The Ballerina
Tallulah Buford peered through the window at Patsy Hinckle's tear-stained face and said to herself, "There but for the grace of God go I."
It was odd that Tallulah should feel the stirrings of pity for a woman she always envied. It was the times, no doubt. The Depression turned nearly everyone's life upside down. While her life had not been adversely affected, Patsy's went into a downward spiral. Her no-good husband had run off and left her to support their four-year-old daughter alone. Even at the best of times, it would be difficult for a single mother to find a decent job. With the country in the grip of the worst economic collapse in history, it was damn near impossible!
Despite the turmoil in her life, the former Patricia Melford was every bit as pretty as she was when she was eighteen and won the beauty contest at the county fair. Tallulah remembered that day well. She did not enter the contest herself, being what people often called "plain" in appearance. Yet while not physically attractive, she had other qualities that appealed to Farley Schooner, her date for the fair, the foremost being she was Bertram Buford's daughter, his only child; and Bertram Buford was the richest man in the county.
Tallulah wore a new dress that day and had gone to beauty parlor to have her hair curled. As they drove to the fair in Farley's old jalopy, she could not help stealing furtive glances at the young man. Not exactly handsome, he was what the other girls secretly referred to as "sexy." He had a strong, muscular body, wavy brown hair and the most captivating hazel eyes.
Is he the one? she wondered. Is he going to be my husband? The father of my children?
The thought brought a blush to the girl's face. Brought up in a God-fearing, church-going household by a strict father, the nineteen-year-old had no romantic experience whatsoever. She was never kissed by or even held hands with a boy. When Farley invited her to go with him to the fair, she instantly fell in love.
The date started out well enough. The two young people walked around the fairgrounds, sampling the food and visiting the exhibition booths. Farley showed off his strength and won a stuffed teddy bear for Tallulah. Afterward, the two of them rode the Ferris wheel and the carrousel.
"Let's go watch the beauty contest," the young man suggested as his date licked the sticky sugar from her fingers after finishing her cotton candy.
"Do we have to?" she whined.
The mousy-looking girl who had done all she could to look her best that day did not want to watch girls like Patsy Melford strut across the stage of a beauty pageant. Patsy never had to put any effort into looking good. It came naturally to her.
"Come on," Farley coaxed. "It'll be fun."
Surprisingly, many of the contestants were no prettier than Tallulah, and a few were overweight and had difficulty squeezing into their swimsuits.
"Boy!" Farley exclaimed. "These girls have no business competing in a beauty contest; they ought to compete in a dog show!"
"That's not a very Christian thing to say," his date said, scolding him; but she secretly agreed.
When blond-haired, blue-eyed Miss Melford with her flawless complexion and shapely figure stepped out onto the stage, however, men whistled; and more than one person rudely shouted out, "Hubba hubba!" Tallulah looked over at Farley, and the expression she saw on his face broke her heart. In that moment she bade farewell to the idea of marriage and watched the faces of her unborn children fade away.
He never looked at me like that, nor is he ever likely to in the future.
There was no goodnight kiss when Farley took his date home that night. Furthermore, she turned down the offer of a second date and refused to see him again. After she went into the house, he walked back down the driveway to his jalopy, wondering what he could have said or done to upset her.
Now, seven years later, Tallulah stood looking out the window of the Buford mansion at the former beauty pageant winner wiping the tears from her eyes with a Kleenex tissue. Beside her was a child every bit as lovely as her mother. Forcing a smile for the sake of her daughter, Mrs. Hinckle put the tissue in her pocket, reached out her hand and knocked on the door.
"What a surprise!" the homeowner exclaimed when she opened it, although she had been expecting such a visit for several weeks. "And who's this young lady?"
"This is my daughter, Shelby."
The little towhead curtsied and delivered a well-rehearsed greeting: "Pleased to meet you, Miss Buford."
"Come in. Would you like something to eat or drink? I have homemade snickerdoodles," the hostess announced, brandishing a tray of freshly baked goodies.
