“If you only knew,” he mumbled into the back of my hair.
“What, Warren? What should I know?” I asked, wide-eyed. Was he finally going to reveal the deep pain that kept him from wanting me, loving me, and asking me to marry him?
“I have made terrible mistakes,” he began, caressing my hair. “Mistakes I never want to repeat.”
“Is being with me a mistake?”
“No, Lillian. Don’t ever think you and I are a mistake.”
I could hear the anguish in his voice. “Then what are we?” I finally found the courage to ask. I desperately needed to know what I was to him. Was I a little girl in his eyes? Was I some lonely, pathetic orphan that needed his mercy, or was I a desirable woman that had stolen his heart, a woman he wanted to marry? Was there even a chance that he loved me as much as he did the woman who claimed his heart years before?
“You and I, Lillian, are meant to be,” Warren said, slipping into a peaceful sleep, while I lay awake and wondered.
Throughout the winter, and all into spring and summer, Warren and I fell into a stale routine without the fire and passion I thought would come of our relationship. He became used to my walking about half-dressed, in his night shirt; his eyes no longer lingered on my bosom. Warren treated me more like a friend every day that passed, though he still insisted on sleeping beside me and holding me while he dreamed. I cooked and cleaned; he went off to work. He spoke of the different people he met along his sales route; he told me every day what a hard day he’d had. After supper, he’d sit out on the porch, often asking me to sit with him. So I’d sit in the rocker and watch him as he read the paper and smoked his pipe. It wasn’t anything like the relationship Momma and Daddy had. They adored one another; Daddy couldn’t keep his eyes off her when she was in the same room, and every night he could, he would take her and love her in the way I now craved. I was able to stop men on the streets of Savannah with my curvy body and angelic face. That’s what Richard told me one late afternoon in mid-summer in the general store.
Warren had given me a list of supplies to get while he went to have the wagon’s axle repaired, and I stood gazing up at dolls that sat sigh high on a shelf, when Richard had stolen up from behind and said, “We meet again.”
I hadn’t seen Richard for many months and was startled. He looked as dapper as ever in his black wool sack suit. A watch chain was attached to his top button, a white handkerchief was in his left breast pocket, and atop of his dark brown hair sat a fine crowned bowler hat.
“Hello, Mr. Parker,” I said, blushing at my thoughts of how handsome he looked.
“Please, call me Richard,” he said, giving me a confident smile.
“Have you been out of town? I haven’t seen you in quite some time.”
“My wife Judith and I moved back to New York. We are here to visit her sister Rachael,” he said, stepping back to get a better look at me. His copper eyes sparkled, and his grin was wide. “You, my dear, have become the most stunning young woman I have ever laid eyes on.”
I looked at the ground, embarrassed by his compliment.
“Have you thought about perhaps allowing me to sketch you?” he asked, inching closer.
“No, not really.”
“No? You are going to keep your beauty hidden from the world? By God, I think that should be a crime,” Richard said, though I wasn’t sure he was serious.
“What should be a crime?” Warren asked. His eyes practically fired bullets at Richard as he stepped between us.
“Hello, sir. You must be Lillian’s father. My name is Richard Parker.” Richard extended his hand. Warren refused to shake it and nudged me toward the counter to pay for our things. Richard didn’t back off, though Warren’s manner should have given him pause. “Your daughter should be in magazines.”
Warren clenched his jaw while staring straight ahead and said, “She is not my daughter.”
Richard was taken aback. He shifted his eyes to Warren, then to me, then back at Warren, and said, “Well, your sister then.”
Warren ignored Richard and ushered me out to the wagon. Richard was persistent, relentless in fact. “I certainly don’t mean to be a bother, I just thought—”
Warren hastily interrupted. “Stay out of our business. Lillian is not going to be in one of your inappropriate magazines!”
I was humiliated by Warren’s rude behavior and almost in tears as he sped us off, leaving Richard standing in the street.
