Skeletons in the Attic - Chapter Ten

Theo's POV
December 7, 1904



         Theo spent the first week living with the Muller's in a frequent sour mood: at dinner and during their daily teaching lesson, slouched forward, arms crossed, head bowed and his mouth at a hard line. He couldn't tell what annoyed him more. The fact that Dr. Alexander knew his secret and refused to tell the Mullers; or that the twins were warming up to their so-called, foster parents.

To Theo's disbelief, Millen and Dylan loved to crawl into Catrina's lap, as she told them stories about pirates and mermaids. During their daily school time, she taught the twins basic arithmetic and to spell difficult words like automobile, teacher, building, florist, family, together, Christmas, and Muller. Their temporary mother even gave Theo and Francis their own workbook. Flipping through the pages, he read about ancient history in faraway lands like Italy and Egypt and lessons on algebra and science. In front of Catrina, he pretended to be annoyed, but took the book to bed and ferociously read, savoring and memorizing the pages. He knew he wouldn't be taking it with him when Mr. Woodrow came back to reclaim his property.

Towards the end of the week, Theo stripped off his clothes for his daily bath, which was getting more and more difficult to process. They could take a bath every night in clean water! Turning to study himself in the mirror, he noticed his chest was growing rapidly. The two little mosquito bite lumps seemed to have swelled into teacup size overnight! The bruises and scars from binding his father's ancient neckties into his skin taunted and teased him. It would have been much easier if God made him a boy, to begin with. The bag that Dr. Alexander gave him their second day in Sherwood lay hidden under a mountain of blankets in their bathroom closet. The cloth apron beckoned for him. It was only a matter of time.

"Read us a story," Dylan squealed as he bounced up in bed next to his brother. Millen plopped down on his stomach; his hair tumbling over his forehead. Pushing his arms under the pillows, he let out a happy sigh and giggled, as he playfully kicked his bare feet. The twins adored storytime. When their real mama was still alive, she would gather them up beside the stove and read poetry in the poorly lit kitchen. There were no luxury beds, rocking chairs, or fireplaces radiating heat.

The twins curled up in her lap, while Francis and Theo perched at the squeaky table. Mama's voice rose like the mythical fairies. Her heavy accent stumbled over Edgar Allan Poe's dark poem of the beloved Annabelle Lee. Her favorite. Or, the brooding Mr. Rochester and outspoken Jane Eyre. Theodore found the tattered book lying on a pile of vegetable scraps behind a soup kitchen. Snatching the book before anyone could claim it; he took it home and told his mama that he truthfully found it in a street bin.

Rolling his eyes, Theo snapped out of the daydream. In a matter of weeks, they would be brought to Mr. Woodrow's home. He might as well let the twins enjoy it while they could. Francis sat at the edge of their bed, carefully slipping into his pajama socks, which was their daily nighttime routine. The twins would take a bath together, then Francis and Theo separately. After changing into their pajamas, Catrina would read them a bedtime story. The story was mainly for the twins, but Francis seemed enthralled. Theo sat in the rocking chair, the entire time, staring at their temporary mother, memorizing her features. The way her hair cascaded down her back in loose auburn ringlets. Her laugh was like the ping of a real crystal vase. They had never seen or heard real crystal until the night Frank tapped on the flower vase resting on top of the piano. The soft, chimes that echoed through the room startled them. That was how Catrina's Southern aristocratic voice filled the air as she told the twins stories about Aladdin and his magic lamp, Cinderella and her slippers, and Snow White and the house of dwarfs.

Theo decided he would allow the twins to become attached to Catrina and then suffer disappointment and heartache when they were sent back. It was for the best. He and Francis learned that lesson with the Polish couple that took them in while their mama died at the poor hospital. The obese woman reassured their mama that she and her husband would take good care of the children. When word reached back to them that Molly O'Conner died unexpectedly, the Polish family gathered up the children's belongings and kicked them onto the streets. Theo told the twins that their mama didn't want them to live there anymore.

They also learned a lesson when Mr. Tuscano allowed his wife to gleefully take the children away. The man had been a part of their lives ever since before the twins were born. Theo shot him a look of disgust as he just stood there, while his wife caressed the ten-dollar gold coin. The reward money for turning in orphans.

Theo watched Catrina kiss the twins goodnight, and then tuck them into bed. Her hands lovingly caressed the feather blankets and wool sheets. His stomach ached and turned over. He felt a pinch at his temples and lower back. Folding his arms over his chest, he tightened the strap on his robe. He wasn't wearing the neckties. They were currently drying out under a mountain of towels.

"Goodnight," she turned to press her lips on the top of his head. "Say your prayers and I will see the four of you first thing in the morning."

Theo nodded and gave a half smile. Frank and Catrina continually talked about Jesus and love and forgiveness. The twins soaked it up like little sponges. Francis seemed interested. Theo held hands with everyone during prayer time and Bible study. He didn't believe a word. How could people like them be worthy of respect? All their lives their real parents treated others with respect and were spat upon in return. They were Irish after all. Frank wasn't. He had married into Catrina's wealthy family. Her father accepted him after Frank refused to give Catrina up. The man was so shocked, that he eventually agreed. And, just where was Catrina's father? Theo knew the man lived in Sherwood and once owned a nursery. The word should have reached him by now that his daughter had four temporary guests at her and her husband's house.

With a loud sigh, he hauled himself from the rocking chair, causing the back to smack against the mantle of the fireplace, and shuffled to the bed. Grasping hold of the quilts, he pulled them back. The pressure against his temples seemed to increase, as well as the tightness in his stomach. Blaming the rich, chocolate cake they ate for dessert, Theo tumbled beside his brother and closed his eyes.

"Theo, wake up! You overslept!"

With a low groan, he poked his head above the quilts, to find his three brothers, fully dressed, staring down at him. The headache and stomachache from last night seemed to be growing worse.

"Breakfast is ready." Millen tugged at his hair. "Catrina made us apple pancakes!"

Pulling himself up, Theo glared at them. He wished he could toss his hair back in annoyance, but it was cut so short, that it would take months for it to reach his shoulders.

"The cook made us pancakes," he said, eyeing his siblings. "Which is what we will be doing in less than three weeks. Have you three not forgotten? We're not Catrina's children. She is giving us a home for Christmas. She is not our mother."

The twin's eyes enlarged in shock. Francis pulled them back from the bed. Even Theo was in disbelief over the harsh words. What was wrong with him? His headache seemed to pound like a drum.

"Sorry," he murmured. "Enjoy the pancakes. I will be down shortly."

The twins giggled and bounced out of the room. Francis raised an eyebrow.

"You've been pretending to be a boy for so long; they've forgotten who you really are."

With a smirk, Theo watched his brother straighten his hair in the mirror and walk from the room, closing the door behind him.