Shelby looked at her mother before answering, as though seeking permission. Patsy nodded her head, and the well-mannered child eagerly reached for a cookie.
The girl's a little angel, Tallulah thought with a pang of longing, known only to women who never gave birth to a child of their own.
"It was so nice of the two of you to come visit me today," she said, putting the other woman in the position of having to state her business.
"I'm afraid this isn't a social call," Patsy explained, her hands fidgeting with the straps of her handbag.
"Oh? What is it you want then?"
Tallulah already knew the answer to that question, but she enjoyed seeing the young mother squirm.
"I know you've taken two children into your home."
"That's right, Cassie and Ricky Durst. Their parents are migrant farm laborers, and I've agreed to look after their children until they can afford to do so themselves."
"I'm sure you know my husband is gone ... looking for employment."
You mean he skipped town and ran away from his responsibilities, Tallulah thought, keeping a friendly smile on her face so as not to betray her true feelings.
"I've ... uh ... decided to go to work myself. The problem is I can't leave Shelby by herself all day."
"Are you asking me to babysit your daughter?"
"Not exactly. You see there are no jobs around here—at least none for a woman."
"What are you planning on doing then?"
"There's a position open for a maid at one of the hotels in the city. I would not only be getting paid regularly, but I would also get free room and board. However, I can't take Shelby with me."
Having reveled in her position in the catbird seat long enough, Tallulah decided it was time to put the poor woman out of her misery.
"All right. She can come stay here with me until you're back on your feet."
"I don't know how to thank you," Patsy cried, her beautiful face made even more radiant by her smile of gratitude and glistening, tear-filled eyes. "I won't be getting paid much, but I'll send you whatever I can to help with expenses."
"There's no need for you to do that. If there's one thing I have, it's plenty of money."
* * *
Thirteen-year-old Cassie Durst was delighted at having Shelby live with them and frequently helped her foster mother care for the young child. Meanwhile, her ten-year-old brother, Ricky, was glad he was no longer the youngest person in the house. Hopefully, Tallulah would stop fussing over him. With her father dead and buried for two years, the unmarried Miss Buford enjoyed having a family under her roof. Although she never let it show, she could not help favoring the little blond-haired girl over the other two children.
If I had a daughter of my own, she thought wistfully, I'd want her to be just like Shelby.
On those rare occasions when Patsy was able to get time off from work to visit her child, the foster mother often seethed with jealousy at seeing the two of them together. As the months passed, however, and the visits became less frequent, a gradual transference of affection occurred. Shelby began to think of Tallulah, not Patsy, as the "mother" figure. This change of heart did not escape the foster parent, who rejoiced in the child's growing affection for her.
Come December, the house was filled with holiday cheer. So happy was Tallulah about the prospect of having an old-fashioned Christmas with the children, that not even a visit from Patsy dampened her spirits.
"I thought I'd take Shelby into town with me today," the mother announced. "I recently got a raise at work, and I want to take her out for ice cream to celebrate."
"That sounds like fun. I'll drive you in the car."
"I don't want to inconvenience you any more than I already have."
"It's no bother. I need to do some shopping anyway."
Once they arrived in town, Patsy took her daughter's hand and walked off in the direction of the ice cream parlor. Meanwhile, Tallulah crossed Main Street and headed toward Stroud's Department Store to do some holiday shopping. As she was making a mental list of the toys she would place beneath the tree on Christmas morning, she passed a storefront that showcased an unusual assortment of gifts in its display window. She looked up at the sign on the building, which read NATALIA'S TREASURES. Curious as to what Natalia had to offer, Tallulah went inside. Rather than treasures, the contents of the shop resembled second-hand items usually found in rummage sales.
"Can I help you?" the proprietor asked with a pronounced Russian accent.
"No, thank you. I'm just looking."
"For yourself or a gift for someone else?"
As a woman who had money all her life, she was used to salespeople trying to talk her into buying something. Thankfully, her father taught her how to handle them.
"I'm just browsing," she said haughtily. "If I require any assistance, I will ask ...."
