Darkest Hour

by V. C. Andrews

  "The scene of the seduction," Bill announced gleefully. "How do you like it?"

  "It's very nice," I had to admit. Why take my unhappiness out on the Dobbses, I thought, or this cozy little house.

  "I got an eye for these things," he bragged. "It's the hotel owner's blood at work. I was driving along, thinking about our first night and as soon as I set eyes on this place, I stepped down on the brakes and made the arrangements. I don't usually put myself out to please a woman, you know."

  "According to the minister, I'm not just any woman to you anymore. He did mention the words husband and wife," I said dryly. Bill laughed and showed me where the bathroom was located in the hallway.

  "I'll go down and bring up your bag and my own while you make yourself comfortable," he said, nodding toward the bed, "and ready." He ran the tip of his tongue from one side of his mouth to the other and then turned and rushed downstairs.

  I sat down on the bed and folded my hands on my lap. My heart was beginning to thump in anticipation. In moments I would have to surrender myself to a man I hardly knew. He would learn the most intimate details of my body. I had been telling myself all along that I could get through this by closing my eyes and pretending Bill Cutler was Niles, but now that I was here and it was only moments before it would begin, I realized it would be impossible to shut out the reality and replace it with a dream. Bill Cutler was not the sort of man who would be denied.

  I looked down and saw my fingers were trembling. My knees wanted to knock together; my eyes wanted to pour out their tears. The little girl in me wanted to plead for mercy, to cry for Mommy. What was I going to do? Should I beg my new husband to be gentle and kind and give me more time? Should I confess all the horrors of my life and seek his compassion?

  Another part of me shouted No, loud and clear. Bill Cutler was not the sort of man who would understand and care; he was not a Southern gentleman in any sense of the words. Old Henry's words of wisdom came back to me: "A branch that doesn't bend with the wind breaks." I sucked in my breath and swallowed back my cries. Bill Cutler would see no fear in my face, no tears in my eyes. Yes, the wind blew me from one place to another, and there was seemingly nothing to do about it, but that didn't mean I had to wail and moan. I would move faster than the wind. I would bend harder. I would make the devilish wind look inadequate, and I would take charge of my own destiny.

  By the time Bill returned to our honeymoon bedroom with our bags, I was undressed and under the blanket. He paused in the doorway, his eyes full of surprise. I knew he had been anticipating resistance, even hoping for it just so he could lord it over me.

  "Well, now," he said, putting the bags aside. "Well, now." He prowled around me, a cat on the stalk, ready to spring. "Don't you look inviting?"

  I wanted to say, let's get it over with, but I kept my lips sealed and followed him with my eyes. He pulled off his tie and literally attacked his clothes, impatient with buttons and zippers. I had to admit he was a fine-looking man, slim and muscular. The way I studied him took him aback and he paused before he lowered his shorts.

  "You don't have the face of a virgin," he said. "You look a little too wise, too calm."

  "I never said I was a virgin," I replied. His mouth fell open and his eyes widened.

  "What?"

  "You never said you were a virgin either, did you?" I asked pointedly.

  "Now look here. Your daddy told me—"

  "Told you what?" I asked, very interested.

  "Told me . . . told me . . ." He stuttered. "That you never had any beaux, that you were . . . untouched. We made a deal. We . . ."

  "Papa didn't know much about what went on at The Meadows. He was usually off gambling and carousing," I said. "Why? Do you want to bring me back now?"

  "Huh?" He was dumbfounded for a moment.

  "All of this excitement has made me a bit drowsy," I said. "I think I'll take a little nap." I turned over, my back to him.

  "What?" he said. I smiled to myself and waited. "Just a cotton-picking minute here," he finally declared. "This here is our wedding night. I don't intend to pass it away sleeping."

  I didn't reply. I waited. He muttered under his breath and after a moment, he got into the bed beside me. For a while we just lay there side by side, Bill staring up at the ceiling, me curled up inches away from him. Finally, I felt his hand on my thigh.