Rolling his eyes at Francis's ridiculous statement, he hauled himself from the bed and stumbled into the bathroom. Locking both doors, he began the process of stripping off his clothes. With trembling fingers, he fumbled with the buttons and almost tripped over the pants leg.

"What's wrong with me? Ugh..."

Kicking the wadded-up bedclothes across the bathroom floor, he reached down to remove his underclothes. There it was. The evil stain that had haunted his dreams since their mama passed. For months Theo tried his hardest to act, talk, and walk like a boy. They needed the money a man could earn. Each day he went to bed praying it wouldn't happen. Finally, it arrived. Dr. Alexander was correct. All four of them would grow once the Mullers fattened them up.

"Dear, God, no."

Slumping to the cold floor, Theo reached for his dirty clothes and buried his face in them, too upset to cry. How could he hide it? The following month he would be at the Woodrow home, attending to two spoiled brats. What if there was an accident? What if one of the men walked in on Theo undressing? Would they send him back?

Theo refused to use female pronouns. He was a boy. He became one the day the overseer at the button factory told him to a room of laughing men that, "Women are second-class citizens. I will pay more for a boy's work." He threw Theo's money at him. His sewing outdid the men, but since he wore a dress, he received a dime. The men sewed sloppily and made many careless mistakes. They were paid a quarter. With his head held high, Theo returned the next day wearing Francis's clothes and his hair cut short. A floppy hat hid his features. He signed his name, Theodore O'Connor Jr. The overseer didn't even recognize him when he gave him a quarter at quitting time. The following day, he removed several boys clothing from the church donation bin and went off to seek another job. He was never discovered, not even when they lived at the Boy's Orphanage.

Staring down at his changing body, fate had just played a cruel joke on him.

"Theo?" The sound of Catrina's hand knocking on the door had him on his feet. "Francis told me you're ill. Do you wish to go back to bed? I don't mind."

Removing the cashmere robe from the hook on the wall, Theo hurriedly raced into it. Pushing and maneuvering his arms through the sleeves. Tying the belt about his waist, he unlocked and opened the hallway door.

"Darling, are you feeling good?"

Theo reached up to brace himself against the door frame.

Darling?! They were orphans. Why was she talking to him like he was her pampered son?

"I-I-..."

Gazing into her kind, compassionate face, He felt the tang of bile at the tip of his throat.

"Oh, dear!" Catrina took hold of his arm. "You look ill."

Ushering him into the bathroom, she reached for a linen washcloth.

"Here, pat your face," she placed it in his hands. "I will have your breakfast taken to your bed. Francis is correct. You do look a bit...green."

Once she was safe from the room, he tossed the cloth into the basin, rushed to the privy, and vomited. With shaky fingers, Theo pulled the cord, emptying it into the underground sewers. After cleaning his face, he found Dr. Alexander's bag. Yanking out the horrid diaper apron, he stared down at it in absolute disgust. His face tightened in anger.

Unbuttoning his underwear, he pushed them down, muttered a few cuss words, and stepped into the contraption, tying it together in a loose knot. He felt unusual and awkward. His life would never be the same. Dunking the soiled underclothing into the basin of water, he used a bar of Lye Soap to remove the stain. Squeezing the water, he opened the laundry shoot and pushed it down into the basement along with his pajamas. Slipping into a clean pair, he unlocked the bathroom door and found his breakfast waiting for him on a tray.

"Eat, and then go to sleep, dear."

Spinning around, Theo saw Catrina tending toward the fireplace.

"Dr. Alexander informed Frank yesterday that the flu is spreading around Sherwood. I hope to God that you don't have it."

She smiled. "In case you do, I want you in bed until your spirits are well."

"Yes, ma'am."

How Theo wished to race across the room and spill every secret. Perhaps the young doctor was correct? Perhaps Catrina and her husband didn't mind one bit that he was a girl? They might not, but Mr. Woodrow would. He was legally Theo's father, not Frank Muller. He had the power to send him back to New York. The old man wanted four brothers to tend to his college-bound sons. For that, he had to keep his secret.

**

He awoke a few hours later, to find his headache and stomach pains vanished like smoke. Raising his hands to his face, he rubbed the sleep from his eyes and blinked. The afternoon sun shone through the window pane, despite the snow on the ledges. He could hear the twittering of the red birds in the trees. A glance at the bedside clock told him it was past lunchtime. Folding back the quilts, Theo made a beeline to the bathroom, changed clothes, cleaned himself up, and brushed his short hair. He had no idea what was happening to his body. His mama only spoke of babies and schedules. Perhaps, he should speak to Dr. Alexander?

Muttering to himself, Theo slipped into his socks and boots. Stomping down the back staircase, he opened the door and walked into the kitchen, stopping dead in his tracks at the sight that met him. The room was a mess. Pots and pans filled the sink and stood side-by-side on the table. He felt his mouth drop, as he watched Catrina dip a spoon into a bowl of chocolate and feed it to Millen. The four of them were laughing and cooking sweets. He could forgive the twins because they didn't know better. But, Francis!

"Why hello, dear! You look marvelous!" Her eyes swept over Theo's face. "I'm so glad it's not the flu. Perhaps, it was a tiny stomach bug?"

"Seems to be." Theo shook his head at Francis, who responded by dipping his spoon back into the raw batter.

He's enjoying this!!

Catrina rose up from the kitchen table.

"We're cooking gingerbread houses, fudge brownies, and chocolate cookies! Care to join us?"

Her eyes shone with delight. There was something about her playing mother to the four of them that made Theo wish to cry. They looked so happy and innocent. What exactly was the harm of his brothers helping Catrina cook? They would need the practice when they officially became servants to Mr. Woodrow's sons. Looking into their eager faces, he saw how happy they were. How they giggled with delight over taste-testing the various sweets. It was just like being back at Mr. Tuscano's store.

"I...I...I guess."

"Wonderful!" Catrina clapped her hands, her dress swirling as she pulled out an empty chair next to Francis. "We have a batch of cookies in the oven. Dylan has begun stirring the ingredients for the gingerbread. Millen is preparing the chocolate. If you wish, you can help Francis with the fudge."

Feeling his stomach turn over with slight cramps, Theo slowly perched down on the wicker chair. The pain was slowly creeping back. He thought it was gone for good?

"Here, taste this," Francis pushed over a bowl of chocolate. "I think it needs more nuts. Mr. Tuscano's fudge always had lots of nuts."

"Hmm..."

Theo took the wooden spoon from his brother, dipped it in the squishy batter, and raised it to his lips. The moment his tongue felt contact with the fudge a wonderful sensation filled his body. Shoving the spoon back into the mix, he took several bites, savoring the creamy concoction.

"Goodness!" Catrina placed her hands and her hips and laughed. "Either you've never tasted fudge before, or that's the best you've ever had!"