Her gaze was drawn to the collectible egg in the old woman's hand.
"What's that you have?"
"This is a Fabergé egg from Russia, my country. It was smuggled out during the Bolshevik Revolution."
"What are all those pictures on it?" Tallulah asked, fascinated by the artwork on the egg and its base.
"Scenes from Tchaikovsky's The Nutcracker."
Natalia pressed a small button on the golden seam that encircled the egg, and the two halves opened to reveal a ballerina on the inside.
"See. This is Clara holding a nutcracker."
The shopkeeper pressed another button, and the egg—which was also a music box—began playing "Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy" as Clara twirled around on the toe of her left foot (the right foot was extended behind her in the Arabesque position).
"How exquisite!" Tallulah exclaimed.
Natalia handed it to the potential customer so that she could have a better look at the merchandise.
"This egg was designed for the Russian Imperial Family by Peter Carl Fabergé himself. Some people claim that Clara bears a strong resemblance to the late Tsar's youngest daughter, Anastasia—the music box's last known owner; however, the likeness is purely coincidental. The egg was made before the grand duchess was born."
Although Tallulah politely listened to the woman's sales pitch, she did not believe a word of it. Surely something so valuable would not be in a secondhand shop in a small Southern town.
"How much are you asking for it?" she inquired.
The customer was prepared to haggle, but the price was so low, she saw no need to get the shopkeeper to lower it. Even though she believed the egg was nothing more than a cheap knickknack, she knew she was getting it for a bargain.
I'll give it to Cassie, she decided. She's at an age that she could appreciate something like this.
Natalia smiled as she watched the customer leave the store. Although the Fabergé egg was a priceless museum piece, she was glad to be rid of it.
* * *
Tallulah listened to the children's squeals of delight as they raced down the stairs Christmas morning and headed for the presents beneath the tree. It was nearly as much fun for her as it was for them. The parlor floor was soon covered with scraps of wrapping paper, carelessly discarded as the youngsters tore them off in a frenzied attempt to see what the festive packages concealed.
"Look what I got!" Ricky shouted with joy. "A Lionel train set!"
"And I got a birthstone necklace," his teenage sister cried. "Oh, thank you, Miss Buford."
Shelby, who needed Cassie's help unwrapping her gift, was equally pleased.
"Santa brought me a baby doll and carriage."
Once all the gifts were opened and the wrapping paper cleaned up, the parlor resembled a toy store. In addition to the train set, Ricky got a baseball, bat and glove; a game of checkers; and roller skates. Cassie received a paint set, a box of chocolates and a new dress. And Santa brought Shelby a coloring book, crayons, and an illustrated collection of Mother Goose rhymes in addition to the doll and carriage.
"Cassie, I have one more present here for you," Tallulah announced, retrieving the last gift from the top of the hall closet.
"It's beautiful!" the girl cried when she opened the box and saw the Fabergé egg.
Her foster mother then revealed the ballerina inside, and tears came to the teenager's eyes.
"And it plays music, too."
"Let me see!" Shelby said, standing on her tiptoes to get a better view.
"Whoever heard of getting an Easter egg for Christmas?" Ricky said, the only one not mesmerized by the music box.
"Don't be so rude," his sister snapped. "Apologize to Miss Buford."
"I'm sorry," he said, contritely hanging his head.
"No offense taken, young man. Now, is anyone hungry? I've had a special Christmas breakfast prepared for you in the dining room."
Although the two older children eagerly followed their foster mother to the feast, Shelby remained in the parlor, gazing at the ballerina inside the Fabergé egg.
* * *
At the start of the new year, Cassie and Ricky went back to school, leaving Shelby alone in the house with her foster mother. Tallulah was sitting in the parlor, which seemed empty now that the Christmas tree was gone, knitting scarves and hats for the children.
It's awfully quiet. I bet Shelby fell asleep.
She tiptoed down the hall toward the bedroom shared by the two girls. As she neared the door, she heard the familiar melody of the "Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy."
