Cutler 2 - Secrets of the Morning

by V. C. Andrews

  "Did she drink it all?" she demanded and Charlotte nodded and showed her the glass. "Good. Go rinse it in the sink," she ordered and then looked in at me.

  "How is the baby?" I asked.

  "The baby was too small," she said quickly. "I want you to sleep so you will be ready to leave in the morning. Arrangements are being made." She started to turn away.

  "What do you mean?" I said, propping myself up on my elbows. "What do you mean the baby was too small?"

  "When babies are born too small, they're not meant to be born," she replied nonchalantly and started away again.

  "What's happened to her? Where is she?" I shouted. I swung my legs off the bed, but my head began spinning so much I had to drop myself back to the pillow and keep my eyes closed. I felt a warmth in my stomach and a gurgling. The warmth seemed to travel quickly up into my chest.

  What was in that drink? I wondered. I shouldn't have drunk it after all. I shouldn't have . . .

  I felt so groggy, so tired and weak. It took all my strength for me to get my legs back on the bed and I couldn't open my eyes. It was as if a heavy blanket, a blanket made of iron, had been pulled over me, holding me down. Soon I thought I was sinking deeper and deeper into the bed. I tried to fight it, but I couldn't lift my arms. In moments, I was in a sleep even deeper than the one before.

  I slept on and off most of the day, but whenever I woke up and started to rise, my head began to pound. All that would relieve it was lying back and keeping my eyes closed, which eventually resulted in my drifting of again. I didn't know whether it was day or not, for the door to my room was kept closed, but some time much, much later, it was thrust open and Miss Emily returned.

  I started to lift my head from the pillow. She approached quickly and put her hand behind it to help me into a more seated position. Then she brought a glass to my lips. It was filled with the same liquid Charlotte had brought. I started to gag on it, but she held the back of my neck firmly in her wiry, pincer-like fingers and kept the glass to my mouth.

  "Drink this," she commanded when some of it began to run down the sides of my chin. "Drink or you will never get strong enough to leave."

  I started to spit it back, and shake her hands from my neck, but her fingers clung to me like old rotten moss and she kept the glass between my lips, pouring, pouring, pouring. I couldn't keep from swallowing some of it. Finally, she released me and my head dropped back to the pillow.

  "Where . . . is . . . my . . . baby?" I asked as she started away.

  "I told you, she was too small," she said and shut the door behind her as she left, leaving me in pitch darkness.

  I tried to fight off the sleep, to keep awake so I could get out of bed and go looking for my baby. I started to sing in hopes that would prevent me from drifting off', but I didn't have the breath to go on very long. My words grew softer and softer until I was only mouthing them and then only singing them in my dreams.

  When I awoke again, I knew it was morning because the door of my room was open and I saw the light that came in through one of the windows in the hallway. Charlotte was there, this time carrying a plate of real food: a bowl of hot cereal, a piece of toast and an orange already peeled. She placed it on the side table and lit my kerosene lamp.

  "Good morning," she sang. "Emily says you should eat a good breakfast and then get dressed so Luther can take you to the train station. You're going for a ride on a train!"

  I started to sit up. I felt so weak and so tired. Sleep lay like a fog around me, making everything look blurry, misty, far away.

  "Get dressed?" I asked. Charlotte nodded and then reached down on the floor to pick up the pile of clothes to show me. She put them on the bed.

  "My clothes!" They were wrinkled and faded, but seeing them was like seeing an old friend. Even my missing boot, the one I had lost that cold afternoon, was there.

  "Thank you, Charlotte," I said, taking the clothing from her. I started to pull off the sack dress. Charlotte helped me and then I put on my own things, relishing the feel of them on my skin. I found my purse at the bottom of everything and looked for my comb, but when I found it, I found it had been melted when Miss Emily had had all my things boiled. The comb's teeth were all stuck together. My hair would have to remain knotted and twisted awhile longer.