  "Now see here," he said. "Whatever's the truth about you, we're husband and wife. You're Mrs. William Cutler the Second and I claim my conjugal rights?' He pressed down harder so I would turn toward him. The moment I did so, his hands groped me and his lips pressed down on mine. My lips parted beneath his prolonged kiss. I gasped because his tongue touched mine and then he laughed and pulled his head back to look down at me with condescension. "You ain't so experienced after all, are you?"

  "Not like any of the women you've known, I'm sure," I said.

  He laughed. "You are one proud young woman, Lillian. I can see how you're going to make one helluva mistress for Cutler's Cove. I ain't done so bad after all," he said, and repeated it more for himself than for me.

  He lowered his face to mine and moved his lips over my eyes, my cheeks, my chin and my neck, and then he continued down, kissing my breasts, lingering over my nipples and moaning. He nudged my bosom with his nose, inhaling the scent of me. Despite my reluctance and unhappiness, my curiosity accompanied the titillating sensations that washed over my body in wave after wave, taking me to places I didn't expect I would go. I cried out when he continued on his journey down my body, tracing his lips over the small of my stomach.

  "No matter what you say," he muttered, "you're like a virgin to me."

  How different sex was when it was expected. What Papa had done to me was still lodged in the darkest places of my mind, locked away with my worst nightmares and childhood fears. But this was different. My body was interested and receptive and no matter what my mind said, the tingling grew stronger until Bill finally entered me and consummated our arranged marriage with an animal passion. I rose and fell with his thrusts, moving from moments of terror to moments of pleasure, and when it ended, when he exploded within me with his hot spasms, I thought my heart would burst open and I would die in bed on my wedding night. A hot flush moved up my neck and made my cheeks feel as if they were on fire.

  "Well, all right," he said. "All right." He rolled over on his back. He had to catch his breath too. "I don't know who your lover was," he said, "but he must have been a virgin too." Then he laughed.

  I wanted to tell him the truth. I wanted to wipe that self-satisfied, conceited smile of his face, but my shame was too great.

  "Anyway," he continued, "now you know why you're a lucky woman." He laughed. "And now you're the new Mrs. Cutler." He closed his eyes. "I think you're right. A little nap is in order. It has been one helluva day."

  In moments he was snoring. I lay there awake for hours, it seemed. The overcast and rainy night sky began to clear. Through the window I saw a star peek out between the thin wisps of clouds trailing behind the thick, dark ones.

  I had survived this ordeal, I thought. I even felt stronger because of it. Perhaps Vera was right; perhaps I could take control of my life and change Bill Cutler enough to tolerate and endure my new existence. I was Mrs. Cutler now and I was on my way to my new home, and from all accounts of it, an impressive and interesting new home at that.

  What logic, what reason did Fate have for denying me the gentle and true love Niles and I would have had together and instead placing me beside this stranger who now lay beside me as my husband, after a marriage sanctified by the church? The minister never asked if we were in love; he only demanded we swear to uphold our vows. What is marriage without love, I wondered, even if a minister performs the ceremony?

  Why, two mockingbirds finding each other through their songs had more reason to be, I thought.

  Back in The Meadows, Vera was probably putting Charlotte to sleep. Charles was finishing whatever chores were left to finish. Little L
uther was most likely with him. Emily was locked away in her chambers on her knees muttering some prayer, and Papa was sleeping off his drunken stupor, the land title document still clutched in his big hand.

  And I, I waited for the morning and the journey that lay ahead, full of mystery, full of surprise, for the only promise left to me was the promise of tomorrow.

  16

  CUTLER'S COVE

  The remainder of our journey passed very quickly. After a wonderful breakfast at the Dew Drop Inn, Bill and I quickly gathered our things and started off, Horace and Marion Dobbs wishing us good luck so many times I. was sure they had seen something in my face to urge them to do so. The rain had passed and we did have a beautifully clear day in which to travel. Whether he was just tired from the wedding and our lovemaking or whether he was just settling down into his real self, I wasn't sure, but Bill was much quieter during the rest of our motor trip and much nicer to me. When he did speak, he described Cutler's Cove and told me a little about his family.