Feeling his face blush hot, he dropped the spoon back into the bowl and pushed it toward Francis. Who smirked at him. The twins were too involved in mixing the gingerbread to notice. The same thing happened last night. The cook made a wonderful cheesecake for dessert, something the four of them had never tasted. At the time, Theo didn't think much of the three pieces he ate, to the astonishment of everyone at the table. Looking back, he felt like a pig. He really was turning into a girl. Boys don't care about how many slices of cake they eat. They could eat a whole cake by themselves and no one would bat an eye. A girl could eat one slice and someone would always make a remark about her weight, her character, and her clothes not fitting in the morning. It wasn't fair. It was also one of the things Theo didn't miss about "being a girl."

"Sorry," he mumbled, reaching for the cutting board and tin can of walnuts. "It's really good."

Catrina smiled, and Theo felt her pat his head in reassurance.

"Glad to hear it."

The five of them spent a few moments cooking in silence. The sounds of the snow patting against the large kitchen windows, the aroma of freshly baked cookies and gingerbread, and the knife chopping on the bamboo board filled the air. With a smile on his face, Theo dumped a cup full of nuts into the fudge mixture and noticed a stack of flour-covered cooking paper near the twins. An idea formed in his head. He could easily use those instead of the horrid diaper apron. Folding them in half, they would easily be hidden inside his trousers. Then he could dispose of them in the fireplace at night, instead of washing and drying the apron. If one of his brothers saw it, they would instantly know. The twins may be little, but they knew Theo was growing up.

"Can I use these?" He reached for the paper. Everyone raised their eyes to see Theo stretching his fingers out.

Catrina cocked her head. "Well, of course. You don't have to ask."

It dawned on him, by the confused looks that they wished to know what he planned on doing with them. He wasn't expecting an explanation.

Glancing up at the wall, he saw a framed sketch of farm animals.

"Art projects..." It was the first thing that popped into his head. Feeling stupid again, he looked down at the table. They were going back to Mr. Woodrow at the end of the month. What would be the point of him drawing? It wasn't like he would ever fulfill his dream of attending art school. Or, traveling to Paris to sketch the architecture. Or, sailing around the Irish coastline, the homeland of his ancestors, while drawing the landscape.

"Ooh..." Millen giggled, bouncing in his chair. "You haven't drawn anything since Mama died."

What's the point? Theo thought to himself while placing the papers beside him on the table. Our parents died, leaving me in charge. I have no time or use for drawing. Or, daydreaming about college.

"You like to draw?" Catrina asked curiously.

Before Theo could make up some excuse like, "It's no big deal," or, "It's foolish," all three of his brothers began to chatter at once,

"Theo used to draw all the time!"

"He drew a picture of us and Mama and Papa!"

"We left the drawings behind at the orphanage."

"Papa says his own mama drew in Scotland and Ann--Theo got the talent!"

At the slip of his little brother's tongue, Theo's head shot up and he glared hard at Millen. The boy almost gave away his real, female name! Seeing the fear and anger on his face, Millen dropped his head and started to play with the bottom of his sweater. An awkward silence filled the room.

"Well..." Catrina stood up from her chair and walked around to Millen. "There is nothing to be embarrassed about, Theo. As humans, we are expected to use the talents that the Lord gave us to make the world a better place. Any man, or woman, who tries to prevent a person from doing this, will be punished."

Walking to the stove, she removed two cookies from the pan and placed them on a plate.

"Here, Millen," she offered them, and the boy gladly accepted. "You did the right thing. I want to know all about the four of you. I don't wish for any of you to keep secrets."

At that remark, Theo winced as Francis kicked him under the table. Shooting his brother a glare, he returned to Millen.

"Sorry," he muttered.

Millen raised his head and took a big bite of the cookie. If only Catrina knew. If he told her, Mr. Woodrow would send him back to New York.

"Here, will you draw me a Christmas picture?"

Catrina placed a pencil before him on the table. Theo blinked his eyes. A drawing? Why?

Instantly suspicious, but doing as he was told, Theo took one of the precious pieces of paper, shook the flour from it, and grasped a hold of the pencil. What should he draw? A snowman, Christmas tree, sled, Father Christmas...?

With a frown, Theo began to sketch and within seconds the outline of a sled appeared. He could smell Catrina's perfume as she peered over his shoulder.

"Marvelous!" She whispered, as Father Christmas magically appeared on the paper, followed by a chubby elf.

"Told you, Theodore could draw." Millen popped the last bit of cookie in his mouth.

Smirking, at his brother, Theo added the finishing touches. A bulging sack of presents, two reindeer, and a tree in the background.

"Finished," he pushed the paper across the table to the twins, who giggled over it.

"Mama glued Theodore's drawings all over the kitchen wall," Millen grasped for another cookie, and bit into it, causing crumbs to scatter all along the artwork. "The walls were ugly before."

Francis gave a snort and settled back into his chair.

"I believe they were a greenish color?"

Theodore raised an eyebrow.

"You mean mildew? Because that's what it was." He continued, ignoring Catrina's gaze. "The cheap landlord refused to fix the leak in the roof, so when it rained or snowed, we had to place wooden buckets on the floor of the kitchen. Of course, water still came through and rotted the walls."

Catrina shook her head, her auburn curls bouncing across her neck.

"You boys are quite lucky you did not get sick."

Millen brushed the crumbs off his mouth and reached for another cookie.

"Oh, we got sick many times, but we always grew better. But, Mama got so bad she never came home."

Theodore felt his lips pull down in a frown, as his stomach turned over. Closing his eyes, he tried to remember his mama. Without that drawing that they were forced to leave behind, he was having more and more trouble recalling her features.

"She had red hair like me and blue eyes," Francis interrupted Theodore's daydream. "The coughing disease was spreading through the apartments like wildfire. If we hadn't moved after Papa died, she would have never gotten sick. She got so bad, that one day she coughed up blood and was crying. She didn't want us to get sick too, so we went to live with the Polish couple while Mama went to the institution."

Francis paused to study his fingers, his eyes growing large. Theodore couldn't tell if it was from remembering their mama, or the fact that for the first time in all over their lives, there wasn't dirt under the nails.

"Go on, dear," Catrina sat a mug of steaming hot tea in front of the boys. "I would like to hear more about your mama."

Theodore bristled but allowed Francis to continue.

"The day they came to take her away, she was crying. She told us she would come back for us when she got better. She had to leave because she didn't want us to get sick too. But, she died a few days later."

A terrible silence filled the room. The twins were stirring the fudge in slow circles, their heads bowed. Frances propped his chin in his hand and stared down at his cup of tea. Catrina stood over them.

"I took over," Theodore heard himself saying. "I've taken care of all four of us."

Looking up into her brown eyes, he saw the disbelief in them.