"What are you doing?" Tallulah asked when she saw the little girl holding the Fabergé egg.
"I'm playing with the ballerina," she answered.
"That doesn't belong to you."
"I don't care, and neither does the ballerina. She likes me better than Cassie."
The well-behaved little girl who first came to the Buford house with Patsy Hinckle six months earlier had slowly become a spoiled child. Tallulah rightly blamed herself, and she accepted the consequences.
"You know that's not true. Don't go making up stories; it's the same as lying."
"I'm not lying. She told me so."
Tallulah, who had always been a level-headed person, even as a child, had no time for foolishness.
"Give me the music box."
Reluctantly, the little girl obeyed the woman who had become the authority figure in her life.
"It's not fair," she said, pouting. "Cassie got a dancing ballerina in an Easter egg, and I didn't."
"You're too young to own such a delicate thing. You might break it."
"I would not!"
"That's enough," Tallulah declared, putting the music box back on top of Cassie's dresser. "It's time for your nap."
"But I'm not tired."
The foster mother resorted to a tactic she recently began using to make the child mind her.
"If you don't get into your bed right now, I'm going to have to send you to the city to live with your mother."
In response to the threat, Shelby kicked off her shoes, climbed into her bed and pulled the blankets up around her neck. She closed her eyes tightly, but as soon as Tallulah left the room, she opened them again.
"Don't worry," she whispered in the direction of the Fabergé egg. "I'm not going anywhere."
* * *
One night after dinner Tallulah turned on the radio, sat down in her favorite chair and picked up her knitting. Moments later Cassie came out of the bedroom, holding the Fabergé egg.
"Can I keep this down here in the parlor?"
"What's wrong with putting it on top of your dresser?" Tallulah inquired.
"It ... it might accidentally get knocked off."
A sweet girl with a large heart, she did not want to tattle on the child who shared her bedroom. Her foster mother, however, could tell she was not being truthful.
"Is it Shelby?"
"I'd let her play with it, but I'm afraid she'll break it. Yesterday, when I wound up the music box for her, she tried to pull the ballerina off the base."
"Let me have it."
Taking the egg from the teenager, the older woman placed it on the fireplace mantel, next to a framed photograph of her father.
"She won't be able to get it up here."
The matter of the egg taken care of, she returned to her knitting.
"Try this mitten on for me," she told Cassie. "I want to make sure it fits before I start its mate."
"Why do I need mittens?"
"The Farmers' Almanac says we're going to be in for a bad winter. It can get mighty cold during the months of January and February. Sometimes so cold the lake freezes over and people skate on it."
"I've never skated on ice before. It sounds like fun."
"I might have an old pair of ice skates up in the attic that would fit you."
Two weeks later, just as the Farmers' Almanac predicted, temperatures plummeted, and the lake that formed the northernmost boundary of the Buford property froze. Tallulah found not one but two pairs of skates in the attic, and the two older children were delighted at the prospect of skating across the ice.
"I want to go, too," Shelby cried as she watched the others don their warmest clothes before going outdoors.
"You can't," Ricky said. "You don't have any skates."
"Then I'll watch you two skate."
"I can keep an eye on her," Cassie volunteered since the foster mother, who was feeling under the weather, was hesitant to go out into the cold.
Since the little girl, now five years old, frequently played outside without coming to harm, Tallulah gave her permission. As she walked the three children to the front door, she warned them against possible danger.
"Now listen to me. Stay away from the thin ice near the center of the lake. The safest place to skate is near the shoreline. Got that? And you," she said, turning to the youngest child, "stay off the ice altogether. You watch from the land, and mind what Cassie tells you."
"I will," Shelby promised.
In a gesture that took the woman by surprise, the little girl hugged her and cried, "You're the best mommy in the whole, wide world!"
No one noticed that Shelby was looking through the parlor doorway at the Fabergé egg on the fireplace mantel as she spoke.
* * *
Less than an hour after the children left the house, Tallulah received the tragic news. Cassie had fallen through the ice. Weighted down by her heavy clothes, the teenager drowned before help arrived. The distraught woman blamed herself for the girl's death.