  "My father had some fool notion he could farm by the ocean. He acquired a large tract of land, not realizing or caring at the time that we had ocean front, too. He built a fine farmhouse and a barn and brought in some livestock, but it wasn't long before the weather and the land told him in no uncertain terms that he was hell-bent on the wrong vocation.

  "But my mother was resourceful and she began taking in boarders, at first for some extra money.

  "One day, she and my father sat down and talked about it all and decided that they should turn the place into a real hotel. Once they made that decision, it was all downhill. Pop had a dock built so those who wanted to fish could row out a bit. He worked on the grounds, creating gardens and pretty lawns, pathways for nature walks, a pond with benches, gazebos, fountains. He couldn't be a farmer, but he was a helluva gardener.

  "And my mother was a great cook. The combination proved successful and before long, we had an addition built onto the old house. The hotel, Cutler's Cove, has been at near or full capacity ever since. People up North have been spreading the word about us and we have guests from New York, Massachusetts, even as far north as Maine and Canada. They all raved about the food."

  "Who does the cooking now?" I asked.

  "I've had a few cooks since Ma's gotten too old to do any work. Just before the wedding, I hired a Hungarian man who was referred to me by a friend. His name's Nussbaum and he is a great chef, although the kitchen staff complains about his hot temper.

  "You'll see what it's like," Bill said, smiling. "Most of the time I'm running around trying to keep peace among the workers."

  I nodded and sat back to watch the scenery rush by. I didn't want to reveal that I had never seen the ocean before, but when it suddenly appeared on the horizon, I gasped with awe. I had read about it and seen pictures of it, of course, but confronting the vastness this close up was overwhelming. I could only gape like a young schoolgirl and take delight in the sailboats and the fishing vessels. When a large ship appeared, I couldn't hold back a cry.

  "Hey," Bill said, laughing. "I know you told me your father didn't take you kids to the ocean much, but you've been here before, haven't you?"

  "No," I revealed.

  "No? Well I'll be . . ." He shook his head. "I do have myself a virgin bride of sorts, don't I?" He laughed. I glared at him. He could infuriate me so at times with his arrogance. I decided not to be as honest the next time.

  A short while later, we made a wide turn and I saw the sign announcing our entrance to Cutler's Cove.

  "The authorities renamed this section of beach and the small street of shops after our family because of the success of my resort," he declared with characteristic pride.

  He continued, bragging about all the wonderful things he was going to do, but I wasn't listening. Instead, I gazed at the scenery. The coastline curved inward at this point, and I saw that there was a beautiful length of sandy white beach that gleamed as if it had been combed clean by an army of workers armed with rakes that had teeth as small as combs. Even the waves that came up the sand, came up softly, tenderly, soaking the sand and retreating.

  "See that," Bill pointed out. There was a sign that read RESERVED FOR CUTLER COVE HOTEL GUESTS ONLY. "We've got our own private beach here. It makes the guests feel exclusive," he added, winking, and then he nodded to his left and I looked up the rise to see the Cutler's Cove Hotel, my new home.

  It was a big three-story robin's egg-blue mansion with milk-white shutters and a large wraparound porch. Leading up to the porch was a stairway created from bleached wood. The foundation was made from polished stone. We started up the driveway, passing between two pillars of stone with round lanterns atop each. Here and there were a few guests meandering about the grounds upon which there were two small gazebos, wooden and stone benches and tables; fountains, some shaped like large fish, some simple saucers with spouts in the middle; and a beautiful rock garden that snaked around the front of the house.

  "A little better than The Meadows, wouldn't you say?" Bill asked arrogantly.

  "Not in its heyday," I said. "Then it was the jewel of the South."

  "Some jewel," Bill quipped. "At least we didn't use slave labor to build this place. I just love it when the Southern aristocrats like your father brag about what their families built up. Hypocrites and phonies, the whole lot of them. And easy marks for cards," he added with a wink.