“Why did you behave that way?” It happened every time we went to Savannah. Warren would see some man talking to me and would become angry and possessive. “Richard is a nice man. He is from New York.”
“You’re not going to pose for any magazine, do you understand me?”
“I wasn’t going to.”
“Good. Then we have no reason to continue this discussion.”
He shot me a look of disdain while I sat beside him. He slowed the horse and sat back. Late afternoon was the hottest point of the day, and I couldn’t wait to get a drink of water. Warren unhitched the horse while I quenched my thirst with cold well water. It was awkward between us, and I was growing to dislike his ways. If I were his wife, or lover, I would understand him protecting me, but I was neither. So I decided not to cook for him that Saturday evening.
“Why aren’t you starting supper?” he asked when he came in after washing up by the creek not far from the house.
“I’m not your servant, Warren Stone. Make your own supper,” I snapped, and proceeded to change for bed. Right in front of him, I stripped off my dress, then my petticoat, corset, chemise, and pantalettes. I had never been undressed in front of a man before, and I didn’t care that Warren was speechless or that his wide, astonished eyes were watching me. I slid under the blanket, not looking his way, without my nightshirt on, and closed my eyes, pretending to go to sleep. I was absolutely fed up. I didn’t have Momma’s mild temperament; I wasn’t as refined as she thought. I had a chip on my shoulder. I was angry at everyone—Momma for going mad, and Daddy for abandoning me. I was furious for my years of abuse, and Warren was going to feel the burden of my resentment.
However, Warren wouldn’t tolerate my behavior, and just to show me, he went out and slammed the door behind him. I jumped out of the bed and ran after him.
“Get back inside; you can’t be out like this!” he barked, refusing to look at me. He kept pivoting around when I crossed into his vision to make him look at me.
“Is this what you don’t want Richard to draw?” I spat. “My body? My nude body? The body you refuse to look at?”
“You stop it right now, Lillian!” he demanded, his eyes, blazing with fury, locked onto mine.
“You’re not my father; you’re not my husband. You are nobody, Warren Stone. You can’t tell me what to do!” I yelled, striking his face. I slapped it so hard he stumbled back.
As I went to strike again, he blocked my blow, grabbing hold of my arm. “That’s enough Lillian.” His voice had softened, his anger fading into sadness. “Go and put some clothes on.”
I ran back inside, slamming the door, and falling to the bed, sobbing. I didn’t hear him come in.
“My God,” he gasped. He was standing over me, staring at my scarred back.
“Go away, Warren,” I shouted. He didn’t listen, but came to the bed and lifted me into his arms. “Who did this to you?” he demanded. I buried my face in his chest and refused to answer. As much as I wanted to be a woman, I felt more like a child than ever. “Did your daddy do this to you?”
I lifted my head, shocked and appalled that he would think such a thing. “No, of course not!”
“Then who left you with such gruesome scars? Who whipped you?”
“It doesn’t matter,” I said. “Let me be, Warren.” I slipped out of his arms and curled up in a ball on the bed, my back facing him.
“She did that to you? That wicked, evil woman,” he mumbled, gently touching each of my scars with his finger. “How dare she?”
M
y mind shut off; I was tired of losing every battle that came my way. I just wanted to sleep, but Warren, in my most vulnerable time, was unable to refrain from coming to me, cradling my body, and lightly kissing my back.
His kiss lingered, and eventually, he put his hands on me, lightly rubbing my back the way I had once done for him. I stopped crying as my body reacted to his tender touch and warm kisses, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to feel such excitement, I had second thoughts about Warren becoming my lover. He confused me, he angered me, and I just wanted to be left alone.
“Please, stop,” I whispered.
“I’m so sorry she hurt you,” he murmured through his kisses. “You poor thing.”
Warren’s hands eased around to my front and brushed up against me. My heart raced, and my body felt an exhilaration I had yet to experience, but my mind screamed for him to stop. I wasn’t ready as much as I had once thought and wanted him to stop.