  Despite my hatred for anything Miss Emily did or gave me, I couldn't help but eat some of the toast and all of the orange. I didn't touch her horrible cereal. Just the thought of it now made my stomach turn. But what I quickly ate gave me some renewed strength and energy and I was able to get to my feet even though I was still very wobbly.

  "Where is your horrid sister?" I demanded.

  "She's down in the library working, working, working on accounts," she replied. "I've got to go do my needlework because I have something nearly finished for you."

  "Where is my baby?" I asked her.

  "They took her," she said, shrugging. "Emily said she was too small so they took it."

  "Took her? Who took her? Oh God, please tell me," I begged, seizing her at the shoulders. But I could see Charlotte simply didn't know much more.

  "I have to go to work so I can finish your present," she said, turning and walking away.

  I straightened up and attempted my first steps. I grew dizzy again and had to grab hold of the door jamb and wait until the whirling passed. Desperation gave me needed strength. I had to find out what she had done with my baby. I continued to walk slowly down the corridor, each step hard. It seemed it would take me hours just to reach the stairway.

  But when I made the turn toward it, I heard the sound of someone's voice, a familiar voice, a voice that sent chills of hope up my spine and filled me with even more strength and determination. I heard my name being pronounced and then I heard Miss Emily's sharp, cold tones.

  "She's gone," I heard her say. "She left early this morning."

  I walked faster, pulling myself along the wail until I reached the top of the stairway and looked down just as Jimmy closed the big front door behind him on the way out.

  "Jimmy!" I screamed with all my strength. "Jimmy!" The effort drained me. I felt my legs soften, and I crumbled to the floor, my face against the railing. I began to sob, even my crying a great effort, the sobs softer, harder to make.

  Miss Emily turned to look up at me, a wry, evil smile on that pallid face.

  "Jimmy," I said softly. Was it a dream? Did I really hear and see him?

  I didn't have to wait for the answer, for the front door rattled open again and Jimmy came rushing back through it. He stopped in the entryway. It was him, handsome and tall in his army uniform, some colorful ribbons on his chest. I mustered all the strength I had and called to him.

  "Jimmy!"

  He looked up and saw me. Then he rushed past Miss Emily, nearly knocking her aside, and lunged up the stairway, two steps at a time, until he was at my side, embracing me, holding me against his chest and covering my forehead with kisses.

  "Oh Dawn, Dawn, what's happened to you? What have they done to you?" he asked, holding me out and gazing down into my face. I smiled, my eyelids fluttering as I fought to keep them open.

  "Is it really you, Jimmy? Are you really here or am I dreaming?"

  "I'm here," he said. "I came as soon as I was able to find you."

  "How did you find me? I thought I was lost, buried in this madhouse forever and ever."

  "I went to the school residence in New York City and spoke to your girlfriend Trisha. All my letters to you from Germany were being returned, simply marked 'No longer at this address.' Daddy hadn't heard from you either and said two of his letters had been returned the same way. I couldn't believe you would leave without telling me where you had gone, so as soon as I returned to the States, I went to your apartment building and asked to see your girlfriend."

  He lowered his head.

  "She told me what had happened to you," he said. "Oh Jimmy, I . . ."

  He put his finger on my lips.

  "It's all right. Don't
try to explain it all right now. My first concern was you and what was being done. Trisha told me about all the letters she had written to you. In a letter you had left her when you left the hospital, you told her you were going to someplace called Upland Station in Virginia and you mentioned the Booth sisters.

  "She wrote to you, but you never wrote back and her letters were never returned, so she never knew if you had gotten them."

  "Oh Jimmy;" I moaned. "I never got to see them. That horrid woman kept them from me, just as she kept me from sending any letters or calling anyone. There's no phone in this house and it's miles and miles to one."

  "Who is this woman? Why did she lie and tell me you had already left?" he asked, gazing down the stairway. But Miss Emily was gone.

  "She's Grandmother Cutler's horrid sister, even more horrid than she is. I didn't think it was possible, but it is. There's another sister here, a simpleminded one named Charlotte, who she torments in a different way."

