jeans like young punks and Joan was dragging our Fran along. He wasn't in his soccer gear. He was wearing a little girl's dress. I didn't recognize him at first. When we confronted Joan she apologized to my mum and said it was just a game. But Fran was crying his heart out. I snatched him from that wee bitch and I could hardly restrain mum from hitting her. But you can't, not in the street, can you?" "I loved it when you hit her Cathy," said Fran. "We took him home on the bus. Funny thing, as he was sitting on my mum's knee, I looked at her and she was relaxed. I think it was because it seemed so normal. There was no need for pretence. There wasn't the awkwardness of explaining why her twelve-year-old boy was so small. There she was, a middle aged lady, with an upset little girl on her knee and people looked at her sympathetically, as though they were thinking, 'poor granny, left holding the baby' and I couldn't help thinking myself that it was a perfectly normal scene." "I know that's the way you felt Cathy but I just wanted to hide. But what could I do? I had nothing else to wear." Fran was worried about what the Kennedy's were thinking about this tale. "Fran won't tell us the whole story but when we arrived home we found that he didn't have a stitch of his own clothing. Little yellow dress, white ankle socks, yeah, and wee white pants and petticoat as well." "I complained the next day to Mrs. Fearon, but she didn't care. She said it was just fun; that Joan hadn't made him put the dress on. He'd joined in, she insinuated, and she smirked as she said he was, after all, older than the three girls." Fran became animated. "It's not true. I was playing in the garden and Margaret McClean called me over to the fence and then she just pulled me over. Joan had put her up to it. They took me to Margaret's house 'cos her mummy and daddy weren't in and she and her friend Carol Smyth wanted to put me in Margaret's wee sister's clothes 'cos they said they were going to take me down town. I wouldn't put them on and then Joan took me in to the backroom and smacked me and put the dress on me. I was crying but she said I was just being silly!" "Well," said Cathy, "when we got Fran home, my mum was so tired and I think a bit angry with him for all the upset that day so she just left the dress on him until he went to bed that night. He didn't seem to mind at all. He still has the little dress and now Margaret McClean's little sister is running about in his soccer strip. He'd like it back, but she mocks him with wearing it and says he can't have it but he can keep the dress for it's too small for her now. He's too frightened to ask for his soccer kit back now and he won't let me go and ask for it." Jane was visualizing Fran in the little summer dress when she suddenly noticed the child looking at her as though he were wondering what was in her mind. As the wind continued to roar, Cathy reminded the sisters of her resolve to get back home. "You see, Fran, and me have a big appointment today." She explained. "For the past few months now Fran's been able to put his tiny size to positive use for once. Through my contacts in my business course at college I met some P.R. people who were interested in the possibilities of using Fran in television advertising. You know the kind of thing...with some products, especially coming up to Christmas, it's crucial to have good child actors to get a selling message across effectively. Well, they thought that Fran would be perfect. Small kids aren't usually dependable and shots have to be made over and over again, or even faked before you get a good outcome. Fran can act the small child with no problem. Later to day we're meeting some people to discuss options for a few products...one for toys, and the other for kiddie... clothes. Fran's keen and it'll be his first opportunity to make money for himself; the pay's very good too." Kind Maggie wondered too what he would look like as a little girl and asked, "Fran will you be a wee girl in the adverts?" "No I will not. I'll play a small boy." He was annoyed at the suggestion and thought that Cathy had put a false picture of himself into the minds of these two ladies. "A wee girl? Yes that's an idea," Cathy said, looking teasingly at him, "but he'll be neither if I don't get away. It's three o'clock and I should be home for five and back at seven or eight." "Look Fran, I promise you I won't be long." Maggie said, "We still think you'd both be best to stay here for the night. It's really not safe out. The lines could be fixed by morning and with the storm an' all surely these advertising people won't expect you to be there dead on the button." "Yes, I hear what you're saying," said Cathy, "they probably would understand but the fact is my mum will be worried stiff and I've got to set her mind at rest. She's a pretty bad heart condition and I don't want to make it worse." She was a feisty young woman and it was clear that her mind was made up and much to Fran's alarm she was going to go without him. The thought of being left with strangers was frightening to him. He held her tightly but she stood up and placed him on the floor, "I'm telling you love, you'll be alright; mum and I'll be back for you soon." "Well, I think it's dangerous, but if you insist on going you'll have to borrow a heavy rain coat. Mine would be too big for you. Maggie, you lend Cathy yours," said Jane, taking charge of the situation. "I'll make sure little Francis is well looked after." But Fran wasn't reassured and felt helpless as the adults talked over his head. As Jane pulled open the heavy door, Cathy bent down one last time and kissed the worried looking boy who clung to her coat frantically, "Oh, Cathy, Cathy don't be long." Jane took his tiny hand firmly and tugged him away from his cousin allowing her to slip off into the night. Fran wanted to say that she had no right to hold him but he was too frightened of her. "Now child," Jane said, "I'm going to have to find you somewhere to sleep for the night and we'll have to find you something to wear." "No, it's