My days and nights were endless, with no light or meaning or prospect of a better day. Grandfather never once came to see me; he didn’t appear at my door to save me and hand me my freedom. He was obviously as evil as Grandmother and wanted me locked away from the world. I wondered how two such vile people could have created or even known Momma. She was kind and sweet and didn’t have a mean bone in her body. She wasn’t dark and unsightly like Grandmother. In fact, she resembled her not at all. When I first arrived at Sutton Hall, I was ready to put the pieces of my family’s history together, thinking that somehow, the walls of the ominous mansion would speak to me and reveal all the secrets and tales of years past. I would find out why Momma had run away, how she met Daddy, and why Grandmother felt driven to take me in, only to keep me locked away forever.
Then, as the summer melted into fall, then winter, I finally surrendered in defeat to my horrifying destiny, and made a discovery so unexpected and urgent it altered everything about my existence and gave me a small piece of my life back—only to be shattered all over again.
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Chapter Seventeen
A wicked hurricane blew through the eastern coast line and gave me the gift of light. The brutal winds blew off one of the shutters, allowing sunlight to fill my once-dark room. I could now look out the windows and gaze down below to see the comings and goings of Sutton Hall. Although I still had no fresh air because the window was sealed shut, I had enough sunlight to brighten even my worst days. I could see into the armoire once again and pull out the books that I had put back inside the day before I ran away.
After taking out the dresses and placing them, one by one, on the bed to get a better look inside the armoire and see if I had missed any books, I noticed something brassy sticking out of the corner, partially hidden by a book. I reached all the way in and pulled out the book to reveal a key. At first, I presumed it was a key to the wardrobe, but when I tried to put it in the key hole, it wouldn’t fit. It wasn’t nearly the right size. Slowly, I turned to the bedroom door. My hands shaking, in slow motion, I placed it in the keyhole, and to my elation, it fit! I quickly snatched it back out and placed it in my pocket so it wouldn’t be discovered. I had a way out, but I feared the same thing would happen—I would run, be found, and be mercilessly beaten. I didn’t want to go through that again. Undecided about what to do, I put the key back in the armoire.
Grandmother hated that I could see out, but only grumbled that her inheritance was taking longer than expected, and she couldn’t afford to replace the shutter. She only entered my room on rare occasions—to inspect my cell and make certain I wasn’t up to no good or planning another escape. When she strolled around the room, I wondered how she had forgotten to look in the armoire. She had gone as far as looking up into the chimney, only to have soot fall and cover her face. I contained my amusement, afraid of her wrath, and she stormed out, screaming for Abigail to get up to the room and sweep up the mess.
Abigail had been an infrequent visitor in the many months after Grandfather returned. She was busy tending his needs, she told me once. He was wheelchair-bound, sick, and frail, and Grandmother had endless tasks for her outside of her everyday household duties.
The last time Abigail had been up to my room was to give me more rags for my monthly curse. This time, she was much more rushed, and I didn’t expect her to have a moment to stop and look at me after she had swept, let alone hand me a piece of paper before she flew back out. With great curiosity, I opened the folded piece of paper, and as I read the letter, fell onto the bed and began to sob, not out of sadness, but out of pure happiness. It was from Warren! It was brief and rushed, but it told me everything I needed to know. He was alive and well, and he was working on finding Daddy. I brought the letter to my heart and smiled and breathed a heavy sigh of relief. For the first time in my whole life, I actually felt lucky. I would have never guessed Warren’s life could be spared, that Grandmother, the devil herself, didn’t have the power to destroy the man who, once again, was coming to my rescue. Only this time we were going to be careful not to get caught. Warren had found a way to get correspondence to me through Abigail. I didn’t know how or why and didn’t need an explanation. I was happy to know I had Warren on my side, along with Abigail and Hamilton. A first step had been made to contact Daddy and fill him in on the details of my imprisonment.
Once he found out, Daddy would not waste another minute; he would board the first train he could. I began to imagine possibilities for why Daddy hadn’t come for me. He must have been hurt or sick, and Warren would track him down, contact every hospital to see if he was in their care.
I hid the letter in one of the books, and stood and gazed out the hazy window of my room. Warren was near, maybe even watching me from somewhere in the woods. I tried to see if there was any sign of him, but it was difficult to make out anything with great clarity.
I wasn’t able to sleep a wink that night. All I thought about was that I had a key to leave my room any time I thought it safe, and there was a man who would lay down his own life for me. I recalled our last moments together. I thought about how we laughed and how close we sat on his bed. Since he last saw me; I had officially become a woman. And with that burden I hated, came the ability for me to win any man’s heart. I was as curvy and voluptuous as Momma had been, though I knew that could also be dangerous. I still feared what Grandmother said, and worried that if and when Warren and I met again, something terrible would happen if he touched me. I would keep my distance from him; he could not touch me again, even if it was a moment of innocence.