Raised on the belief that men were not supposed to cry, Ricky Durst valiantly tried to hold back his tears. It was only when Miss Buford assured him it was okay to express his grief that he broke down and sobbed. Tallulah soon began crying herself.
"I never should have let her go skating," she said, wiping the tears from her face with a monogramed lace handkerchief. "I really thought the lake would be safe enough to skate on."
"It was," Ricky said. "The ice was only thin at the very center."
"I told the both of you to stay away from there."
"We did, but then Shelby ran out onto the ice, and Cassie went after her."
"Why would you do such a thing?" the foster mother demanded to know. "I told you to stay on land."
Shelby, who showed no sorrow over the older girl's death, answered, "The ballerina told me to."
Two days later, after receiving Tallulah's telegram, the dead teenager's parents arrived for their daughter's funeral. Although assured by both the town doctor and the sheriff that the death had been a tragic accident, the Dursts thought it best to take Ricky, their surviving child, with them when they left.
They think it's my fault that their daughter is dead, Tallulah thought the day after Cassie was laid to rest. And I don't blame them. They left her in my care and now she's gone!
As she often had in the past, she looked up at her father's photograph on the fireplace mantel. Even though he was dead and buried, he was still a source of strength for her.
"Oh, Papa," she cried. "If only I had ...."
That's when she noticed the Fabergé egg was missing.
But it was here this morning. The Dursts must have taken it with them when they left. They might at least have asked me before taking it.
It was not until nearly a week after the funeral that the mystery of the egg's disappearance was solved. Unable to sleep, Tallulah got up from her bed late one night to make herself a cup of warm milk. As she walked down the hall, she heard Shelby's voice coming from the bedroom that was now hers alone.
"What are you doing up this ...?" the woman asked as she pushed open the door.
The little girl was sitting on the floor. In front of her was the Fabergé egg, its shell open to reveal the ballerina inside.
"How did you get that? It was on the mantel, out of your reach."
"I climbed up on the hassock and took it down."
"But I've already told you the egg is not yours. It belongs to Cassie."
"Not anymore it doesn't."
Shelby's voice, as cold as the ice on the lake, sent a chill down her foster mother's spine.
"I suppose she would want you to have it," Tallulah said, taking the course of least resistance.
An angelic smile lit up the little girl's pretty face.
"Now go to bed and get some sleep," the foster mother said as she turned off the light and closed the door; but Shelby continued her secret conversation with the tiny ballerina.
* * *
During the weeks following Cassie Durst's death, Tallulah's and Shelby's lives fell into a comfortable routine. Twice a week they drove into town: one day to go shopping and the other to go to the cinema. No other people entered their close-knit universe. Tallulah supposed all that would change when the little girl began attending school. Once around other children her own age, she would no doubt make friends.
"But I don't want to go to school," the little girl told her when the subject came up.
"I suppose I can put off sending you for at least another year or two."
"I won't want to go then either."
"Why don't we worry about your schooling when the time comes? Maybe I can hire a tutor to come to the house and teach you."
"Mr. Miller down at the grocery store says that education is wasted on girls. They don't need book learning to get married and have babies."
"Not all women get married. I didn't. And your mother ... well, she married the wrong man. Now she has to work to support herself."
"You don't work."
"That's because my daddy had a lot of money, which became my money when he died."
"Will I get the money when you die? That way I won't have to go to work like Mommy does."
Tallulah had never given much thought to what would become of the Buford family fortune when she passed on. She was barely thirty, after all, and death seemed a distant figure on the horizon.
"We'll see," she replied. "Hopefully, that time won't come for many, many years. Until then, we can have lots of fun together—you and I. How would you like to travel to another country?"
Unaware that Europe was tottering on the brink of a world war, Tallulah envisioned seeing the sights in London, Paris and Rome with her foster daughter. At the end of March, however, her dreams of walking along the Champs-Élysées with Shelby came to an end. Patsy Hinckle returned to the Buford home for a visit—and she was not alone.