okay, I'll just wear my jeans till Cathy comes back." "You will not indeed, they're soaking. You'd catch your death and I told your big cousin I'd look after you; and you can't go to bed wearing nothing, can you? Maggie have we anything that would do for Fran?" "Yes I think I can find something that'll do in the meantime," and she dashed upstairs eager to help and to please her older sister with her ingenuity. "Do you want me to help you off with those wet things" asked Jane. "Can't I wait until Maggie comes back?" Fran was anxious as this big woman took control and Jane saw the fear in his eyes. "Of course you can child." Maggie was back in minutes, with a small summer top that she hardly ever wore. The truth was that it was years too tight for her now, but it would be adequate for Fran. The child undressed uncomfortably in front of the two sisters who picked up the discarded clothes and never for a moment thought to leave him. Already they were in maternal mode and they never allowed that Fran might object. The pink blouse fell below his knees. "There," said Maggie, "it's just right, like a perfect little nightie," and she looked to Jane for approval. But Jane's eyes were heavy and she was ready for bed. As farmers, they always rose early but now they needed to be up extra early to await Cathy's return. "Right, to bed," she said. Frightened Fran wondered where he was to sleep. He wasn't asked. "You'll sleep with me and Maggie tonight. Off we go." Maggie could hardly resist the temptation to pick up Fran whom she thought looked adorable but she remembered what Cathy had said about lifting him up. So she and Jane took a hand each as they led the little boy up the stairs with Maggie's blouse fluttering about his knees. Fran's heart pounded at the strangeness of it all. He knew that he was utterly dependent on these two ladies who were taking him to that most intimate of places, the bed. He usually slept alone, although, when sometimes sleepless or sad, he had crept into Cathy's bed knowing that she would fold her protective arms around him and he would sleep safely and contentedly. But this was a bed he didn't want to go to and yet he was fearful of giving offence to their kindness, but more frightened to think that his objections would be ignored and his helplessness revealed. How different it was for the Kennedy sisters. It was a pleasant experience to have a child with them and they would sleep soundly. In the bedroom Fran looked up at the large bedstead wondering how best to get in without looking childish and awkward. Without hesitation Jane picked him up by the waist, plopped him in the bed and said, "You sleep in the middle Fran." He watched as the sisters undressed and climbed in either side of him. Soon they were fast asleep with heavy arms around him and Fran cried silently and longed for the safety of his own home. Chapter 2: A Wee Boy Jane and Maggie wakened at their usual hour without aid of alarm clock. All was calm and the storm was spent. They had slept only a few hours. It was 5 a.m. and the herd had to be milked and the hens' fed and the other early morning duties of the farmer carried out before breakfast. Fran had lain awake for a long time before he yielded to sleep in the strange bed. The sisters as they dressed, looked at the small figure whose tiny frame hardly made a bulge in the bedclothes. The small mouth was slightly opened and he looked the picture of contentment. Maggie hugged herself with pleasure at the lovely sight. "Ooh, isn't he gorgeous?" she said, "Couldn't you just eat him?" "Aye, he's a lovely wee thing, but we've work to get on with," said Jane. "We'll let him sleep till his cousin comes for him. All bein' well she should be here in an hour or two now that the storm's past." The morning's tasks took longer than usual even with the help of their cousin Sam who'd come over to check on them after the wild night before. His house was not more than ten minutes away by tractor down the rough, rutted road between their farms. He was a quiet, simple man who lived with his wife and two daughters, eleven-year-old Clara and her five-year-old little sister, Annie. They said nothing to him about the night before. Before leaving he said, "Clara will be down in an hour or so to give you a hand with the hens." It was a job Clara did every Saturday for a few pounds pocket money. The phone lines were still down and Jane and Maggie sat at the large, plain breakfast table wondering what was keeping Cathy. They'd no means of contacting her and had no choice but to wait. But it was now 10 a.m. As they sat pondering, the little figure of Fran appeared around the door. He was awkward and shy. The intimacy of the night before had been broken and he wasn't sure how to handle the situation. He could see more clearly now the women who had taken him in. They were handsome women, both dressed in muddy jeans and he was still dressed in a blouse that swamped his little body. He was often aware of his vulnerability, but never more so than now. In the normal course of things he had learnt to avoid dangerous situations. Despite his experiences with Joan Fearon and other big girls and boys, it was usually possible with a little care to keep out of harm's way. This situation, however, was new to him and he was not sure how to manage it. To be firm, dressed as he was in Maggie's cast-off blouse, would be ludicrous and his most accomplished strategy with adult women of being 'cute' was neither appropriate nor available to him in his current anxious state. They smiled at him, both tipping their heads to the side in that sympathetic manner that women often have, for his big anxious eyes would have evoked maternal passion in the hardest of hearts. The Kennedy sisters were smitten by him. Jane spoke first, "Did you sleep well Francis?" She knew the foolishness of the question. He walked cautiously over to her and looking up asked in his girlish little voice, "Is Cathy not here yet? It's 10 o'clock. She said she'd be back with mummy by seven or eight. Can I phone her?" Jane told him the