Letters from Warren came at least one a week. Mostly they were delivered under my door sometime during the night, when Abigail had a moment to steal up to my room—a total of eight letters, all of them telling me he thought of me every waking minute and missed my lovely face. He vaguely described his search for Daddy’s whereabouts, but he was having no luck. He wrote for me not to worry, that he was not giving up. I was anxious to meet him face to face and wrote that I had a key to escape my room and asked him to meet me by the river at the first light of the moon, exactly two days from receipt of my response. I used the chalk to write back. When I knew Hamilton was to empty my chamber pot, I left the note near it. I watched him come in, see it, then put it in his pocket without looking my way. When he returned after a short while, he signed Abigail’s name with his fingers, then left.
I finally had a reason to wake each morning. Not only was I happy inside, I was outside, as well. My hair had grown back to reach just past my bosom and the dull sunlight that penetrated my prison was just enough to bring back the color to my once-pale face. Though I was severely underweight, I was the healthiest I had been in almost a year.
Abigail came to see me just before I stole out to the river.
“You need to be careful. Mrs. Arrington is still awake. I don’t like this,” she whispered, helping me button up my skirt.
“I will be fine,” I said, giving her a quick peck on the cheek, and placing my hand in my pocket to confirm the key was there. I crept along the shadows of the wall until I made my way to the back stairway. It wasn’t long before I was outside, under the light of the early summer moon, making my way to the river to meet Warren. I hurried with soft steps through the woods, past the slave cemetery, and to the edge of the river, where I spotted him peering out around a thick, mature willow tree.
I hurried to him and wanted more than anything to throw my arms around him, but I was still afraid of what Grandmother had instilled in me. Instead, I stayed a step back as he appeared before me.
“Lillian, is that really you?” he said, staring closely at me.
“Of course it is,” I said.
He reached out to touch my cheek, but I pulled back. “You look different,” he said. “You have grown so much.”
I blushed, though I knew he couldn’t see. “Thank you for coming to see me,” I said as he led me to a spot under the tree where we could sit and talk.
“Nothing could keep me away. Tell me, Lillian. Tell me all that has happened since you were taken from me.”
His eyes were troubled, and again, he reached out to me. My mind told me to resist his touch, but my heart told me to allow it. I didn’t pull away when he reached for my hand and placed it in his. I began my story from the moment I looked back and saw him lying in a pool of blood and believed him dead, to the day I found the key in Momma’s armoire. He was fascinated and distressed—his eyes full of tears.
“But I am all right now,” I said, reassuring him.
Warren had already written in his letters that a friend had come by to see him and found him half-dead from a stab wound to his stomach. He had been taken to the hospital in Savannah, and it took him months to recover.
Then, when he was well enough to make his way to Sutton Hall, he had confronted Grandmother. She told him I was long gone, that Daddy had come for me, and I was far away. She warned him never to step foot on her plantation again. That’s all he revealed in his letters, and it was under the moon and stars that he explained how he learned I was still locked away.
“I was crushed when I learned you had gone back to Maine. It wasn’t because you were happy and where you belonged, but because I knew I would never see you again. You kept me from dying, Lillian,” he confessed, then he took a long breath, looked out onto the river that glistened with brilliant moonbeams, and continued. “I was in Savannah when Hamilton spotted me. He was waiting for your grandmother beside the carriage, and as I walked past, he grabbed hold of me. I thought he was going to strike me, and I went to defend myself, but something in his eyes told me to hold my punch. He released me, brought his hands up, and began to move them. I was perplexed until I remembered you telling me about Elizabeth and teaching her sign language. Hamilton was trying to spell something.”
I was mesmerized by his story. He told it with such fervor, it was as if I were really there when it happened. Warren brought his hand up and repeated the hand signs. It spelled “Lillian.”
“I asked if you were still here, in the mansion, and he nodded. I was grateful, as selfish as it was, to know I had a chance to see you again. I arranged to have a letter delivered, and Abigail met me in the woods.”
It was all so fortunate in many ways. Out of so much despair, torture, and pain, we were brought together. Neither of us had known the other was alive and longing to be reunited. I had believed Warren killed, and he was convinced that Daddy had come and taken me home. Neither was true. I asked him if he had word about Daddy, if he had found what lighthouse station he was keeping.
“No word yet, but I am trying. Please be patient,” he said, squeezing my hand. His eyes were earnest. He was trying his hardest.
“I will be. I suppose there is nothing but time,” I sighed, looking down to hide my disappointment.
There was a long silence between us. We had divulged most everything that had occurred over the bitter, long year, and now we were emotionally exhausted.
Warren gave me his hand and helped me up; it was time to part ways. I had to return to my room before it was discovered that I was gone.
“Will you keep writing?” I asked before I turned to go.
“As long as each full moon, you come out to see me,” he said, in a voice just above a whisper.
I smiled, and said, “Of course, Mr. Stone.”
“Warren. Call me Warren, from this moment on.”