  Jimmy shook his head and looked me over. "What happened . . . I mean, I thought you were sent here because you were pregnant."

  "I was. I've just given birth—that's why I'm so weak and tired, that and something Miss Emily has given me to drink so I would be no trouble until she was ready to get rid of me. I have no idea where they were sending me next."

  "Well, where's the baby?" he asked.

  "I don't know. She told me it was too small. I'm afraid of what she has done. Her sister told me some people came and took it. I hope and pray it wasn't an undertaker."

  "An undertaker?"

  "Oh Jimmy," I cried. "I gave birth nearly a month too soon. There were so many terrible things going on here. I was in the nursery and I saw this doll in the crib and then she came in behind me all in a rage, so I ran and I fell and . . ."

  "Easy," Jimmy said, stroking my matted hair. "You will have plenty of time to tell me all of it. You're not making sense right now. You're too distraught."

  "Distraught? Yes, yes." I touched my own face. "I must look so horrible to you. I haven't had a hair brush for months and these clothes . . ."

  I tried to stand, but I got so dizzy, I fell back into Jimmy's arms.

  "Whatever she gave me still hasn't worn off completely," I explained.

  "Let me help you up and take you somewhere to lay down for a few minutes. Then, we'll get to the bottom of all this," he said with definite authority.

  Gazing into his dark eyes, I saw how strong and mature he had become. Jimmy was a full-grown man now. His shoulders were broad, his face firm. I had always felt safer in his arms or with him near me, but now I truly believed he could take charge and do what had to be done.

  He lifted me to my feet as if I weighed no more than a baby.

  "Just take me right down here where she kept me, Jimmy. It's the closet bed. But as soon as I catch my breath, I want to find out what happened to the baby and . . ."

  "We will," he said, guiding me along. "Easy. No one is going to hurt you ever again," he promised with assurance.

  "Oh, Jimmy. Thank God you're here." I rested my head against his strong shoulder and started to sob.

  "Don't cry. I'll take care of you now," he whispered and kissed my hair and my forehead.

  When he set eyes on my excuse for a room, he gasped.

  "It's like a closet," he said. "No windows, no fresh air. Just a little oil lamp for light! And it smells so stuffy and sour in here."

  "I know, but I just need a short rest."

  After he helped me lie down, he went into the bathroom to get a wet washcloth to wash down my face and place on my forehead. "I haven't seen hovels worse than this anywhere in Europe," he muttered as he wiped my cheeks. "Solitary confinement in a military prison must be a palace compared to this."

  He put the cool cloth over my forehead, sat down beside me on the bed and held my hand.

  "Jimmy," I said, squeezing his fingers tightly in mine. "Are you here, are you really, really here?"

  "I'm here and I don't intend leaving you for long again," he promised. He leaned over and kissed me softly on the lips. I smiled. Now that I felt safe, I permitted my eyes to close and took a short and much-needed rest.

  I didn't sleep long and Jimmy never left the room the entire time. When my eyes first fluttered open, I panicked because I didn't see him immediately and thought that what had happened had all been only a dream. But as soon as he saw I was awake, he was at my side again. He kissed me and embraced me.

  "Feeling strong enough to walk out of here?" he asked.

  "Yes, Jimmy, but not without knowing what happened to my baby," I said.

  "Of course. I can't believe what they've done to you," he said, brushing back some loose strands of my hair. "I want to know every detail."

  "I'll tell you all of it, Jimmy—the terrible chores she made me do, how I had to sleep in the cold, the meager meals, the prayer sessions—she's a religious fanatic who treated me as if I were the devil's child. And I'm sure Grandmother Cutler knew exactly what would happen to me when she sent me here. But I want to find my baby first."

  He nodded, the lines of his mouth tightening and that all too familiar glint of anger coming into his dark eyes.

  "Let's go," he said in a tone of command. "I don't want us to spend one moment longer than we have to in this hell hole of a place."