phone wasn't working yet and Maggie tried to reassure him. Perhaps it had taken Cathy longer than she'd thought. Hadn't they come to the farm in the early hours of the morning and wasn't it possible that she couldn't find it in the daylight hours? "Come on pet have some breakfast. I'm sure they'll be here soon," she said. "I want to put on my clothes and then you can take me home in your car." Jane went over to the kitchen range and felt the little red jeans. They were caked with mud and still damp. "They're not dry yet Fran. You'll just have to wear Maggie's blouse for a while longer and then we'll see what to do. There's no point in going now for likely as not we'll miss your cousin who I bet this minute is on her way. Come on, up to the table with you and have a nice cup of tea. It'll do you good." Maggie put a large cushion on one of the hard chairs, plumped it up and Jane helped him up to the table. His chin scarcely came over the top and he could hardly be seen behind the large striped mug his tea was served in. The fare in this farmhouse was simple and plain and not at all what Fran was used to. The large piece of buttered toast that Maggie put beside him was cut roughly and was as big as his little head. But that wasn't the reason he pushed it aside sullenly. He had just no heart for eating. Maggie understood the gesture but Jane thought it was a child's petulance. It was perfectly understandable that the Kennedys ? if only in the way of conversation ? would want to know more about their small guest, but the traumatized boy had to be prompted. Such talk as there was was childlike as perhaps only to be expected of a twelve-year-old who had little experience of life. His world was a small one. He'd been tutored at home and had little experience of adults, beyond Cathy and her mother. He had not been allowed out alone for a long time for his own safety. He had girlfriends who were invariably younger and his talk reflected this in content and style of speech. He knew about teeny pop groups and the television programmes that little girls like to watch. He wasn't embarrassed to tell that when his friends played with their dollies he joined in. He told Maggie and Jane that he had his own favourite; well, it was a stuffed toy giraffe called Sammie that he took to bed at nights. In some respects there was a refreshing honesty and innocence about the child who did not expect scorn when he spoke of these childish, girlish things. It was this childish naivety that solidified perceptions of him as a little child. The sisters struggled for an hour to elicit idle information and had not noticed the passage of time when the knocker on the heavy door rapped hard and, as one, they thought that Cathy had arrived at last. Jane went to admit her and Fran followed behind wanting her to hurry and wishing that he were big enough to open the heavy door himself. When it was opened Jane found herself pleased that it was not young Miss McVeigh standing there but Clara ready for her Saturday morning tasks Poor Fran sprawled on the floor as he tripped dashing back across the room and righted himself to stand behind Maggie peeping out at the big girl who watched the frightened little boy in amazement. "Who is that wee girl?" Clara was a pretty girl, but, like her father, she was not very bright. She was not much over four and a half foot, but to Fran, whose head was not much above her waist, she was an enormous little girl and her dark curls reminded him of none other than Joan Fearon, the bane of his little life. "No, Clara," said Jane, "it's not a wee girl. He's a wee boy and his name is Fran. Say hello to him." The child seemed no more to her like a little boy than he had to Jane and Maggie the night before. Fran's blouse looked like a nightie to her but of course she had no reason to disbelieve her aunts and she knew there was nothing exceptional about girlish little boys. She knelt on the floor to come something near to eye level with Fran and she held out her arms to him and cooed in her tiniest voice urging him to come to her. Jane smiled at the scene as Fran cowered, wide- eyed, behind Maggie's leg and looked out at Clara for all the world as though he and she were engaging in a game of 'peek-a-boo'. It was not until Clara stood up and moved as though about to pick up Fran that Maggie, seeing his distress, held his little hand to prevent him being swept up by her niece. It was Jane who explained to Clara the events of the night before, leaving to the end of her account for maximum effect the revelation of Fran's age. Her niece's mouth gaped throughout the telling and she disbelieved that this little creature, whom she knew a smaller girl than she could pick up with ease, was in fact a year her senior. He was slighter and lighter and, she thought, probably prettier than her five- year-old sister Annie. As a rule Clara was a fairly shy girl, but it was Fran who now hid his face as the big girl looked down on him. Clara knew that he was frightened of her and she glowed inside at the idea of it. She was an insignificant child at school and the thought of this boy's fear of her was an altogether new experience. She felt big and important. The Kennedy sisters watched as their niece, arms folded, gazed down at the boy. Fran wished somebody would speak but Maggie and Jane were silent and he had no option but to look up at the big girl. Still no one spoke and he looked at the floor again, still holding on to Maggie's leg. She gently released his grasp and stood to the side and in all his vulnerability he was compelled to look up again to the big girl and in his little voice he shyly said, "Hello, Clara." Clara smiled at the little girl voice. She reached towards him and he raised his little hand to be shaken but that was not her intention and without hesitation she bent forward and picked him up. As he struggled in her arms, Maggie stepped forward to release him from Clara's firm clasp, "Put him down Clara, he doesn't like to be picked up!" Clara turned her back to her aunt, "He doesn't mind being picked up