I practically floated back to the mansion; it was almost as if it were all a dream. He was dashing and kind and he had lived for the day he would again see me. He had noticed I had matured, and he couldn’t help but to reach out and touch me. In his eyes, I saw his adoration, and I felt the same way. Warren gave me everything I had always wanted and longed for from Heath. Warren didn’t hold back his feelings and confessed that he spent every day with me in his thoughts.
I didn’t want to fall asleep that night. I returned to my room and locked myself in. I was afraid I would wake to the light of a new day and realize it was all a wonderful dream, none of it real. I would be devastated. I tried to keep my heavy lids from closing; I fought sleep as long as I could, but finally, my tiredness won out and I drifted off.
The morning didn’t bring the cruel reality to which I had come accustomed. Instead, I sat up and stretched and didn’t notice the barren walls and stale smell of my room. I didn’t care that I had the same breakfast every day and no one to wish me a good morning. I had my freedom back, and I’d had love fix my broken and battered heart. I woke that morning madly in love with Warren Stone, and I couldn’t wait to receive his next letter.
Fortunately, I didn’t have to wait long. Hamilton managed to bring one to me by early afternoon.
“Thank you,” I said, and he returned my thankfulness with a smile.
I jumped on the bed, anxious to read his letter.
My Dearest Lillian,
What has become of me I can barely describe in words, but I will try. The moment I saw you last evening made me realize how much I adore you. You are the reason that my heart beats; you are the reason I live. I live for only you, Lillian Arrington.
Until we meet again under the light of the moon,
Warren
I had received my very first love letter! It was mine to treasure, and I quickly put it away in the book where I kept all of his letters to me. I was so happy I couldn’t contain my smiles. All day I stayed locked away, but I wasn’t bored or miserable. I spent my waking hours thinking of him, seeing his handsome face before me. I fantasized about someday being his wife. We would run away together and live on a lighthouse station, the way Momma and Daddy had.
With a renewed passion for life, that night, when all was settled, I found the courage to venture out of my room, to wander the long, shadowy halls. The love Warren gave me, just knowing he was near to help protect me, made me strong. I was willing to take more chances; I wanted to find all the secrets that lay behind the dozens of closed doors, down hidden passageways, and around dark corners.
I silently stole out of my room into the dimly-lit corridor and made my way along the walls until I came to the first door across and checked the knob; it was locked. I went on, from one door to the next; all of them were locked. I enthusiastically continued, into another wing of the house. My steps were light, though the floor still creaked beneath me. I stopped, held my breath, and turned to look around. Still, I was safe, undetected. I wandered on, checking every door I passed; they, too, were all locked. I tried my key in each of them; it didn’t work.
Then I found myself in the last wing, and as I walked in, a cold shiver went through me. I instinctively knew it was where Grandmother resided. I sensed her evil; it was all around. I didn’t want to be there. I became tense and afraid, so I slowly backed up, eased my way out of the corridor, and then I bumped into something—or someone. I gasped and held my breath, and slowly pivoted around, my mind scrambled with visions of the torture I would endure because of my escape. I was terrified until my eyes lifted to stare directly into Grandfather’s face.
He wasn’t angry or filled with hatred. His blue eyes were old and tired; his expression soft and gentle. He wasn’t as frail as he looked when I occasionally caught a glimpse of him from my cloudy window. And he was walking, not in his wheelchair, though he did hold the side of the wall for support.
“Why, Amelia, you should be in bed. What’s the matter? Did you have a bad dream?” he asked, placing his bony, ancient hand on my head. I had been holding in my breath and let it slowly out as he smiled down at me. He thought I was Momma! I went along with his confused state of mind. It came natural to me, as I had done it so many times with Momma.
“Yes, Daddy, I did. But I feel better now; I will return to my room,” I said in a voice just above a whisper and eased past him. He shuffled around and waved as I hurried back to my room.
When I was behind my own door and locked back away, I closed my eyes, and began to shake uncontrollably with sheer panic and excitement.
Grandmother had no suspicions; she was unaware of my escape. Though at first I was petrified when she came in for her inspection that grandfather had revealed our encounter, I soon realized she knew nothing about it. She took notice of the room, as usual, made me stand at attention as her eyes scanned me up and down, though she had long since stopped making me undress to uncover any baby that might have been growing inside of me after she found me hiding in Warren’s cabin.
Each time I stood at attention, her eyes focused on me with such scrutiny, I was satisfied and delighted with my secrets, and she was completely unaware. She still believed I cried every day for Daddy, that I was dejected and glum and thought I had no purpose in life. If she was as assured as she pretended to be, if she had looked deep into my brilliant eyes, she would have seen the passion for life that burned within me. My eyes were there, right in front of her, to see and give it all away—my love for Warren, the hope that he would find Daddy, and the confidence that I would survive my imprisonment and return to the sea. But she was a coward, and never once looked at me, Lillian Arrington, the person. It was her greatest weakness; it was what would someday allow me to destroy Sutton Hall and have it come crumbling down around her.
Box Set: The ArringtonTrilogy Page 51