Cutler 1 - Dawn (18 page)

I guess I was a windowpane, easy to read, for she saw the pain in my heart.

"Oh, Dawn dear, you must forgive me if I sound insensitive. I have not forgotten how hard this is for you, too. But just think of all the wonderful and new things you will have and be able to do. You will be a Cutler in Cutler's Cove and that's an honor and a privilege. Someday there will be a line of proper suitors begging for your hand in marriage, and all that has happened to you will seem like a bad dream.

"Just like it seems to me," she added and took another deep breath. It was more like she was gasping for air.

"Oh, dear, it's getting hot," she announced, practically in the same breath. "Could you turn on the fan, please, Randolph?"

"Of course, dear."

She fell back against the pillow and fanned herself with her magazine.

"This is all so overwhelming," she said. "Randolph, you've got to help me with this!" she cried, her voice thin and high, sounding as if she were on the verge of hysterics. "It's hard enough for me to look after Clara Sue and Philip."

"Of course I will, Laura Sue. Dawn will not be a problem."

"Good," she said.

How could she think I would be a problem for her? I wondered. I wasn't a baby who needed constant care and watching.

"Does everyone know about her, Randolph?" she asked, staring up at the ceiling. When she spoke about me like this, it was as if I weren't in the room with her.

"It's getting around Cutler's Cove, if that's what you mean."

"Heavens. How will I go about? Everywhere I go, people will have questions and questions. I can't stand the thought of that, Randolph," she moaned.

"I'll answer the questions, Laura Sue. Don't worry."

"My heart is pounding so, Randolph. It just started and I feel my pulse throbbing in my neck," she said, bringing her fingers to her throat. "I can't catch my breath."

"Now, take it easy, Laura Sue," my father advised. I looked at him in anticipation. What was happening? He nodded and tilted his head toward the door.

"I'd better be going," I said. "I've got to get back to work."

"Oh . . . oh, yes, sweetheart," she said, turning back to me. "I need a little nap now anyway. Later we will talk again. Randolph, please ask Dr. Madeo to come back."

"Now, Laura Sue, he was just here not an hour or so ago and—"

"Please. I think I need him to change my medicine. It's not helping."

"All right," he said with a sigh. He followed me out. I looked back once and saw her lying back with her eyes closed, her hands still pressed to her bosom.

"She'll be all right," my father assured me as we stepped out. "Just one of her spells. They come and go. It's part of her nervous condition. Why, in a day or two, she will be up and about, dressed in one of her beautiful dresses and standing in the dining room doorway alongside Mother, greeting guests. You'll see," he said, patting me on the shoulder.

My father assumed my sad and troubled look came from my worrying about my mother, but she was still a stranger to me. True, we looked somewhat alike, but I did not feel any warmth between us and couldn't imagine calling her Mother. She hadn't even made an effort to kiss me. Instead, she had made me feel dirty and unschooled, a wild thing brought in from the streets, someone to be made over and trained like a stray dog.

I looked away. Not money, not power and position, not all the honor associated with being a Cutler could replace one loving moment I had lived as a Longchamp. But no one wanted to see this or under-stand, least of all my real parents.

Oh, Momma! Oh, Daddy! I cried in the darkness of my tormented thoughts. Why did you do this? I had been better of not knowing the truth. It would have been better for all of us if that memorial stone to a stolen baby remained untouched, lingering forever in the darkness on a quiet cemetery, just another lie.

But to me the world was full of lies, and one more now seemed not to matter.

10

For the next few days I barely saw my father. Every time I did see him, he appeared frenzied, rushing from one place to another like a worker bee while my grandmother sauntered coolly about the hotel like the queen. Whenever my father saw me, he promised to spend more—time with me. I felt like a pebble in his shoe. He would pause to shake me out and then hurry off, forgetting from one time to the next that he had seen me and said the same things.

My mother didn't come down from her room for days. Then one day she appeared at the dining room door, greeting the guests as they entered. She was dressed in a beautiful turquoise gown and had her hair brushed and curled so it lay just over her shoulders. She wore a diamond necklace that glittered so brightly it was blinding in the light from the overhead chandelier, and I thought she was one of the most beautiful women I had ever seen. She looked as if she had never been sick a single day in her life. Her complexion couldn't have been more rosy, her eyes brighter, her hair more healthy and rich.

I stood off in a corner of the lobby and watched how she and my grandmother greeted people, both of them smiling warmly, patting hands, accepting kisses on the cheeks, and kissing other women and men. It seemed as though everyone who stayed at the hotel was an old friend. Both my mother and my grandmother looked radiant and alive, energized by the crowd of guests filing past them.

But when it was over, when all the guests had entered, my grandmother gave my mother a strange, stern look and then walked into the dining room. My mother didn't see me watching her at first. She looked as though she would burst into tears. My father came out to fetch her. Just before she turned to accompany him into the dining room, she looked my way.

I thought she had the oddest expression, one that even frightened me a bit. She looked as though she didn't recognize me. Her eyes were filled with curiosity, and she tilted her head slightly. Then she whispered something to my father. He turned, saw me, and waved. My mother continued into the dining room, but my father came across the lobby.