by me, do you love?" Fran was too confused and frightened to contradict Clara as his bottom rested in the crook of her arm and he put his arms around her neck, terrified of falling. It was all too much for him and as he squealed out Clara patted his back and cooed, "There, there, sweetie." The little scene ended when Jane placed her strong hands under Fran's armpits and effortlessly took him from her niece's arms and placed him on the floor again. In embarrassment and alarm he fled from the room towards the stairs and the temporary safety of the bedroom. When Clara had picked him up and then Jane had rescued him, he'd wanted to cry out that he was twelve years of age and that this nonsense would have to stop. But he felt in his heart that Jane's grasp was proprietorial and that only Cathy could save him from his humiliating predicament. But it was near to noon and his cousin had not yet arrived! Now back in the bedroom the horrific thought crossed his mind that Cathy was not going to come back for him. It was an intolerable notion and he cried out loudly to the alarm of the three females. Maggie glared at Clara and then ran to the room. She recognized the fear and exhaustion in the child and she kneeled and held him, but he could not be pacified. She gently helped him back into her bed and stroked his brow, "Now, now, child, Cathy will be here soon." It was not to be. Cathy would not come again and little Fran was too soon to become a Kennedy. Chapter 3: The Change Despite the wildness of the previous night's storm, it had not entered into the mind of either sister that Cathy would not come to collect her little cousin. But it was now mid-afternoon and there was still no sign of her. The telephone lines were working again and if something was hindering her from finding the way back to the farm they knew a bright girl would be able to establish their number without difficulty. But the phone remained silent. Maggie wanted to waken the sleeping boy and was puzzled at Jane's resistance to take details from Fran so that Cathy could be contacted. The truth was that the elder sister liked the idea of the child in the house. She knew that Maggie would not be resistant to the notion but she knew too that her sister lacked imagination and, in any case, would do what she thought was right. There was no question that she would believe the boy had to be returned home. "We'll not do anything hasty Maggie. I'm beginning to think that something's wrong and if that's so I don't want to alarm the child. I don't think that Fran should be allowed to ring home until we're absolutely certain that everything's well there." Maggie was sympathetic to this approach, but wondered what they would do when Fran wakened. Clara had not gone home at her usual time. She sat listening, enthralled with the drama. She went to the kitchen-range and felt the little jeans. "His trousers are dry now Auntie Jane but they're all muddy; what'll he wear if he has to stay here a while?" Jane said, "I'm not sure Clara. What do you think?" "I don't know. He's very tiny. There are some things up in our house I suppose but only my wee sister's things would fit him. Mammy never throws anything out, an' if you want I could have a rummage to see what I could find." Jane pondered for a while. "You're a good girl Clara and I think that's a very good idea. But I don't want Annie to be upset at you taking her clothes and I definitely don't want your mum and dad to know we have a little visitor...not just yet anyway. Do you think you can keep it a secret?" The only thing that Clara would have difficulty in keeping secret was her excitement! Nothing so remarkable had ever happened for her. Here was a potential little friend in her aunts' house, older than she but tiny and in awe of her. He wouldn't make fun of her lack of ability as they did at school. He'd be a compliant soul mate. She'd do anything to ensure Fran would stay in the house. There was no chance she'd tell anyone if it damaged the prospect of his becoming a friend. She wanted to ask how long Aunt Jane might allow him to stay, but at a nod from her she was off up the rutted track to her own home to see what she could find that would suit the little boy. "Jane, whatever are you playing at? You know we have to get that child back to his own family." Maggie always deferred to her older sister; ever since they were children and more so since their parents had died. There was no strict delineation of roles in the house but it was true that the more traditional duties of the home seemed to fall to Maggie. She didn't mind. Indeed, she never even thought about it. She was the cook because she was best at it. She looked after the hens and Jane the cattle. She mended and Jane looked after the farm's finances. It never was an issue, but there was a subtle power distinction and there was no doubt that Jane was senior. Jane answered Maggie's question with, "Precautions, Maggie. I'm just taking precautions" and, as she spoke, she walked across the room and switched on the radio; they'd never had a television in the house. Meanwhile Fran's sleep was not sound. His brain whirled as he went from nightmare to nightmare. It was ever the case. It wasn't surprising. Ever since he had become conscious of the external world he had felt vulnerable. Other children become increasingly confident as they strengthen and grow, as do indeed most children of small stature. Fran never did. His mother had died early. He'd not had a normal schooling. He'd been bullied whenever he was away from the protection of those who loved him. He worried about what would happen to him should Cathy find a husband. He worried that his 'mummy', Cathy's mother, was ill. It was not to be wondered that his dreams were of being chased, controlled, and possessed. As Fran tossed and turned in Maggie's bed, his future was determined by a short announcement on local radio, "The body of a young woman, believed to be that of Cathy McVeigh of Bellevue Avenue was found early this morning on the shore off Loughland Point. Rescue services are