"But," she shook her shoulders. "The four of you are just children. You should be in school."

Francis snorted and returned to cooking.

Theodore rolled his eyes. The woman didn't understand. People like them didn't graduate from school. They attended until they were fourteen, dropped out to receive their work permits, and spent the rest of their short lives day after day in a rundown factory making less than a dollar a week. They were created for labor. That's what God wanted them to be.
His brother seemed to read Theodore's mind. He turned his head up at Catrina.

"Ma'am," Francis dropped his spoon into the mixture. "People like us don't get educated. Once Christmas is over, we will return to
Mr. Woodrow and his sons. It was luck that brought us to Sherwood and to live in his quarters."

Theodore found no words to describe the look on Catrina's face. He noticed the pink flush in her skin; her lips tightened in anger, and the way her breathing changed.

"God does not create humans to be disrespected. We're all his children."

"Well," Theodore interrupted, shifting in his chair. "Tell that to the hundreds of families, including ours, who lived in the absolute filth of Brooklyn. The cramped, one-bedroom apartments, dirty water, leaky ceilings, rotting floors, rats, bed bugs, roaches."

As he rambled out the conditions of living in poverty to the woman who slept on silk and wool sheets all her life, Theodore felt a sense of relief. This woman didn't know anything about extreme poverty. Her husband claimed to have been raised poor. That was a laugh. Theodore was certain his parents would consider Frank's sharecropper childhood a luxury compared to their almost freezing to death in the wintertime. All the time they developed infections and by luck, they disappeared after a few weeks because medicine was too expensive. There were times they ran out of coal and had to resort to burning trash to stay warm. Frank grew up in the country. He could just walk outside and chop down a tree for wood. If you chopped down a tree in Brooklyn, the local policeman would arrest you.

"It's expensive being poor," he continued, ignoring the pleading looks from Francis to be quiet.

"It costs money to see a doctor for medicine to save your life. It costs money to rent a slum apartment. It costs money for food and coal. The doctors don't care when a poor person dies, because another one can take his place at the factory. That is why medicine is so expensive. Wealthy people can afford to become sick because they can afford a doctor. Their lives are more valuable than ours."

Theodore ended his rant, folded his arms on the table, and looked up into Catrina's eyes. To his astonishment, she kept his gaze. He was expecting her to divert her eyes. He wasn't expecting her to challenge him.

"Oh, how I agree with you." A tiny smile appeared at the corner of her mouth, causing Theodore to flinch.

"It disgusts me that poor families are educated differently than rich families," Catrina crossed her arms over her expensive dress. "Children born from wealthy parents are taught from day one to succeed and serve the Lord. A poor child is taught only the basics and is led to believe that his or her life will be spent in the factories. This is something that angers me and Frank."

Knowing full well that he should stop arguing, Theodore continued. This silly, pampered woman still didn't understand it. He didn't believe in God anymore. God wouldn't kill off their parents leaving them to fend for themselves. God wouldn't create some people to become slaves, while others ran million-dollar companies.

"So, why did you do it?" He crossed his bare feet, ignoring the tiny pains in his stomach. Another thing he was currently mad at was a non-existent God. "Why did you take us in for a month, when we're to be sent back to Mr. Woodrow after Christmas?"

His brothers stared at him in open-mouth shock. The only sounds in the kitchen were the ticking of the grandfather clock coming in from the open door leading to the dining room. As if to punish him, a searing hot pain cut through his stomach. Grasping a hold of the edge of the table, he braced himself as a cramp swept over and disappeared. To his relief, no one noticed.

Theodore watched the woman's petite chest expand as she inhaled and exhaled.

"You wish to know why I took the four of you into my house?"

"Yes."

"Because," she placed her hands on her hips. Her face was void of emotion. "There is no way I would allow the richest man in the county to treat four boys like slaves. I don't think you all realized how sick you were. Millen had an ear infection that was dangerously close to spreading to his eyes. If Dr. Alexander hadn't given him medicine, he might have eventually gone blind. Theodore, you were in the baby stages of freezing your toes off. All four of you have teeth rotting in your mouth. It's a wonder an infection hasn't broken out. Speaking of that, you shall return to the dentist for work. Frank and I aren't doing this because we feel sorry for you; we're doing it because we love you. The four of you might not be our real children, but we care about you and I advise you not to worry about Mr. Woodrow and his sons. They have already received word about your arrival. In fact, they're in Sherwood right now as we speak."

Theodore started to rise from his chair after noticing Millen's face turn stark white.

"But," Catrina's eyes swept over the boys. Her hands spread out in the air. "They have not come to collect the four of you. They're here to speak to their father. So, I don't want you to ever think that you're inferior to anyone. Do you understand me? "

"Yes, Ma'am," Theodore heard his brother's answer but chose to keep quiet. He still didn't trust this woman. Why would she care about them, when they were going to Mr. Woodrow after Christmas? She didn't answer that part of his rant.

Shaking his head, he closed his eyes and braced for another wave of cramps. She was only taking them in to prepare for a life of servitude. That had to be it. Clean and fatten the boys up. Make sure they are healthy and taught good manners. Mr. Woodrow was the richest man in the area and his sons damn well better have well-educated servants.

"So," Catrina continued, clasping her hands. Theodore opened his eyes and found the woman smiling once again. "I'm going to run upstairs to Frank's office for a second."

Once she was safely out of the kitchen, Theodore felt Francis's swift kicks to his legs.

"Are you stupid?" He hissed. "Do you want Frank to send us back? Catrina's going to tell her husband what happened and he will get mad and send us back."

Theodore stared blankly back. He really didn't care anymore.

"Why don't you tell her the truth," he shook his head. "Tell her who you really are."

"Why don't you shut your mouth," he hissed, throwing a cookie at his brother.

With a duck, Francis laughed as it hit the floor and broke into three pieces. Bending down, he picked the crumbs up and deposited them on the empty plate. Theodore noticed his brother's eyes glance over toward the twins.

"Don't tell me you two are ill?"

Following Francis's gaze, he found the twins hunched over the table. Millen kept running a balled-up fist over his eyes.
Dylan shook his head, his springy, hair bouncing over his head.

"No!"

Theodore reached out to brush aside Millen's bangs. They felt silky to his touch. The daily bathing and washing with Castile soap must be the cause.

"I don't want to go blind!" He sniffed, falling over to rest his head on Dylan's shoulder.

Francis crossed his arms. "Oh, hush!" He scowled. "Dr. Alexander gave you enough medicine to kill whatever it is ya had. It was powerful enough, that you felt better the next morning. Did ya not?"

Raising his head, Millen reached into his pocket, produced a handkerchief, and wiped his nose.

"But, I could-a!"

"But, you didn't." Theodore shook his finger at him. "As much as I can't stand us living here, I am thankful the doctor saved all of our lives."