“Warren, please, please stop,” I cried. But my pleas went unheard. My stomach felt queasy, and I began to tremble. I tried to squirm out from under him; I pleaded for him to stop. In his eyes, I saw the lust and yearning I had once hoped for; I felt his craving build by the second, and before long, he was having his way with me.
“No!” I cried over and over and I sobbed uncontrollably. The pain was unbearable. I dug my nails into his back and bit his chest; I bawled and screamed for him to stop.
When it was finally over, I flew out the bed and ran outside, where I heaved up the contents of my stomach. When that stopped, I fell to the ground and shook uncontrollably. I wept continuously, and didn’t stop when Warren came out. He knelt and covered me with a blanket then in a remorseful and ashamed voice, said, “Can you ever forgive me?”
I refused to look at him, and pulled away when he went to stroke my hair. Then, his head hung low in disgrace, he went back inside. He left the door open for me.
Because of that one, single, unspeakable moment, I no longer saw life the same. The sun didn’t shine as bright; the sky was no longer as brilliant and beautiful. The birds chirped and sang sweet songs in the trees, but when their music reached my ears, the sounds were lackluster. The scorching days of summer seemed more oppressive than ever, and when I went to the well to soothe my parched lips, I found no relief as my mouth and throat reminded tight and dry.
In the days after Warren took my innocence, I stayed quiet. I went to the creek to wade in the water to stay cool while he was at work, and I couldn’t help but add my tears to it. I hated everything about myself. I was so unhappy. Every fantasy I had about finally becoming a woman had been proven a sham. I wasn’t humming a tune, and my face didn’t glow the way Momma’s used to after she and Daddy shared each other. I felt dirty and soiled, tainted for life. I swore I would never want to be with another man, ever. I cursed every curve in my body; I hated the large bosom I once felt fortunate to posses. My beauty was a personal burden. However, I might have to use it, just to gain the funds to leave Savannah for good. There was no way I could stay with Warren any longer. I wanted to go home.
Warren didn’t expect me to cook or clean, and he prepared his own supper when he returned after a long day’s work. He still had it in his mind that we would go to Cape Cod to live happily ever after. I could see the shame in his green eyes, and he believed he could win my forgiveness by taking me to the sea, but I was devising a plan that would take me far away from him. I would seek out Richard and offer to be sketched—and paid. Then I would have the money for the long train ride home.
When Saturday came, I expected Warren to make the ride into Savannah, but that day he said he had extra jobs to do and would put off going into the city until next week. I was crushed. I didn’t want to wait another day and decided to walk to Savannah myself. I could get there and back before he returned to the cabin. But it was sheer luck, I thought, that I got two miles, and up the road came Richard! He stopped the buggy as soon he saw me.
“How good to see you, Lillian.” he said.
“And you, too, Richard. What brings you out this way?” I asked, looking up at him.
“My wife sent me to look at some land she wants to acquire. It’s a few miles from here.”
“I was on my way to see you,” I told him, getting straight to the point. I couldn’t bear to let him see the anguish I harbored inside, and I prayed he wouldn’t be able to tell that I had unwillingly lost my innocence.
“Is that so? What, may I ask, for?” he asked, his white teeth gleaming as he smiled.
“How much will you pay to have my portrait put in your magazine?”
Richard looked at me and his eyes sparkled with delight, then he said, “How much do you want?”
“As much as a train ticket is worth.”
Richard climbed down from his seat, and when he stood before me, he narrowed his eyes. “And why do you need money for a train ticket?”
“I’m going back to Maine. My father has sent for me, but he has fallen on hard times and couldn’t send me the money.”
His eyebrows rose, his face twisted with doubt. “I thought you lived with your father.”
“No, Warren is a friend of the family. He was looking after me until Daddy got better. He has been sick for nearly three years. Now he is well enough to have me again.”