looking for her twelve-year-old cousin Francis McVeigh who was with her last evening. On hearing of the tragedy Miss McVeigh's mother, Ann, was taken ill and is presently in Whitefield Hospital." Maggie sat stunned on hearing the news and watched in a daze as Jane walked slowly to the range, picked up Fran's clothes and calmly put them into the fire. "We'll have to look after the child, Maggie. He's got no one else to care for him," said Jane, as she put her arms around her sister's shoulders. Maggie's distress was not for Cathy, not really; she hardly knew the girl. It was, of course, an awful thing and the telling of it to Fran would hardly be bearable. The bond between the two was quite clearly powerful and she knew it owed much of its potency to the fact that the young woman was the anchor in the child's life. "But Jane," she said, "what about his mother? She'll surely want Fran home with her now more than ever." "I'm not sure, Maggie, perhaps I'm just reading it wrong but I thought from what Cathy said last night that her mother was very ill. I don't think that you can explain her actions any other way. It was madness to go out in that storm and she wasn't a stupid girl. The woman's in hospital now, and there's nowhere for Fran to go. Do you think that he could manage on his own?" Maggie didn't, but still thought that it was a matter for Fran and not for herself and Jane. It was true she liked the idea of a child in their lives. She could see herself loving the little boy, dressing him. The wrongness of the thought came to her immediately. She realized that she was thinking of him as a little child, and perhaps as a little girl. "No, Jane, I don't think that he could cope on his own, but that's a decision he has to make. He's not really a little child, and he's not a girl either. And why did you burn his clothes?" "Whether or not he wants to stay with us, he'll need something to wear and surely you saw that those clothes he'd been wearing were ruined. And, to tell the truth, I thought that if he was going to stay someone would be sure to come looking for him. They'd surely put him in a home or something. In Annie's clothes he's not likely to be recognized unless someone knows him well. It will be the police, if anybody, who come here. I don't imagine there'll be any friends frantic to find him." At one level Jane knew her motives were dishonest. She wanted to believe that she was somehow acting in Fran's best interests. But the longing in her for a child was strong and selfishness often disguises itself as altruism. Her doubts were not really challenged by Maggie whom she could see was ambivalent and wanting to be convinced that only the two sisters could ensure Fran's protection. "I'll tell you what we'll do Maggie. We'll keep Fran here tonight and see what tomorrow brings. If he insists on wanting to go home, then I'll take him myself! What do you think?" Maggie's smile gave the answer. It was agreed. Fran would stay at least another day and the morrow would decide whether or not he would return home or become part of a new family. Fran stirred as he heard the front door below opening. For a moment he was startled by the still strange surroundings and then his heart raced as he thought of Cathy. Was she here at last to take him home? He began to clamber from the large bed but hesitated when he realized that, yet again, the caller was not Cathy but Clara. She must have gone out whilst he'd been sleeping! Goodness! How long had he slept! He'd never worn a watch and was usually adept at calculating the time. The room was quite dark now. It must be late afternoon. Still she hadn't come! Clara was a loud girl, and certain of herself, he thought. He shivered at the prospect of meeting her again. He was frightened of Jane and Maggie but terrified of Clara. Grown ups were usually rational. You could talk to them. They would sometimes forget that you were not a little child but then they'd remember. No adult had ever treated him as had Joan Fearon and her friends. Whenever he was out with mummy or Cathy he always clung to them if there were children about, just the way some small kids grasp their mothers when they see a dog nearby. You could never be certain about children. He'd had so many bad experiences. He remembered a time when he had liked Joan but then there was humiliation after humiliation. He used to quake when she came to the door to call for him. He was too ashamed to tell Cathy and mummy that he was frightened so he went along holding her hand being nice to her and hoping she wouldn't have to scold him that day. After the trauma of that summer day when Joan and her friends had taken him to town in Margaret McClean's little sister's dress, Cathy had told him he must learn to stand up for himself. She knew that he couldn't defend himself from other children and had told him to "scream and scream." But he had done and passers by simply thought he was a naughty child having a tantrum. Clara had lifted him just as Joan used to do. His face reddened at the thought of it. He'd squealed then too but she'd just ignored him. Next time he'd bite and scratch! This was Fran at his boldest! Downstairs Clara was showing her aunts the clothes she'd brought from her house. She was pleased she'd done so well. Jane was impressed with the collection of little dresses, petticoats and cardigans: "Did your mother not notice you taking so many of Annie's things?" Clara smiled proudly, "Oh no, it was easy. Mammy had them all in a charity bag. That's what she always does with old clothes. And, look, they're all neat and ironed." Maggie lifted up one of the dresses examining it carefully. It was frilled and flounced. She said it was much too small, but she knew it wasn't. Little Annie must be bigger than she remembered. "You can't seriously expect Fran to wear something like this. It's very girly. There's no way you'll persuade him to put it on." Jane said, "Well, perhaps you're right, but he'll have to wear something. He can't keep running around in your old blouse." "Are there no little shorts or