“We still haven’t heard from the peculiar great-aunt,” said Marlin.

“No, dear,” said Mrs. Weatherspoon, sniffling, “that’s true but she’s a bit old to be taking on four children. And I gather she’s always been something of a hermit. I would not hang my hopes there.”

“Then where can we hang our hopes?” asked Natasha.

“Again, social (sob, sob, gulp, gulp) services,” Mrs. Weatherspoon choked out. “You will not end up on the street but, oh my (attempt to stifle sobbing by putting a handkerchief to her mouth so the next part came out muffled), social services of all things!”

“What’s wrong with social services?” asked Charlie, unable to account for the depth of Mrs. Weatherspoon’s sorrow.

“I guess that means foster care,” said Fiona. “Well, that’s bad but not the end of the world. They’ll find someone to take all four of us, won’t they? They won’t split us up?”

“That’s just it,” cried Mrs. Weatherspoon. “I have seen it too many times. I very much fear that is exactly what will happen. You will be split up. Perhaps placed in homes all over the United States. Hundreds of miles from each other. Scattered to the winds!”

And Mrs. Weatherspoon lost it completely, lying right on the floor and heaving with sorrow. Fiona was disenchanted. She liked Mrs. Weatherspoon. She was grateful to Mrs. Weatherspoon for all she had done for them this year. And for taking a year out of her life and familiar surroundings to care for them. But she found this total loss of self-control unseemly.

Besides, Fiona could see that her sisters were nearly wetting themselves at this grown-up display of despair and the news that they might lose each other. They had hung on to their courage and hope all through that terrible year. It seemed the height of unfairness that after being so brave they were now being asked to face something even more terrifying. This was especially so for Fiona because she felt strongly her need to care for and keep together what was left of their family. The idea of her younger sisters, especially little Charlie, going to some strange home maybe hundreds of miles from her where she couldn’t even keep an eye on them was too awful for words. She began to plan an escape into the jungle for all four of them if it came to that. Better to take their chances with the snakes and be together than face alone the sorrow and terror of the day-to-day wondering of what had become of the others.

For a week Fiona suffered such worry she couldn’t eat but the following week as they got off the school bus and approached the house they found Mrs. Weatherspoon dancing up and down the porch stairs as if she’d lost her mind, and waving a piece of paper. When they got closer they saw it was a letter.

“What is it?” asked Fiona as Mrs. Weatherspoon waved it merrily in their faces. Fiona did not even dare to hope it might be the fifth anticipated reply.