"This is Woodrow Stuttard," she introduced the man standing beside her to the little girl. "We're going to get married, and he's going to be your new daddy."
Tallulah's face lost all its color when she overheard the unexpected news.
"But you already have a husband," she cried, butting into what was meant to be a private conversation between mother and daughter.
"I'm divorcing him."
Shelby was not alarmed at the prospect of her mother remarrying since she did not believe it would affect her life in any way. She assumed she would continue to live with Tallulah in the Buford mansion. Therefore, her mother's next words were a crushing blow.
"Once Woodrow and I are married, you'll come live with us in the city. Maybe in the not-too-distant future, you'll have a baby sister or brother to play with."
"I don't want a sister or brother. And I don't want to live with you in the city. I want to stay here with Miss Buford," the little girl screamed, on the verge of a full-blown temper tantrum.
"But I'm your mother. Your place is with me."
"Miss Buford is my mother now, not you."
The child then ran out of the parlor, up the stairs and into her bedroom.
"I'll go talk to her," the foster mother offered.
"No. She's my daughter," Patsy said. "I'll take care of it."
* * *
In the wake of Patsy's visit and her unwelcome announcement, a pall fell on the Buford household.
I suppose I should have expected this, Tallulah told herself. She always did attract men. I should have known she'd find another husband.
What she had not anticipated was Patsy's wanting to reclaim her daughter. She secretly hoped the abandoned wife would move on with her life and leave Shelby in her care. Now it was clear that such was not the case.
"I'm going to miss you," she said, holding the child on her lap as she brushed her blond curls.
"Don't worry. The ballerina and I aren't going anywhere."
"You can take the egg with you when you move to the city."
"I'm not moving! This is my house. Maybe not now, but it will be when you die. The ballerina said so."
Tallulah saw no point in arguing with the child. Why spoil what little time they had left together?
During April and May, their number of outings increased. In addition to going shopping and attending the cinema, the two enjoyed picnics, barn dances and church socials. Then during the second week of June, Patsy returned.
"Where's Mr. Stuttard?" Tallulah asked, hoping he had run off like her husband had.
"He had business that he needed to attend to in the city. I couldn't wait to bring Shelby to our new home, so I came up alone to get her."
"You mean you're taking her now?"
"That's right. I can't thank you enough for all you've done," she said, as she opened her new handbag. "I insist you take this check as payment for ...."
Tallulah impulsively reached out her hand and slapped the other woman across the face.
"I don't want your damned money!" she shouted.
"Mommy."
Both women turned in the direction of the staircase. Shelby was standing at the top, holding the Fabergé egg.
"The ballerina wants you to leave and not come back."
"Will you excuse us, please?" Patsy told the other woman. "I'd like to speak to my daughter in private, if you don't mind."
Tallulah opened her mouth to protest her visitor's audacity, but then she decided to hold her tongue. With a look on her face that would turn fresh milk sour, she stomped off into the kitchen.
"How dare she send me out of the room like that?" she grumbled. "This is my house, not hers! I hope she loses her Mr. Stuttard just like she lost the last ...."
A sound like that of a sack of potatoes falling off the back of a farm truck suddenly came from the foyer. Tallulah ran out of the kitchen to find Patsy Hinckle lying on the floor at the bottom of the stairs.
"Are you all right?" she asked the little girl, who was still standing at the top.
"I am now," Shelby answered, with an unpleasant smile of satisfaction on her otherwise angelic face. "But I don't think my mommy is."
* * *
Although the girl's mother was dead, Tallulah saw no reason to attempt to find her father, grandparents or other legal guardian. Instead, Shelby would remain under her roof, and their life would go on as it had prior to Patsy's death.
"Since you like ballet so much, maybe I can arrange for you to take lessons," Miss Buford said as she watched the child playing with the Fabergé egg.
Shelby was not paying attention. She had the egg pressed against her ear, as though she had difficulty hearing the music it played.
"Now that my mommy's dead, are you going to adopt me?" she asked.