trousers? Wouldn't he be much happier with something like that?" Maggie asked. Jane pulled a grey pinafore dress for a junior brownie from the bag and said she thought it "has possibilities." "I know," said Clara, and she drew from the bag a little tartan dress with a white blouse attached. "He could pretend he's a little Scots boy in this wee kilt!" She felt clever at this idea and pleased that her aunts approved. She had picked Fran's first dress and she couldn't wait to see him in it! In the bedroom Fran was examining himself in the wardrobe mirror wondering how long it would be before Clara would leave and he could get downstairs again. Yes he was "petite," as Cathy liked to say. He could see his girlishness as he wore the pink blouse. He had large eyes; too large for his little head he sometimes thought. He couldn't see the prettiness of his face. He wondered what it might be like to be a man and frowned at the painful realization that he would never be a man or a woman, but a child for years to come. He would never grow up and marry like others. He remembered Joan picking him up in that little dress and promising him that when she was grown up and Cathy had gone away and "your mummy is dead," she'd come and marry him and "you'll always be my little girl" and he cried at the time because he thought it might be true. And Joan had laughed at his anxious little face and squeezed and tickled him until he laughed through his tears. He remembered the yellow dress she had put him in. It still hung in his wardrobe at home. Mummy had never thrown it out. She said she had intended giving it back to Margaret McClean's little sister. But he knew mummy was ashamed to exchange it for his soccer kit. He was mortified when he saw that little girl through the window wearing his soccer kit challenging him to come and get it and she knowing that he was not allowed to come out and he knowing that he was glad his mummy would not allow him to cross the door because his heart was in his mouth for fear of her and she blew kisses at him and hoped he liked the dress. He watched her until mummy angrily lifted him from the window in view of the laughing girl. He sometimes saw his mother touching the little yellow dress and looking at him wistfully. He thought she might ask him to wear it again, and he would have done if she'd asked him. He'd no desire to wear it. It wasn't because feminine attire was objectionable to him. He was used to wearing girlish things. Given his diminutive frame there was often no choice. He had a little pair of shorts he liked that buttoned at the waist and his pants sometimes came in packs from the Mother and Child Store in the town. He remembered wearing a girl friend's hair band without embarrassment when they played princes and princesses and as the smallest he was sometimes the princess. He knew people thought him cute but what he did not like was to wear clothes that were suitable only for little children. He wanted them to be appropriate to his age. It was perhaps a fond wish for an elf like him, but he longed at times to be taken seriously. But for mummy he would have worn that dress. He knew she was ill and he yearned to make her happy and on that bus journey home from the town as he wore the yellow dress he knew she was contented as he sat on her knee as though he were a normal little girl. Neither she nor Cathy had asked him to remove it when they'd returned home that day and he and his cousin had played together until bedtime when she undid the pearl buttons at the neck when she helped him undress for bed. He was still in a reverie with Cathy on his mind when he heard Jane coming up the stairs. He scrambled back into bed and pretended he was still asleep. Downstairs Maggie bit her nails and Clara stared at the ceiling as though she could see through it. There were moments of tense silence until the quiet was broken with anguished girlish squeals. Maggie wept and Clara looked awkward and uncomfortable and then wept with her aunt as she recognized the pain of the child upstairs. Jane came down again with heavy tread: "Well," she said, "I've told him. He's hysterical. I don't think he believes me. You're better at this sort of thing Maggie. Go and talk to him for God's sake." When Maggie went to the distraught child she was overcome with compassion. Fran did not resist her taking him to her knees where he cried disconsolately. "Oh, Maggie, Maggie, what am I to do? What's to become of me without Cathy?" "Hush, child. Don't worry. We'll take care of you. You can stay here until your mummy gets better." With his little hands Fran tried to push her away: "No, no. I want to go home now." "Come on love, let's wash your wee face. You'll feel better. You're all hot and bothered and you've not washed since you came here." At the tender words Fran let Maggie lead him to the bathroom but as they reached the door Fran said, "It's okay, I can do it myself." Maggie waited outside the bathroom but with her ear to the door. There was sobbing and then a little voice wept, "I can't reach the taps." Maggie saw the little boy helpless before the basin well above his head. In his shocked state he did not object as Maggie placed a footstool in front of it and gently lifted the child on to it and removed the tearstained blouse. He looked so vulnerable in his nakedness that Maggie was tearful as she washed the small body. As she washed him she opened the bathroom door with her foot and shouted down, "Jane, he needs something to wear." "I'll take up the wee dress," volunteered Clara. "You will not indeed," said Jane brusquely, as she picked up the tartan dress; "you wait here!" Clara flounced as Jane rushed to the stairs. Despite his distress Fran was alarmed as he saw the clothes Jane expected him to wear: "Jane, I'm not going to put on that little girl dress." "But it's only for tonight pet," Maggie said. "There's nothing else." "But where's the blouse?" "No," said Jane, "you can't wear that. It's dirty now." "Then I want to put on my jeans. Where are my jeans?" "Listen pet, your clothes were ruined