  I ignored his sarcasm as we made our way around the building to a side entrance.

  "We can get to our quarters faster this way," he explained when he parked the car. "Well, welcome home," he added. "Do I have to carry you across the threshold?"

  "No," I said quickly.

  He laughed. "I wasn't serious," he said. "Just leave everything in the car. I'll send someone out for our things in a moment. First things first."

  We got out of the car and entered the house. A short corridor led us into what Bill called the family section. The first room we came upon was a sitting room that had a fieldstone fireplace and warm-looking antique furniture―soft cushion chairs in hand-carved wood frames, a dark pine rocking chair, the seat of which was now covered with a white, cotton blanket, and a thick cushioned couch with pinewood end tables. The hardwood floor had an oval, eggshell-white rug.

  "That's my father's portrait and that's my mother's," Bill pointed out. The two pictures were side by side on the far left wall. "Everyone says I look more like Pop."

  I nodded; he did.

  "All the family bedrooms are on the second floor. I got a small bedroom off the kitchen down here for Mrs. Oaks. She takes care of my mother, who spends most of her time in her room now. Occasionally, Mrs. Oaks airs her out," he quipped. I couldn't imagine being so flippant about your sick old mother. "I'd introduce you to her, but she doesn't remember who the hell I am anymore, much less know what I was talking about if I brought you in to see her. She'll probably think you're just another hotel employee. Come on," he urged, and showed me to the stairway.

  Our bedroom was a very large one, just as large as any at The Meadows, and it had two wide windows that looked out over the ocean. The bed was large with thick, dark oak posts and a hand-carved headboard with two dolphins engraved in it. There was a matching dresser, night tables, and an armoire. Against the far right wall was a vanity table with an ornate oval mirror.

  "I suppose you're going to want to make some changes around here now that you're moving in," Bill said. "I know the place could use some lightening up and some color. Well, you can do what you want. Those things never interested me. Make yourself to home while I go get someone to fetch our things."

  I nodded and went to the windows. The view was breathtaking. I had seen only a small part of the hotel, but I had this immediate warm feeling, this instant sense of belonging the moment Bill left me alone and I could gaze out over the grounds. Perhaps fate had not tossed me so carelessly and randomly about after all, I thought, and I left to explore the rest of the second story.

  As soon as I stepped ou
t of the master bedroom, the door of another room across the hail opened and a short, stout woman with dark hair and dark eyes appeared. She wore a white uniform that looked more like a waitress's uniform than a nurse's. She paused the moment she saw me and smiled, a warm, soft smile that made her cheeks balloon.

  "Oh, hello. I'm Mrs. Oaks."

  "I'm Lillian," I said, extending my hand.

  "Mr. Cutler's bride. Oh, I'm so happy to meet you. You're just as pretty as they said you were."

  "Thank you."

  "I take care of Mrs. Cutler," she said.

  "I know. Can I see her?"

  "Of course, although I must warn you she's quite senile." She stepped back and I peered into the bedroom. Bill's mother was sitting in a chair, her lap covered with a small quilt. She was a tiny woman, diminished even more by age, but she had large, brown eyes that scanned me quickly.

  "Mrs. Cutler," Mrs. Oaks said. "This is your daughter-in-law, Bill's wife. Her name is Lillian. She's come to say hello."

  The old lady gazed at me for a long moment. I had the idea that my appearance might just have shaken her into some sensibility again, but she suddenly scowled.

  "Where's my tea? When are you bringing me my tea?" she demanded.

  "She thinks you're one of the kitchen staff," Mrs. Oaks whispered.

  "Oh. It's coming, Mrs. Cutler. It's just getting hot."

  "I don't want it too hot."

  "No," I said. "It'll cool down by the time it gets to you."

  "She hardly has a clear moment anymore," Mrs. Oaks said, wagging her head sadly. "Old age. It's the one disease you don't want to end, but then again . . ."

  "I understand."

  "Anyway, welcome to your new home, Mrs. Cutler," Mrs. Oaks said.