Francis snorted and raised an eyebrow.

"Why can't you stand us being here, little brother?"

Theodore felt a hot, burning sensation on his face as the twins giggled. His stomach turned over and gave a lurch as if to mock him.

"It would have been best if Mr. Woodrow would have taken us straight to his house." He said.

"So...you would have wanted to eventually lose the ability to walk? Millen go blind? The four of us eventually die of tooth rot?" Francis protested.

Rolling his eyes, Theo swallowed the remaining sips of his tea in one un-lady-like gulp and angrily rattled the cup back into the saucer.

"The dentist hasn't ripped our teeth out yet," he spat. "We still have time to slowly die of tooth decay."

Pushing his empty cup and saucer to the middle of the table, Theodore crossed his arms.

"I meant," his tone changed as if he were talking to a small child. "It would have been best if we were sent back to Mr. Woodrow the morning after we felt better. Instead, Catrina took us to get haircuts, to the dentist, and to shop for new clothing and books. While in town, we felt the wrath of the town's people. Especially that horrid Mrs. Ferguson. They don't want us here."

Francis was about to give his retort when the kitchen door swung open. Catrina sailed into the room, her arms full of paper and art supplies.

"I took them from Frank's office," she slowly dropped the expensive paper on the table in front of Theodore. "It's rice paper, incredibly expensive, but he won't mind if the four of you draw Christmas pictures to hang over the house."

Biting his lower lip, Theodore could only sit in silence as his brothers eagerly reached for the paper and watercolors. He felt awful "wasting" such expensive material. Back in Brooklyn, in their old, rundown, four-story, fire hazard of a school building, his art teacher, Miss O'Bryon handed out ugly pieces of parchment. She once went over the quality and prices of expensive papers. Rice paper came imported from Japan, cost more than she made in six months, and was only available to Ivy League students at Cornell. Everyone in the room knew they would never see, or use such a thing.

"Here, Theodore," Catrina interrupted his daydream. "Why don't you draw that beautiful Santa Clause you just drew?"

Wrinkling his nose, he accepted the paper, feeling how smooth it was. Sort of like Millen's hair. Sighing to himself, he took a paintbrush, dipped it in water, then black ink, and started painting. He felt it strange that Catrina referred to, "Father Christmas" as, "Santa Clause." That was what his parents called the mythical creature that none of them ever believed in. Poor families don't teach their children about a man who delivers expensive toys to good children. The four of them could be angels all year long and still receive the standard fruit cake and stringy tree from the Salvation Army.

With a creak of the chair, Catrina sat down beside him, placing a plate of oven-fresh cookies on the table. Theodore caught her smiling at the boys and wondered why. Deciding she was up to something, he kept drawing. They were all too caught up in the moment to realize Frank had crept into the room.

"Why, hello, darling!" Catrina called out in surprise, causing Theodore to carelessly trail water drops over the paper.
Placing the brush back in the water jar, he turned with the others. Frank stood in the open doorway leading to the hall, his blonde hair sprinkled with powdered snow.

"What do we have here?" He placed his hands on his hips, a smile spreading on his face.

Catrina stood up from the chair and reached out to wrap her husband in a hug.

"We've had a grand time baking cookies and drawing Christmas pictures."

"I see that," he ruffled his wife's hair.

Theodore felt his eyebrows rise in disbelief. He still couldn't believe how the two of them acted like they were sixteen-year-old sweethearts on a date at the local ice cream parlor. They openly kissed, hugged, and giggled in front of others. Mamma and Papa would never act that way. Francis felt the same astonishment, but the twins found it amusing.

"Well," Frank's eyes darted over the drawings, as he took them in. "It so happens that a fresh batch of pine trees was delivered this morning at the nursery. Why don't we all put on our coats and go down to take a look? It's about time this drafty, old, house is decorated."

Theodore could only gasp in surprise, as his brothers chattered excitedly. A Christmas tree! A real, freshly cut tree from the nursery, not the scraggy, skeleton-like disasters that were given to the poor families on Christmas Eve. The wives of the men who worked at the local charity houses would pose awkwardly beside the tenants, trying desperately not to soil their fur coats. A professional photographer would snap their photo and the morning paper would proudly announce:
"Poor families receive Christmas Cheer from Charity Homes!" Papa and Mama forbid them from posing in the photo.

With a sigh, Theodore rose from his chair, causing his stomach to ache.

"May, I use the washroom before we leave," he spat, his tone flat.

Catrina tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and tilted her head.

"Of course, dear. We're not in a hurry."

Grasping a hold of the hem of his wool sweater, Theodore pulled it down as far as it would go and slowly turned around. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Frank gathering up his brothers and ushering them towards the parlor, where their winter coats and accessories were kept in the closets.

Walking briskly through the kitchen, Theodore took the detour to the second floor via the stairs hidden in the pantry. Glancing over the Mason jars full of canned vegetables, sacks of flour, and sugar, and baskets full of nuts, he felt disgusted. Disgusted that all of this food was reserved for two people, while families in Brooklyn were literally starving. It wasn't fair.
It wasn't until he climbed the stairs, reached the second floor, and locked himself in the washroom, that he remembered the scraps of paper on the table.

"Stupid," he hissed, kicked at nothing, and again collapsed on the floor, his face buried in the crook of his arms.

He stretched his arms out on the cold tiles, tears streaming down his face, his legs crossed behind him. A strange desire to cuss at God crossed his mind. He knew he should be thanking God for allowing them to escape the horrid orphanage, and be adopted by Mr. Woodrow. Despite the fact that the man was only using them for slave labor, it was better than living on the streets. Unfortunately, fate had played a cruel joke on Theodore that morning. He wasn't the boy he tried to convince himself he was. He was nothing but a girl in men's clothing. Mr. Woodrow's sons would eventually find out and send him back.

Mama had a large figure, which brought unwanted stares from the foreign men at the local markets. When Papa escorted her through the streets, the men diverted their eyes in fear. Some of the immigrants remembered the incident that happened years ago. Unfortunately, there were times when Mama ran out of thread, or needed to purchase something, so she took the chance and walked down to the corner market with the kids in tow. She held Millen tightly in her arms, a blanket wrapped snugly over his body, hiding his features. Theodore still remembered the bold looks that the recent groups of immigrants would cast her way. They would whisper bad words to her in their native tongue. How her grip tightened when they called out in Italian.

After they arrived safely home, she would always take them aside and warn them not to tell Papa, it would only make him upset. Like before, he would get drunk, lumber downstairs, and fight the men. He would end up in jail, and there would be no money to get him out. It was best to let these foreign men whisper bad things. After all, they didn't live in their apartment; they lived in the shacks down by the water.