after last night and Jane had to burn them. It's only for a while. You can pretend that you're a wee Scots boy with a kilt," Maggie reasoned. Fran was far from convinced. He didn't care what either of the Kennedys said; he wasn't going to wear that dress! He was becoming hysterical and Jane said, "Maggie, leave it with me." And Maggie was only too glad to leave the bathroom. She again stood outside and heard Jane chastise Fran for being a silly little boy and demanding, "What would your Cathy think of this behaviour?" She heard Fran cry out, "Please Jane, don't make me." Fran struggled vainly as she put the petticoat over his head. He pleaded as she made him pull on the little pants. But he was at last unresisting when Annie's tartan dress was quickly donned and smoothed down by Jane. She sat on the edge of the bath and put on his white ankle socks and the red plastic sandals that fitted just right. Maggie was taken aback as the pair came from the bathroom. Fran was now a little girl. There was no doubting it. He looked up at her with his big sad eyes and she tilted her head and smiled softly at him. "Now," said Jane, holding his little hand firmly, "wait till Clara sees you, she'll be pleased at her choice." Clara stood expectantly at the foot of the stairs and beamed with pleasure as she saw the little girl appearing at the top with tear- stained face holding the stern Jane's hand. As Fran stumbled Clara rushed up and asked, "Can I carry her auntie Jane?" "No, you can't and Fran's not a wee girl, are you darlin'?" Clara knew that whatever Jane said, Fran was to be her little girlfriend. Hadn't she picked out her first dress and chosen her little shoes and socks? Although the house was warm Fran trembled as he looked down the stairs at the smiling Clara. "Are you cold love?" asked Maggie. "It's okay," said Clara, "I'll get him a cardigan!" Chapter 4: Trapped Fran knew that he had to assert himself if we were to be free from his predicament. He'd never managed this successfully in his life before and he understood that it was now more important than ever. He wasn't an especially clever child but he realized his situation was perilous. How was he to deal with Jane who was so sure of everything? He couldn't argue with her. She was too clever. He couldn't fight with her. She was too big. He wanted to cry again but he saw this would emphasize his helplessness. As he sat on the sofa he looked at his exposed knees and his little feet inches from the floor in white socks. Clara sat beside him with her feet planted firmly on the carpet. He tugged vainly at the short dress and noticed both sisters smiling at the feminine gesture. Clara said, "Do you like the wee cardigan Fran?" as though the dress was not an issue for discussion, as indeed it wasn't. Fran had hardly noticed her putting the cardigan on him and he touched it now. The truth was it was the only item of clothing that was tolerable to him. All else declared that he was an infant: "It's okay," he said without thinking. "Oh good!" Clara shouted and she moved to the corner of the room and brought to him the large plastic bag, "I got some more clothes for you." Fran was stunned as he looked at the items of small girl's clothing that Clara tumbled out of the bag. Surely they didn't imagine that he would wear such things: frilly dresses and petticoats... a ridiculous pair of buckled shoes. He jumped from the sofa, stamped his foot on the floor and with pounding heart screamed at Jane, "You're not going to put me in those dresses"; he looked wildly at Clara, pointed at her and yelled, "Clara wouldn't wear those things!" "Of course she wouldn't," Jane said, "they're too small for her! You're not being fair Francis. Clara only wanted to help. We've nothing here for you to wear and I asked her to see what she could find in her house. We picked the kilt because we thought you wouldn't object." "It's not a kilt! It's her sister's dress!" "That's as maybe, but it's all there is for you to wear at the moment until we decide what's to be done with you." He looked pleadingly at Maggie who sat with Jane opposite the two children. "Maggie you said I could go home to mummy." She turned to Jane for an answer. "Listen Francis; I know this is terrible for you and we want you to go home to your mummy. But she's in hospital. You'll have to stay here tonight until we see how she is. I told you we heard about Cathy and your mummy on the radio and there'll be more news tonight or tomorrow. I could take you to your house tonight but I'd have to tell the authorities and they wouldn't let a twelve-year-old stay on his own, and certainly not a wee thing like you. Besides I'd have to take you in that wee dress and you'd not want that! Do you have any other friends or family you could stay with?" Fran knew quite well that Jane knew the answer to that question. When he did not reply, she suggested, "Perhaps Mrs. Fearon would mind you tonight. Joan's your friend, isn't she?" Of course Jane had no intention to allow Fran to leave in the evening but she had cleverly manoeuvred the situation so that the boy felt he had no option but to comply. He hung his head, hands behind his back and toed the carpet with a little red sandal, "All right Jane. I'll stay tonight...but can I go home tomorrow?" "We'll see," she said, "but I don't want anymore tantrums. Do you understand?" "Yes Jane." Clara clapped her hands, and Maggie, pleased that Fran had complied, gave a satisfied sigh. She went down on her knees and as Fran looked up at her she kissed his cheek. "It's all going to work out fine Fran, you'll see. Now I'm going to make us all some nice supper. Okay?" "Clara," Jane said, "you take Francis into the backroom to play, and remember, you're not to pick him up." "No, I promise, Auntie Jane" she said as she ran to the door. Fran hesitated. He didn't feel like playing...he didn't want to play. He wanted to stay with the adults. His cousin was dead, it was wrong that they should expect him to play. "Well what are you waiting for? Off you trot," she said, with her hand gently pushing