"I don't know. I hadn't really thought about it," Tallulah replied, surprised by the girl's question.
"The ballerina said you need to adopt me and draw up a will to name me as your sole heir and bene—I can't remember the word she used."
"Beneficiary?"
"That's it."
There was something disturbing about the conversation, not only the subject matter but also the girl's detachment when she spoke. It was as though she were delivering a message for someone else rather than expressing her own thoughts.
"Where did you ever hear about such things as wills and beneficiaries?"
"From the ballerina. I told you that already."
"I think perhaps it's time to forget about your imaginary friend," the foster mother declared.
"She's not imaginary; she's real!" Shelby insisted. "And when you're dead, she's going to take care of me here in my house."
"It's not a she at all. It's nothing but a metal figure balanced on top of a music box."
"What do you know? You're just a stupid old maid!"
Again, Tallulah's hand lashed out, striking the daughter as she had once struck her mother.
"You'll be sorry you did that! You wait and see."
Long after Shelby was asleep in her bed, Tallulah sat in her chair in the parlor, thinking about the distressing events of the day. She had been foolish enough to believe that the little girl loved her. It was now clear that she never had. Having opened her eyes to the child's true nature, she could not help seeing other truths that she ignored in the past. She recalled what Ricky Durst told her after his sister drowned: "Shelby ran out onto the ice, and Cassie went after her." Had the child deliberately lured the teenager out to the center of the lake, knowing she would drown when she fell through the thin ice? And what about Patsy Hinckle? Had the girl pushed her mother down the stairs to her death? It was not only possible but highly probable.
"She's a little monster!"
And she apparently decided Tallulah would be her next victim.
"If she thinks she's going to kill me so she can get her hands on my house and money, she's mistaken."
The following morning when Shelby went out in the yard to play on the swing set, Tallulah made a phone call to her lawyer.
"I've been expecting to hear from you," he said. "It's about the little girl, right? Well, I've already begun drawing up the adoption papers."
"You can tear them up. I want you to find her no-good father and ship her off to him."
"I don't understand. I thought ...."
"I'm not paying you to think. I'm paying you to do what I say, and I'm telling you I want her out of my house."
When she hung up the receiver, Tallulah turned around and saw Shelby standing in the doorway.
"Go to your room," she said, no longer able to stand the sight of the child.
The girl put up no argument. She obediently climbed the stairs and walked down the hall to her bedroom. Moments later, her foster mother heard the melody of the "Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy." Shelby remained in her room throughout the morning and afternoon. During that time, the music box constantly played. Tallulah turned on the radio to drown out the sound, but no matter how high she turned up the volume, all she could hear was the music of The Nutcracker.
"I'm wise to what she's doing. She's trying to drive me crazy."
When the child came down for supper, her foster mother surprised her with her favorite meal: fried chicken with mashed potatoes and gravy.
"And if you eat everything on your plate," Tallulah said sweetly, seemingly having forgiven the child for her outburst, "you can have a brownie for dessert."
As the little girl ate the frosted chocolate confection, her foster mother hummed the "Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy." She did not stop until Shelby fell to the floor and, after convulsing for several minutes, died from the poison her caregiver had put in the brownie.
Tallulah planned on calling her lawyer first and then reporting the death to the sheriff, but she found the path to the telephone blocked. Standing three inches taller than Tallulah herself was the ballerina from the Fabergé egg. In her hand was a metal nutcracker. With all the grace of a ballet dancer, she swung the heavy object and bashed in the wealthy spinster's brains.
"I lost my beloved Anastasia and now my darling little Shelby," the ballerina cried in an eerie mechanical voice as she cradled the body of the dead child in her arms. "I suppose I shall have to go back to Natalia's Treasures until I can find another child to care for me."
Having the cursed Fabergé egg return to her second-hand shop would not please the old Russian woman, for it had been a millstone around her neck on and off since 1917.
I got a Fabergé egg for Halloween one year. Imagine my surprise when I opened it, and Salem popped up!
