Della could picture them in their bedroom, anxiously waiting to be disciplined; Louie's hood cinched over his face, Dewey lying sprawled on the floor, and Huey rocking back-and-forth under his sheets. A twinge of sympathy ached in her heart at the image, along with more than a few memories of she and Donald in the same circumstances, but she had to quiet those thoughts.
Didn't she?
If Della was being honest with herself, she felt a thousand times more terrified of punishing the boys than they were of being punished. This was the first time since she came home that her sons had truly misbehaved and, with Donald still on vacation, the responsibility fell squarely on her shoulders to discipline them. Even if Donald were back, though, she wondered how much it would solve; if she scurried away at the first sign of trouble and let him do all of the 'serious' parenting, it would lay the foundation for a very unhealthy relationship with her children.
But what if punishing them now, herself, was even worse? Who was she to waltz into their lives after ten years and start doling out "Go to your room"s and "You're grounded"s? But she was their mother, after all, wasn't she?
Wasn't she?
What if she punishes them and they start freezing her out of their lives? They were almost at that age. Or worse, what if having their own mother take everyone else's side against them injures the boys emotionally, and makes them believe that they really are the 'problem children' their school said they were?
Worst of all, what if they really were 'problem children' - and it was all Della's fault for abandoning them?
How could Della punish the boys for something that was her fault?
Doing nothing definitely wasn't an option, and neither was a slap on the wrist - not for the stunt they pulled. The email their principal sent Uncle Scrooge made that excruciatingly clear. Among the ten page long report on their individual misdeeds were such gems as,
"A school-wide racketeering operation engineered by Louie to smuggle and sell contraband materials to students and teachers alike,"
and,
"Catastrophic property damage caused by Dewford's carelessly vandalistic and one-sided 'prank war' with the varsity football team,"
And Della's personal favorite,
"Irreversible psychological trauma caused to the faculty and student body by being used as unwitting pawns in Hubert's sadistic game of human chess."
Along with the mind-boggling fact that they were able to slip by with a measly two week suspension for it, their scheme would've been impressive if it weren't so mortifying. It was no wonder Donald needed a vacation.
If only Uncle Scrooge would go on vacation, too.
"You don't have to worry about this, Della. I'm used to having this sort of talk with the boys," Uncle Scrooge sank back into his upholstered armchair, his tone somewhere between consoling and dismissive. "You shouldn't have to bother with this."
She loved him, but ten years hadn't faded her memories of Scrooge's little mind games. He never did anything like this without an ulterior motive, and that holier-than-thou sound in his voice was an immediate giveaway.
"Thanks, unc', but if this is anybody's problem, it's mine - they're my kids, so I'll deal with them," Della came off a little terse, but the best way to put off Scrooge was quickly and clearly, or in his terms, 'to nip it in the bud'. She spun around on her heels to walk out of his office when he stood up and said,
"Wait! Er, lass, just hear me out. Take some advice from someone with a little more parenting experience than yourself," there was venom in that last sentence, but subtle enough to make Della question if she was just reading too much into it. Anyway, it was too late to keep walking and pretend she hadn't heard him, so Della turned back to face Scrooge.
"Alright. Enlighten me," Della stuck her hands in her flight jacket's pockets, quietly indignant, and Scrooge eased back into the chair behind his desk.
How many times had she stood in this exact position as a teenager, receiving one of Uncle Scrooge's famous Glaswegian tongue-lashings?
"Now, believe it or not, I can empathize with your position. Really, I can," and so it begins. "You're afraid that letting me 'talk to' the boys might undermine your own authority," absolutely incorrect. "And maybe you feel a certain sympathy for them, or at least remember how it feels to be in their shoes, right now," that part was true.
Scrooge looked up to peep Della glowering impatiently at him, and got to the point,
"Della, you're their mother, but they've only known you for a few weeks. Even if you were in the right to punish them, now, it would hurt their image of you."
That hurt, but it made sense. It was exactly what she feared. Even if everything Scrooge knew about parenting came from the nineteenth century, he wouldn't prey on her emotions like that. And what reason would he have to manipulate her? He couldn't take that much pleasure in giving his great nephews an old-country castigation.