the reluctant child in Clara's direction. Reluctantly Fran walked to Clara who held out her hand. He took it and quickly she whisked him behind the door. Jane smiled as she heard Clara giggle and ask the small child what games he liked to play. She joined Maggie in the kitchen. "How do you think it went, Maggie?" "I thought you were very fair Jane. Of course the child didn't have much choice. God help him, he's not very happy in that wee dress." "Well, it's not the first time he's worn a dress. Do you remember what Cathy told us about the yellow summer dress? I know those girls made him wear it but Cathy said he wore it for the rest of the day without complaining. I've a sneaking suspicion that she might have had him done up as a little girl for that P.R. film they were to be making today. He looks cute in that kilt whatever you say and if he stays here for a while he's going to have to get used to wearing Annie's things until we get something else sorted out." "Do you not thing he'll be able to go home tomorrow?" "I think you feel the same as I do Maggie. I'm just being honest about it. I don't want him to go home and I'll keep him here if I can. All that's stopping us is his mother...and she's not really his mother. If she gets better then he'll have to go home. I'm not wishing anything to happen to the woman but I do like the idea of a child in the house. I think it would make a big difference to our lives. If anything happens to her, I think that it would be wrong for us not to keep him here. He'd probably end up in a home for children and you know how terrified he is of other kids. He'd be safe here and we'd be good to him." "Jane they'll come looking for him. And what about Clara? She'll not stay quiet for ever." "I don't think anybody will come looking for him. They'll assume he was drowned with Cathy. Even if they do come they'll find a wee girl. As for Clara, she's more wit than you give her credit for. She wants Fran to stay here almost as much as we do. She'll keep it quiet as long as we want her to...but I don't see why in time we need to keep it a secret. We might have adopted the child." Maggie was impressed that her older sister had thought the whole thing out so carefully. Jane was right. She wanted Fran to stay as much as did Jane, but she was more sensitive to his fears than her sister and would do anything to avoid hurting the child. Jane was more forthright than she. She saw the world in black and white. If she concluded that it was best for Fran to stay with them then Fran would have to put up with it and she would not brook opposition. "Maggie, I think that Fran feels safer with you. I think it would be best that he sleep with you tonight and I'll stay in my own room." Maggie was pleased, "Yes, I think I'd like that." There was nothing for a child to play with in the backroom and the children had spent it with Fran being interrogated by Clara. Fran and she sat on the floor with legs flipped under them the way girls do. He hardly dared look up at her as she asked question after question. There was little of the boy about Fran. She knew more about boys' things than he did, and, of course, she'd played with boys and talked to them in a way that he'd never done. He'd not spoken to one in years and had no interest in doing so. When they'd come into the room she'd laughed as she asked him to give her a swing. Her eyes twinkled when he looked up at her in astonishment. How could he give a big girl like her a swing? She liked it when one of the bigger girls or boys held her by the waist and swung her around. The truth was she wanted to swing Fran. She was just dying to pick him up. It was natural for her to want to carry a smaller child. Most girls love to lift up little ones. She would have done had Aunt Jane not forbidden it. Fran refused when she asked him. He felt safe in refusing, as he knew Clara would not disobey her aunt. It didn't stop her touching him. She had him reluctantly twirl around to see the dress to best effect. She adjusted his petticoat. She thought his hair was nice even though it was short. She was possessing him physically and he said nothing. Now he found she was getting into his head with her incessant questioning. She knew about Sammie, his dolly; she knew about the incident with the little yellow dress. She smiled at his terror of Joan Fearon. He blushed when she told him that she had picked his dress. He asked her if she thought he might be allowed to go home the next day. He tried to hide his fear when she said she thought perhaps he might and perhaps not. If he were going to stay she would like to see him in the grey pinafore dress and even the party dress. She was puzzled at his tears. He was pretty in the tartan dress, why would he not want to wear something really nice? He was girlier than she was. If Aunt Jane allowed her she could have him adorable. She was not a cruel child but she took pleasure in knowing that he would do anything she asked of him. When she had told him to twirl he didn't hesitate. When she asked him to stand on the chair so that she could adjust the petticoat, he didn't object. When Maggie came into the room to fetch the children for supper Clara was again adjusting the blouse of the dress with Fran again standing on the chair. Maggie noted the girly activity and said, "I'm glad you two are getting on so well together." She had nearly said "you two girls." But she made a mental note that Fran was now more comfortable in the dress and thought there would be no real difficulty in persuading him to wear the rest of little Annie's dresses should the occasion require it. "Supper's ready children. Clara you bring Fran into the kitchen." They followed Maggie with Clara holding the little boy's hand. Jane was already at the table. She looked possessively at the children as they came into the room and watched with approval as the bigger child helped Fran to climb on to the chair with double cushions already placed to raise up his small frame. Clara was going to be very important in helping Fran to settle, she thought. She knew