He didn't wish to remember the first encounter. With a grunt, Theodore hauled himself from the floor. That horrid night almost twelve years ago. Mama was warning Millen and Dylan of past events. Theodore and Francis were little when it happened, but both of them remember it clearly. Mr. Tuscano screaming in Sicilian, Papa's face growing red in anger, as he threw objects around the apartment, punching holes in the walls, Theodore and Francis huddled behind the threadbare couch, the Jewish doctor giving Mama medicine to make her fall asleep. As if everything would be better in the morning.

After washing his face at the basin, Theodore touched his chest with a snarl. It was only a matter of time. When he was good and cleaned up, he opened the door to the guestroom to search for his boots and saw his winter coat, accessories, and the scraps of paper waiting for him on the bed. It was as if Catrina was saying, "I know your secret."

**

A short time later, Theodore found himself bundled up and standing in the back lot of Frank's floral shop. The heavy scent of pine needles and holly burned his nose. Removing his handkerchief, he pressed it to his face and sneezed several times in a row.

"Well," Frank gestured toward the Christmas trees surrounding them in neat lines. "Pick out anyone you wish!"

With a squeal, Millen started jumping up and down. The vibration caused his hat to tumble off his head, onto a mound of fluffy snow.

"Anyone we want," he giggled.

Frank smiled and retrieved the hat. "Anyone the four of you wish!"

"I want that one!" Millen grasped hold of Dylan's hand, as the two of them galloped over to a gigantic tree, with plaid ribbons tied to the branches.

Leave it to the twins to pick out the most expensive one on the lot. Frank and Francis followed behind. Theodore stood silently beside Catrina. He felt awkward and fat. All he wished to do was go home and take another nap before dinner. Best to enjoy it, before they were shipped to Mr. Woodward's barn.

"Anything wrong, dear?" He felt Catrina's hand on his shoulder. Despite the chill in the air, she smelled like lavender.

Lifting his head toward the woman, who really wasn't much taller than him, he gave a half smirk. She stared back at him.

"If you're thinking about that man, please don't," she whispered. "Everything will be fine."

Theodore wanted to believe her. He wanted to be her adopted child, not a future servant. Unlike Catrina, he was realistic and didn't believe in fairy tales. Poor children didn't have that right.

"I was thinking that I'm hungry," he lied.

The amused look on her elegant features told him that she knew he was lying.

"Of course."

Theodore felt her fingers squeezing his shoulder.

"The cook is preparing chicken fried steak, potatoes, and macaroni and cheese. I hope you all enjoy it. We'll also have some apple cider on the stove to drink tonight while decorating the tree. How does that sound?"

Theodore turned toward his brothers, as they laughed at Frank sawing the roots off the tree.

"What's chicken fried steak?"

He honestly had no idea what the word even meant. The boys had been introduced to Mexican food, which Catrina insisted all Texans eat. They had grown to love tamales, beans and rice, queso, and sugar-frosted cookies topped with honey. In Brooklyn, the vendors shouted out the names of their native foods from the roller carts. Mr. Tuscano would bring them homemade Sicilian candy and cakes from his bakery. Theodore had believed he heard everything, but this chicken fried steak confused him.

"To be honest," Catrina took Theodore's hand in hers, causing ripples of astonishment to swim through his body. "I've lived in Texas pretty much all my life, except for those four years in boarding school and I have no idea what it is. I can only describe it as tasting like steak, but looking like a battered chicken."

Theodore had a mental image of a cartoon cow, jumping into a frying pan full of chicken grease. It looked disgusting. But, they've had worse. Like the time they ate an actual rat. The children had no idea what the chewy piece of meat they were eating was. Hours later, Theodore found the pitiful-looking carcasses in their outside scrap bin beside the privy. He immediately vomited. At that moment, it hit him just how poor they were. He hoped this strange chicken fried steak was edible.

"I'm sure I'll love it," he lied.

Theodore felt Catrina's grip tighten, as she squeezed his hand.

"Would you look at this?" She let go to point at a few potted rosemary plants. "I think they would look good in the sunroom."

Catrina gathered two in her arms, and as she bent down Theodore caught sight of a strange snowflake-shaped locket tumbling out of the top of her coat. Forgetting that he was supposed to be a boy, he stared at it and absentmindedly stretched his fingers out. The gorgeous locket was covered in diamonds and it seemed to sparkle under the lights.

"Oh, my God," he hissed to himself, snatching his hand back. "She's going to think I'll steal it!"

"It's alright," Catrina whispered, making careful contact. "It's quite...remarkable, isn't it? This necklace was a gift from my father to my mother before she passed away."

With a frustrated sigh, Theodore kicked his foot, his eyes roaming the warehouse.

"It reminded me of something my mama owned."

The lies were just spouting from him tonight.

After the tree was cut, Frank took hold of the trunk, while Theodore and Francis grasped onto the top branches. Millen and Dylan were given the task of holding the ribbons and a wreath for the front door. They maneuvered their way out of the back lot, while Catrina locked the doors. The heavy snow had stopped falling, covering the slick ice.

As they walked briskly down Main Street, they crossed in front of the courthouse lawn and headed toward the large house on Crockett. Frank cheerfully called out to the neighbors racing by on sleds and shop owners closing down for the day. Feeling his arms cramping, Theodore gently removed his hands from the tree, while Francis tightened his grip.

"A sixteen-year-old boy has no problem carrying a pine tree," his brother called out, as he tossed his head and walked away.

Sticking his tongue out, Theo flexed his fingers and allowed his gaze to roam around the deserted sidewalk. They had never been on this side of the courthouse before. Then he saw it and realized why. Nestled between the bank and a loan office was the dark, forbidden, building that proudly announced: Woodrow & Co. Attorney at Law.

"I wonder if gargoyles are perched on the ledges." Theodore thought to himself in amusement. "Perhaps he has a gang of orphans living in the basement."

Knowing he needed to catch up with his brothers, he stood staring at the well-lit window. A large gas lamp stood illuminating the scene unfolding inside the office. Theodore made out the portly Mr. Woodrow, as he placed his hands on his hips and glared at two young men. He guessed they were the sons Catrina told them about at the lunch table. He couldn't see them clearly from across the street, but they were definitely shouting at one another. The boys raised their hands in anger, while Mr. Woodrow continued to glare back.

"So, these are our future owners," Theo said to no one.

Stepping cautiously over a frozen puddle, he grasped a hold of a mailbox to keep his balance. The two young men inside looked like the children of the bankers on Wall Street. Both of them wore matching wool suits and overgrown scarves. He couldn't really get a good look at their facial features because of the ice on the window. A person's eyes could give you a vision of their soul. He saw kindness in the Mullers, and annoyance and frustration in Mr. Woodrow. He wondered if the boys were like their father.

"Theodore," Frank's country accent filled the air.

