“I was organizing it!” she cried. “I was helping!”
“You told me my parents gave fifty dollars,” I said.
My father’s voice came quietly, but firmly.
“That envelope had five thousand dollars in it. We saved for it because she’s our daughter.”
Aunt Linda stared at Beatrice. “You stole from your own son?”
Beatrice flushed deep red.
Walter reached back into the box and pulled out a stack of stamped envelopes.
“What are those?” she demanded.
“Corrected thank-you cards,” he said. Then he read one aloud. “Dear family and friends, we are sorry if your wedding gift was not acknowledged properly. Several envelopes were opened and removed from our care during the reception.”
Beatrice’s face went pale.