"You're right, Uncle Scrooge," Della's expression softened, her gaze cast down. "But what if I don't do anything? Is that any better? How does that show them that I care? I can't just act like their best friend all the time-"
"A-alright, Della, I understand," Scrooge raised his hand in a comforting gesture. "Those are perfectly normal trepidations to have… or, they would be, if this were a normal situation for a family to face," he again sank into the cushions of his chair, thinking for awhile, then continued. "How about this: I'm already a legitimate authority figure in their lives, and you would like to be, so if we present a united front and punish the lads together, my legitimacy will be transferred to you. In their eyes, I mean."
It made sense, and Scrooge seemed much more genuine than earlier, but something still felt wrong about it. However, Della couldn't think of any better alternatives (at least not on the spot), so she agreed,
"Okay, I guess that could work." At least this way, she could make sure Scrooge wasn't too harsh on the boys. She walked around to stand with him behind his oversized antique desk, and asked, "So, how are we going to do this?"
"Well, first we'll interrogate the mastermind, and establish a motive," Scrooge crossed his arms, content that he would be getting his way.
"What do you mean?" asked Della, incredulously.
"I mean your miniscule Machiavelli of an eldest son: Huey. Besides, he's the worst of them at lying," explained Scrooge.
"No, I mean what do you mean you'll 'interrogate' him? And 'first'? They all did it together, we should punish them together," Della felt anger welling up, especially at the notion 'interrogating' any of her kids, let alone Huey.
"Oh, please, Della! Do you realize how easily they would talk their way out of it if we marched the three of them in here together?" Scrooge asked, becoming a little indignant, himself. "Louie would think up a lie, and the other two would corroborate it in a heartbeat."
At this point, Della was wondering how she ever thought this could have been a good idea. Scrooge's style parenting hadn't changed at all since she and Donald were kids; this was exactly how he would punish them when they had misbehaved.
First he'd call the twins into his study separately, and deliver a denigrating monologue especially tailored to their personal insecurities - Della supposed he thought that stressing them out in the beginning would make them more malleable for later. Scrooge would know the stage was set when Donald had started crying and Della had started swearing at him, then he'd go on to phase two: taking turns questioning them about whatever they had done, in one-on-one sessions.
To make sure he was getting the truth, he would pit Della and Donald against each other, saying to one that the other had already ratted out on them (even if they hadn't) and that the other twin had told him a different story (even if they both related the same version of events).
In the end, Scrooge's methods of 'discipline' left Donald an emotional wreck by his early teens (resulting in his 'emo' phase) and severely damaged Donald and Della's relationship, which they weren't able to fully repair until they were almost adults.
Scrooge, of all people, had no business calling Huey 'machiavellian'.
"No," said Della, flatly.
"'No,' what?" asked Scrooge.
"I'm not going to let you do this to my sons, Scrooge!" Della walked back in front of the desk, scowling and defiant.
"Do what?!" Scrooge was honestly confused at this sudden shift in the conversation.
"The same thing you did to me and Donald! When y-"
"Oh, what?! Raised you?!" Scrooge interrupted, settling into the new atmosphere. "When your mother ran out on the two of-"
"Oh, yeah, you did a great job raising us!" Della spat back. "That must be the reason Donald dropped out of college and joined the Navy just to get away from you!"
An extremely uneasy pause followed. Della saw that something inside Scrooge snapped when she said that. She had hurt him.
But she was too angry to care.
Calmly, darkly, venomously, Scrooge hissed, "Well, I must have done something right. I raised Donald - and you - when your mother abandoned you both, and Donald raised Huey, Dewey and Louie when you abandoned them."
"You know it wasn't the same, Scrooge," Della let that get to her, and heard a trembling in her voice.
"It's no wonder your sons act this way," Scrooge's voice was getting louder, but just as calm.
"Shut up, Scrooge," a warning.
Scrooge stood up. "You don't even know those boys, Della! Because you left wh-"
"Shut the fuck up!" Della felt her face getting warm, her eyes getting wet.