The men must have heard him because all three of them turned to face the view outside. With a sigh, he trotted over to his brothers at the intersection of the four main roads.

"Sorry," he mumbled, shaking snow from his mittens.

This time it was Catrina who placed one hand on her hip, in the same manner as Mr. Woodrow.

"I don't want you to get lost," she scolded.

Theodore wanted to tell her that he had been racing down the crowded streets of Brooklyn since he was six years old. He walked several blocks to school every day. On their second day living in Sherwood, Theodore had memorized the street names and locations before lunchtime. In case they needed to escape. But, the way this strange woman cared for them made him want to cry. Once again, he cursed how God had tricked him that morning.

"Sorry," he once again apologized and helped Francis with the tree.

Millen cocked his head to the left and shifted the basket of ribbons to his other hand.

"Just whatcha staring at anyways?"

Despite Catrina's daily "grammar lessons," the four of them still held on tightly to their Brooklyn accents.

"I--"Theodore started.

Behind the twins, Catrina stared at him, her eyes frowning and her lips pressed tightly together. Frank gave a short dismissal of his head. It was Francis who thought of something.

"He was watching two squirrels racing over the roofs of the stores."

**

Hours later, Theodore swallowed the last remaining sips of his apple cider, clanked the teacup in the saucer on the side table, and looked around proudly at the parlor. It was the most ridiculous spectacle he had ever laid eyes on. If Macy's Department store window had been decorated by a bunch of children. The Muller's expensive furniture dripped with homemade popcorn balls, cranberry strings, and snowmen made out of ribbons. Their drawings hung from the walls and windows. Only the silk sofas were spared from the twins' wrath of gaudiness. Despite the unusual decor, the tree came out gorgeous.

Standing proudly in front of the main window, the boys had spent a good hour pinning Catrina and Frank's childhood ornaments on the branches. A crystal angel stood next to a sheep made from yarn. A real Tiffany's silver trumpet hung beside a miniature carving of a drummer boy. Real candles were strung to the branches and were to be lit on Christmas Eve. A fire could easily start, and they needed to be prepared. Frank took turns hoisting one of the squirming twins up to hang the ornaments, while Theodore and Francis sat Indian style on the rug stringing together dried fruit and folding paper flowers.

"I think it looks lovely!" Catrina collapsed into the rocking chair, her unpinned auburn hair floating around her face like an angel. "This is our third Christmas in this house and I can honestly say it's never looked better!"

Theodore caught sight of one of Dylan's drawings pinned to the wall beside the fireplace. The boy had attempted to draw an elf, but one had to really use his imagination. The green and red blob resembled just that. Catrina was just as good at telling white lies as he was.

"Ya'll are so sweet! I just love you," the woman continued. "This house has never been more cheerful."

"That's for sure." Frank sat down on the rug beside Francis. "This house was a present from Catrina's father after we returned from our honeymoon. Mr. Woodrow had this house built about five years ago and nobody lived in it until it was signed over to me--"

"Mr. Woodrow originally owned the house," Catrina interrupted, her eyes narrowing down at Frank.

Theodore tilted his head at her strange tone. What was the big secret? Mr. Woodrow was the wealthiest man in town and probably owned many houses and stores. Catrina's father purchased the home from that man and gave it to his daughter and son-in-law as a gift. For the second time that day, Theodore wondered just where the father was. Nobody spoke of him except to say the bare minimum.

"Sorry," Frank interrupted Theodore's pondering. He shook his head and pulled Francis closer to him. "Forget that man. I apologize for bringing his name up."

Francis smiled and rested his head on the older man's shoulder. Theodore took his needle and stabbed at the dried pieces of cranberry. Catrina sat sipping her tea, while the twins played with her childhood Christmas toys. Dylan was pretending Noah's ark was an airplane and was giving the animals rides. Millen gathered the tin soldiers side by side and pretended to feed them popcorn. Outside, the snow rattled against the glass, while the fires in the hearth popped and crackled. With a sigh, he closed his eyes. How Theodore wished time would stand still. Even though these weren't his real parents, at that moment they cared for him.

God, please take care of us. He prayed to himself, forgetting he was now an official atheist. If it wasn't for Catrina and Frank, we would be sick and living in a barn during this dangerous snowstorm.

"Well, Millen and Dylan." Catrina cheerfully called out, interrupting the few moments of silence. "I believe it's time for your bath."

She swooped from her chair and surprisingly gathered both of the boys in her arms.

"Goodness," Frank toppled back, pulling Francis with him. Theodore dropped his sewing in amusement. This petite woman was growing stronger by the day!

The twins were giggling hysterically, as Catrina wrapped them tightly in her arms.

"Francis. Theodore. Have a good night!" She smiled, over her shoulder. "I will see the two of you in the morning. Please, wake me up if you need anything!"

"Catrina's feeling better..." Frank trailed off, as his wife disappeared up the stairs.

Theodore turned toward their foster father, who leaned against the bottom of one of the sofas.

Francis scratched his head. "She was ill?"

"In a way," Frank said, his eyes seeming to search the room for an answer.

Reaching for the pot of apple cider on the side table, Theodore refilled everyone's cup. He could tell a lecture, or story was about to happen.

"Thank you, darling," Frank accepted the drink to Theodore's amusement. He must be copying his wife's unusual "term of endearment."

Francis took a few sips and placed the cup down on the rug.

"I hope she's better."

Frank chuckled. "You sound like Dr. Alexander. Always wondering how everyone is doing. Perhaps the Lord will make you a doctor someday?"

Theodore took a swig of juice, and gave a snort at Frank's ridiculous statement, causing apple cider to slosh out of his nose and over his pajama bottoms. Francis a doctor! That was a laugh. They were Brooklyn children. Born into poverty, born to slave until they dropped dead.

"Here, clean your face...and your clothes."

Grasping hold of the handkerchief Frank held out, Theodore tried desperately not to make eye contact with his brother. What was the point of filling their head with nonsense? In two weeks they were going to be sent to live with Mr. Woodrow's sons. He had accepted it. Why hadn't his brothers? Because their foster parents kept spouting tall tales like they were born wealthy.

"As I was saying," Frank moved his hand out to ruffle Francis's auburn hair. "Earlier this year, Catrina became sad...but, in a different way. She was upset that God made her so she couldn't have children. She wanted a baby, but we both knew it was impossible. There were days that we hardly saw one another. She wouldn't come down for breakfast, so I ate alone. During the day, I ate lunch at the floral shop and she continued to eat in bed. She slept for days straight...I missed her."

Theodore stared at Frank, studying the man's face. His brother might not remember, but their real mama acted that way after the incident. Nobody spoke of it, papa forbid them. One day, they woke up, and Mama was standing barefoot over the kitchen stove, cooking potatoes and eggs for breakfast. Papa had yelled at her in the night, waking Theodore up in fright. "This has been going on far too long!.... Ya, my wife!... I can't raise 'em, children... There's more on da way!"