“Warren has no money to see you off?”
“Do we have a deal?” I asked, extending my hand, avoiding his question.
“Well, certainly. I’m not going to miss such a chance,” he replied, and we shook on it.
“Do you have the time now?”
“I suppose I have an hour or so. Good thing I always carry my sketch book and pencil with me,” he chuckled.
“Can we do it here?” I asked. I didn’t want to take him to the cabin. There was no way I wanted him to see where Warren had me.
“Certainly. Let’s go by the creek. I see a rock you can sit on; the light is just right.”
He reached for his things, and we walked a few yards. I sat and waited while he studied me. Richard kept a keen eye on me as his hand flew over the once-blank page of his sketch book. He told me how to hold my head and which way to tilt it.
“Pull your shoulders back,” he instructed. When I didn’t do it just the way he wanted, he whisked over and went to put his hands on me.
“No, please don’t,” I said in a panic.
Richard took a step back and frowned, but respected my wishes not to be touched. “Just pull them back about an inch,” he said.
“Is this better?”
“Yes, that’s perfect. Stay just like that.”
He sketched my image with passion; drawing was his true obsession. After everything that had happened to me, my body and face were the last things I wanted anyone to observe, admire, and capture, but I knew I had to use it, if only for a day, to get what I needed—money. I cringed every time he muttered how stunning I was, and that it was an honor to create my likeness on paper. Richard didn’t notice, and when he was done, he rushed over to me.
“Well, what do you think?”
It was a work of art. His portrait made me look angelic and virtuous; nothing like what I felt on the inside.
“It’s amazing,” I said, quickly brushing away a tear before he noticed.
“A job well done, Lillian,” he said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out an Indian head gold dollar. “This is for your beauty. I’m leaving first thing tomorrow morning, to return to New York. If you can, travel with us, and I will pay your way home.”
The offer was too good to be true. I had some money, and now Richard was going to cover the cost of my ticket home.
“I will be there; thank you.”
“No, thank you, Lillian. It has been an honor,” he said, taking my hand to place a gentlemanly kiss on it, but I abruptly pulled it back and hurried off.
“Bye, Richard. I will see you tomorrow,” I called, running back to the one place I had to make peace with before I left Georgia.
_______________
&
nbsp; Chapter Twenty-two
Sutton Hall loomed ahead, but its ominous presence no longer frightened me. The house stood just as lifeless as the day I left, but it still possessed a menacing aura. The gardens of the plantation were even more overgrown, and thick, green vines had begun to overwhelm the exterior.
As I approached, I stopped for a moment to catch my breath and reflect on the past. Not one good thing came from my days locked away. I was left with scars inside and out, wounds that would never completely heal. I was no longer the naive, innocent girl that believed in fairytales, the bond of family, and the promise of true love. I was a shattered version of the girl I once was.
With a heavy heart, I made my way up the gallery and inside. Weather had entered the grand house and left mud and rain-soaked floors. There was evidence of wild animals living inside. Over the walls grew ugly black mold that made it difficult for me to breathe, but I wanted to take it all in and headed up the grand staircase and down to the room that kept me prisoner for as many days as was chalked on the wall. I knelt and counted each day I had been locked away.
The mattress that I had cried into and bled onto was full of holes from some critter that needed a place to call its own. All that remained of the blood-soaked rags were old stains in the wood floors. On the floor beside the bed was the dress I had on when I found the photograph under the trunk in the attic. I lifted the dress and put my hand into the skirt pocket to pull out the photograph. It was badly damaged; water stains covered most of it, but I put it back in my pocket; just to have. I then opened the doors to the armoire and gazed at Momma’s dresses and picked up each of her books, the books that got me through the most lonely, isolated, and dreadful of days. Then as I reached for a particular book, I felt the key that had given me freedom. I recalled the first night I stole out and bumped into Grandfather. I would never forget his soft, kind eyes.
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