Chapter 15

Two things helped me salvage my dream of finishing the week with my body intact. One, Robbie knew it was the right thing to do. Even after installing the Bradley family in three of her unused rooms there were two left for future refugees. And two, she liked the girls from the moment she met them.

As we walked in the living room I pulled a whistle out of my pocket and blew it hard. Robbie turned around and looked at me as if I'd lost it, but as she turned back the four Bradley girls were forming themselves into a straight line, oldest to youngest, standing at attention, and trying to keep straight faces.

"Refugees ready for inspection, ma'am," I said, assuming a straight-backed attention myself. "Any you don't like we can send to the county orphanage."

"We don't have a county orphanage," Robbie snapped.

"Animal shelter then."

Robbie shot me a dirty look and mouthed one of the words I don't like. Seven letters starting with A.

I worked hard not to smile and stepped in front of the oldest girl. I pretended to dust off her shoulders. "Senior refugee, ma'am. Bradley, Bobbi R. Hasn't told me what the R stands for. Fourteen years old, freshman, but will grow out of that. Prepared to rub your tired feet until her hands bleed."

Bobbi made a face but then nodded. She was just an inch or two past five feet, with short brown hair and perky but small breasts.

I stepped down the line to the next girl and pretended to lift and adjust her t-shirt. "Refugee first class, ma'am. Bradley, Billie J. J stands for Jean. Twelve years old, seventh grader. Partly civilized. Prepared to fetch cold beverages and snacks all night long. Will peel grapes and feed them to you one at a time.

Billie curtsied. She looked like an older version of her sister, though she was two years younger. About two inches taller and hair just a little longer, breasts bigger, but not as pointy.

I stepped down until I was between the last two girls. "Refugees second class, ma'am. Bradley, Betty, no middle initial, I don't know why. And Bradley, Josephine M. M for Marie, uses alias of Jo. Ten years old, fifth graders. Both claim to be oldest and fight constantly. Mother claims not to remember which came first. Prepared to finish any and all homework."

The twins had what I call dirty blond hair, dark enough that he could be brunette, but light enough that it could be blond. One had a single ponytail and the other a double. Both wore plain pink t-shirts with bumps that might have been the beginning of tits or maybe just wrinkles in the fabric.

Robbie smiled. "You have the fifth graders doing my homework?"

"You keep beating me in class standing," I explained.

"Pa-rade rest," I snapped. I think the colonel would have been proud of me. The girls snapped to a parade rest position like we'd seen in the movies, just like a Marine drill team. We'd practiced that afternoon before going to the school to get Robbie.

"All four can be used interchangeably to wash dishes, mop floors, clean the chicken coop, or remove ashes from the fireplace," I added.

"Why do I suddenly feel like the evil step-mother?" Robbie asked.

"He said guilt was the safest way to handle you," a new voice said. We looked at the doorway to the dining room. "I'm Kate Bradley," a pretty woman in her thirties said. I hope this is all right. He said you didn't know."

Robbie smiled and went forward to hug the older woman. "It's fine. Tony just likes to tweak me sometimes." She turned and looked at the girls. "Uh, at ease. And nobody has to rub my feet, or fetch and carry, or do my homework."

The girls relaxed.

"I really do do foot rubs," Bobbi said.

"And I really don't do chicken coops," Billie added.

"And we have enough trouble getting our own homework done," came in stereo.

Robbie smiled again, then started toward the entryway and the staircase. "I might take you up on that foot rub, but I need to have a word with Tony first." Tami and I started to follow. "Alone," Robbie added without bothering to look back.

Tami shrugged and stopped. "I'll miss you," she whispered, as though it might be the last time.

"Talk!" Robbie ordered when she was about halfway up the stairs.

"I was talking to Mr. Reed just before debate, and he told me about the fire. He also said the Bradleys had no insurance and the Red Cross didn't have the funds to help much."

Robbie nodded, not seeming to be surprised about the Red Cross. "Why you?" she asked as she paused at the top of the stairs to let me catch up.