"But," Frank continued, pushing that terrible memory from Theodore.

"Another man was watching. One day, Catrina's father invited us for dinner at his home across town. I had to force my wife out of bed, into the shower, and help her dress in her nicest clothes. It was exhausting. That night, her father took us aside and said that 'he would be damned if our marriage would be the first in the county to end in divorce.' Marriage is an equal partnership and we both needed to pull our weight. At that moment, I realized that I wasn't helping Catrina with her depression. I had three choices: show my wife that I loved her; commit my wife to a mental institution for 'being sad," or sign divorce papers. I chose the first option.

That following morning I made her breakfast and took it to her. When lunchtime rolled around, she returned the favor by showing up at my floral shop with a picnic basket. You see boys..."

Frank paused and smiled at both of them. Francis looked enthralled as he sat, cradling his teacup in his hands. Theodore stretched out his legs, blotting the stain from the pajamas.

"Up until a month ago, we never went out to eat lunch. It was Catrina's idea to take the train and have lunch at the hotel. We had our first date there and she wanted to be reminded of that. But, what I'm saying is...if it wasn't for her insisting we eat lunch every day at the hotel, we would have never been at the train station that day last week when the four of you came into our lives. We were exactly where God wanted us to be. I stepped in to help my wife overcome her depression, and it led us to find the four of you."

Theodore leaned back in amusement at Frank's story. Nobody had ever told them that they were born for a purpose, other than slave labor.

"You think..." Francis sputtered, his eyes growing wide in shock. "We were meant to stay with you?"

Frank reached his hand out and smoothly backed the boy's hair, causing Theodore's mouth to drop open.

"To quote the Bible: 'To every time there is a purpose under Heaven,' and I seriously believe it," he stated. "And, so does Catrina. You four came to us needing help and not from Mr. Woodrow. Catrina was slowly working her way out of a depression and you have no idea how much you've made her happy. She enjoys teaching and curling up in the twin's bed, reading them stories. Your smiling, energetic face, is the fuel that my wife needs every day. Mr. Woodrow did an evil deed, but it brought ya'll to us."

But, we're going back to that horrible man! Theodore wanted to stand up and scream. So, after their month of living in luxury was up, would Catrina be miraculously healed? Or, would they need to foster another group of pitiful orphans? He still didn't understand any of Frank's lectures. Mama healed herself by waking up one day, realizing she would be having another child, and silently dealt with it. Papa helped his wife by never speaking of the incident again. He believed that if they went back to their daily routine, their life would go back to normal. That was how poor people dealt with tragedy. They pushed it under the rug and pretended like it didn't happen.

Theodore knew this, but his brothers seemed to have been brainwashed by the Muller's privileged way of dealing with problems. Across the room, Francis yawned and leaned over to, once again, place his head on Frank's shoulders. He seemed comforted by the man's words. On top of the mantle, the tiny clock struck nine. It was almost their bedtime.

"Boys, there is something else I need to tell you before heading off for the night," Frank continued, "something that has been on my mind all day."

Theodore could sense the nervousness in the air. He shot a glance at his brother, who looked back at him in confusion. Were they being sent back early? Catrina seemed to be cured of her depression of not having children.

"You see," Frank leaned back, "my father gave me this talk when I was about your age. I don't know if your real father has already mentioned this, but this is my version."

Francis pulled a piece of lint off his robe and watched it float away.

"This afternoon, Catrina was informed by one of the maids that an unusual item had been found in the laundry basket from your washroom."

Theodore let out a gasp and clutched his stomach as a double dose of cramps hit him. A pinch of bile rose to the tip of his throat. He hoped he wouldn't vomit the rather tasty chicken fried steak they had for dinner.

"The maid found it quite odd that one of you was washing your underwear in the sink," Frank continued. "I knew exactly what was going on after Catrina mentioned it to me."

Theodore felt his brother's eyes on him, but he kept staring at his feet. Frank knew. Oh, God, Frank knew! He was going to oust him as a girl and he would be sent back. It only took a day! A day! A silly day! He should have left his underwear to dry out under the towels, instead of tossing it down the laundry chute. He felt hot pools of water build-up under his eyes. Grasping a hold of his knees, he nervously swallowed the lump in his throat and braced himself.

"I just want to let you two know that there is nothing wrong with anything going on."

Theodore flinched as Frank patted his head.

"I was a young man myself once. It's perfectly normal."

Young man? Cautiously Theodore raised his head. Frank still believed he was a boy! Francis seemed to be listening to the older man's lecture about growing up, but at the same time, he slyly shook his head at Theodore. With a sigh, he fell back against the bottom of the armchair. Frank might believe that Theodore was a young man coming of age, but Francis knew better.

"Before we retire for the night, I want both of you to know that if you have any questions, or need anything, feel free to ask. I don't bite, I promise," Frank finished and sat his empty cup and saucer on the side table.

"I have a question," Francis smiled at Theodore, who returned it with a snarl.

"Of course, darling."

"Can Theodore and I borrow a razor?"

**

"A razor," Theodore hissed at his brother as they closed the privy door behind them.

Twisting the knob on the oil lamp, the room brightened. Francis stepped up behind him, twirling the silver razor Frank had let them borrow.

"What are we going to do with it," he taunted his brother. "Shave our arms?"

With a giggle, Francis set the razor down on the marble countertop.

"That's for laughing when Frank suggested I could be a doctor someday!"

Theodore's mouth curled up, as he watched his brother preen in front of the mirror. Their faces were getting plumper with all the rich food they were eating. Catrina was taking them back to Penny's tomorrow for new clothes. But, there was one thing no O'Connor man could ever do, and that was to shave.

"Why does ya suppose Papa's side of the family could never grow facial hair?" Francis asked as he grasped for his toothbrush.

With a shrug, Theodore reached for a bar of lye soap and a linen hand towel.

"Who knows?" He dipped it in the bowl of water. "All I know is that he was glad because that was ten cents a week he didn't have to pay at the barber. His own daddy didn't grow facial hair either and neither will you and Dylan."

The room was silent for a minute as Theodore washed his face and then brushed his teeth. He turned his back so his brother could change into his pajamas.

"Well, little brother," Francis brushed back his floppy hair and turned the doorknob to the bedroom.

Both of them peeked into the dark room. The twins lay nestled in their shared bed, the light of the fireplace illuminating their peaceful faces.

"I'm going to let you dress in private," he continued. "Your secret is safe with me."

"Thank you," Theodore whispered.

His eyes watched Francis stumble across the room, pull back the heavy quilts to their bed, maneuver his way in, and settle down. Casting a final glance at the twins, he heard himself whisper: "Neither will you and Dylan."