  He helped me to my feet. I felt stronger and my head was a great deal clearer. We walked out of the room that had been my pathetic home for so many months. Oddly enough, I had grown used to every nook and cranny in it. It was like a deprived child itself, abused, forgotten and buried in the darkness and horror of The Meadows.

  As soon as we descended the stairway, I knew where Miss Emily was. The light was on in the library.

  "She's hoping we'll just leave," I said. "She wants to ignore us, ignore all that she has done."

  Jimmy nodded, his eyes fixed firmly on the library doorway. I took his hand into mine and we walked quickly to it.

  Miss Emily was in her usual place, seated behind the great desk under her father's portrait, only this time, she didn't seem as intimidating to me, nor did the portrait. I had Jimmy at my side and could borrow freely from his strength.

  She sat back as soon as we entered and formed that crooked smile on her face, a face with pale skin so thin the bones of the skull within it could be clearly seen. It was like looking at the face of Death itself, but I didn't falter.

  "Well," she said. "Actually, I'm glad someone has come for you. It saves me the expense of having Luther take you to the train station in Lynchburg, and besides, Luther has more important things to do with his time."

  "Yes, you've made him into your convenient slave over the years, punished him and punished him and he's accepted it, but that's for you and Luther to live with. I won't leave here until I know what you did with my baby. Who came for her? Whom did you give her to? Why did you do that?" I added in a shrill tone and approached the desk.

  "I told you," she replied coldly. "The baby was too small. You wouldn't have been able to take care of it anyway. My sister did the right thing," she added and looked as if she were going to go back to her work and dismiss us.

  But I rushed up to the desk and slapped my hands over her precious papers.

  "What do you mean, your sister did the right thing? What right thing?"

  She glared up at me, unafraid, unmoved, her eyes filled with ice. She wasn't going to speak. But Jimmy came up by my side.

  "You better tell us everything," he said. "You had no right to do anything with her baby and if we have to, we'll go to the police and bring them here."

  "How dare . . ."

  "Look," he said, putting his hands on the desk and leaning over toward her, his patience on a leash. "I don't want us to stay here a minute longer than we have to, but we'll stay here until hell freezes over if you don't cooperate."

  My heart cheered to see someone finally speak to Miss Emily the way she should have been spoken to years and years ago.

  "You can be brought
up on kidnapping charges, you know. Now, what's been done with the baby? Talk!" he said, slapping the desk so hard and unexpectedly that Miss Emily jumped in her seat.

  "I don't know who has the baby," she whined. "My sister made all the arrangements even before Eugenia," she said, spitting her words my way, "arrived. You will have to ask her."

  "And that's exactly what we will do," Jimmy said. "If you are lying and you knew, we will be back with the police to charge you as an accessory to a crime."

  "I don't lie," she said defiantly, her pencil-thin lips drawn so tightly I thought they would snap like rubber bands. Jimmy glared back at her a long moment and then straightened up.

  "Let's get out of here, Dawn," he said.

  "Yes, and good riddance," Miss Emily replied.

  Something exploded inside me. All the pain and anger I had held in, all I had shut up in my heart came pouring out. Every harsh and cutting word she had said to me, all the bitter food she had forced me to eat, the darkness she had shut me up in, and the way she had made me feel lower than the lowest form of life was finally regurgitated like the sour things they were.

  "Oh no, Miss Emily," I said slowly, walking around the desk toward her, "good riddance to you. Good riddance to your ugly, frustrated and hateful face. Good riddance to your religious hypocrisy, to your making everyone else feel evil and despicable while you are the most evil and despicable thing in this house. Good riddance to your miserly ways, except when it comes to yourself. Good riddance to your jealousy of everything soft and beautiful. Good riddance to your pretense of wanting everything clean while you yourself live in the muck and darkness of this coffin you call a home."

  I stood right beside her and looked down at her.

  "I have never in my life ever wanted to say goodbye to anything as much as I want to say goodbye to you. And do you know, Miss Emily, being here, living with you and seeing what you are has made me feel sorry for the devil, for when you die you are sure to go to hell and even Satan doesn't deserve something as horrid as you."