"Took the Spear o-"
"Fuck you!" Della stormed out of the study. She tried not to listen, but behind her Scrooge continued to scream,
"Knowing very god-damned well that you had eggs at home!" his own voice trembling.
Della didn't know where she was going, but every step away from Scrooge exploded with catharsis. Down the hall, down the stairs, passed the foyer, through the vestibule - she was almost to the main gate before she felt calm enough to stop.
Even then, though, she could only pace angrily around the lawn, ruminating on what a spiteful old bastard Scrooge had become.
Minutes passed, and when she had transitioned into sitting on the grass, knees pulled up to her chest, she couldn't easily recall. The loathing had left her, but in its wake left a void threatening to be flooded with fear. As the first drops of anxiety started trickling into her heart, a knot formed in her stomach and a lump in her throat. Tears would soon follow, no matter how much she abhorred the thought of it.
But not here. Not on the front lawn, and not anywhere else Scrooge might see her.
For the next few minutes, Della's only focuses were getting to Donald's house boat, and not crying until she did.
Hours later,
Scrooge couldn't have meant it, not anymore than Della meant what she said about Donald. Her own self-doubt and unresolved guilt over her absence in the boys' lives made her memories of Scrooge's parenting seem worse than it was - along with his hateful goading.
That's what Della told herself, anyway, walking back up to her Uncle's study to make amends with the old man. They were both in pain, and it wouldn't get any better for either of them if she didn't step up and be the bigger person. Then, hopefully, Scrooge would feel comfortable enough to apologize in turn, and everything could go back to normal.
That wouldn't solve their original problem, on how to deal with the triplets, but they couldn't even begin to reach a solution until they made up.
Unless, of course, Scrooge did something stupid - like lecture Huey, anyway, against her wishes. This hypothetical became increasingly plausible the closer she got to his study's door, hearing him scold someone within.
The anger and sadness she fought so hard to banish threatened to come surging back as Della stomped up to the door and swung it open. There he was, hands resting on his cane as he sanctimoniously loomed over Huey… Dewey, and Louie?
"-which is assuming you three gave thought to at least one person other than yourselves! It's one thing to drag my name through the mud, but did you ever put your heads together and consider how this might affect your mother?" Scrooge, pausing to breathe, chanced to glance up and see Della standing in the doorway.
The triplets were all sat in front of their Great Uncle's desk, heads hung and thumbs twiddled. Huey was the first to look up and peep Scrooge staring past them, so he looked over his shoulder and saw his mother. She must have passed the performance of hiding her confusion under an angry expression, because Della's eldest son grew worried and bleated,
"We're sorry, mom! You don't deserve to have us act like this," and then proceeded to mumble 'so soon'.
"Yeah! P-please don't be mad! We'll make it up to you," said Dewey who, along with Louie, noticed Della shortly after Huey's outburst.
"I was just doing what they told me, I didn't know it was wrong," Louie chimed in, much to his brothers' visible displeasure.
A silence followed, with Della and Scrooge exchanging a knowing look, before she fell into the role seamlessly.
"Well, I'm not the one you have to make this up to," Della folded her arms and turned her bill up, walking over to stand with Scrooge behind his desk. "Because your Great Uncle and I agreed that, if you pull another stunt like this, we're going to pull you out of school and he's going to shell out for private tutors."
Huey seemed enthused by the prospect, but Dewey, Louie and especially Scrooge looked horrified.
"O' course, er, nothing's set in stone - and I suppose this wasn't all that bad," stammered Scrooge, trying to pull up from the nose-dive this conversation had gone into.
"The best money can buy! Now, you boys are grounded until one week after your suspension ends. That's all. You're free to go," Della smirked, and the boys cautiously egressed while Scrooge tugged at the feathers on his head.
Huey quietly closed the door behind he and his brothers, and another silence fell over the study. Della looked down regretfully at her poor, decrepit Uncle; and Scrooge looked up with unfathomable shame in his eyes. He stood up and, without a word, they embraced one another.