"Hi," he said. "How are you doing? You getting enough to eat?"

I nodded. He had asked me the same question three times in two days.

"Well, tomorrow you will have more to do and more fun. Philip and Clara Sue are coming home. School's out."

"Tomorrow?" I had forgotten the date. Time had lost its meaning for me.

"Uh-huh. I'd better get back in there. Lunch is about to begin. As soon as I get that free moment, we'll talk," he added and left me quickly.

Tomorrow Philip was coming, I thought. I was afraid of seeing him. How would he feel about all this? Would he be embarrassed? Maybe he wouldn't be able to look me in the face. How many times had he recalled kissing me, touching me? Did it disgust him now? None of this was his fault, nor was it mine. We didn't deceive each other; we had been deceived.

And then there was Clara Sue to think about. I would never be able to face the reality of her being my sister, I thought, and with the way she hated me . . . tomorrow . . . just the thought of it made me sweat and tremble.

Later that day I went exploring through the hotel. After I finished working with Sissy, afternoons usually belonged to me. The only problem was that there was usually nothing to do. I was all alone, without anyone to talk to. Sissy always had other jobs to do, and there was no one else my age among the guests since the summer season hadn't started yet. Part of me was looking forward to Philip and Clara Sue's arrival. Granted, things would be awkward at first, but we'd all adjust. We had to. After all, we were a family.

Family.
It was the first time the word had entered my mind with regards to the new people in my life. We were
a family.
Philip, Clara Sue, Grandmother Cutler, my real mother and father, and
me,
were a family. There would never be any changing of that. We belonged to each other, and no one would ever be able to take them away from me.

Although the thought of the Cutlers as my real family gave me a sense of comfort and security I had never thought possible, it also made me feel guilty. I instantly envisioned Daddy and Momma, Jimmy and Fern. They were my family, too, no matter what anyone said. I would always love them, but that didn't mean I couldn't learn to love my real family, too, did it?

Not wanting to dwell on my two families anymore, at least for the moment, I concentrated on my exploration trek. I went from room to room, floor to floor, really paying attention to my surroundings. The extravagance and opulence of Cutler's Cove was dazzling. There were plush carpets, Oriental rugs, rich tapestries, sleek leather sofas and chairs, lamps with glittering shades of Tiffany glass, polished book-shelves with rows upon rows of books.

There were paintings and sculptures; delicate figurines and vases overflowing with lush, fragrant flowers. The beauty of it all left me speechless, but the most amazing thing of all was that I belonged here. This was my new world. I had been born into the wealth of the Cutler family, and now I had been returned to it. It was going to take some getting used to.

Each room outshined the next one that I stepped into, and soon I lost track of where I was. Trying to get my bearings so that I could return to the hotel's lobby, I rounded a corner. Yet instead of stairs, there was only a door in the wall. There were no other rooms. Intrigued by my discovery, I opened the door. It creaked on its hinges, and a musty smell drifted out. Darkness stretched before me. I reached out a hand, searching for a light switch. Finding one, I turned it on. The bath of light put me at ease and gave me the courage to walk down what seemed to be an unused corridor.

I reached the end and another door. Biting my lip I opened it and stepped inside. Surrounding me were packed boxes, trunks, and covered piles of furniture. I was in some sort of storage room. Suddenly I became excited. The perfect place to learn about one's family—one's past—was by going through what was left behind by one's ancestors.

Eagerly I knelt before a trunk, not caring about the dust on the floor, consumed only by thoughts of what I would discover. I couldn't wait!

Trunk after trunk was opened as the afternoon flew by. There were photos of Grandmother Cutler as a young woman, looking just as stern as ever. There were photos of my father from the time he was a child until he married my mother. There were photos of my mother, too, but for some reason she didn't look happy. In her eyes there was a sad faraway look. I turned to the back of the photos of her, noting the dates. The photos had been taken after I had been kidnapped. No wonder she looked the way she did.

There were photos of Clara Sue and Philip and photos of the hotel in its various stages of growth as Cutler's Cove became more and more prosperous.

A look army watch showed me that it was six o'clock. Dinner would be in half an hour and I was a mess! A mirror across the room provided a reflection of my dusty self. I'd have to hurry to get myself ready. Gathering up the folders the photos had been in, I prepared to put them back in the trunk I had opened. As I was about to replace the folders, I noticed a folder I had missed in the bottom of the trunk. Although I knew I was cutting things close timewise, I couldn't resist taking a peek. Putting aside the other folders, scooped up the one I had missed. After pouring out the contents, I was stunned.

There were newspaper clippings . . . newspaper clippings of my kidnapping!

Forgetting about having to be ready for dinner, I pored over the clippings. Each account was exactly the same, telling no more and no less than what was already known. Photos of Daddy and Momma, along with my real mother and father, accompanied the articles. I looked into their young faces, searching for answers, trying to understand how they all felt.

Reading about myself . . . about my kidnapping . . . was strange. A part of me still hadn't wanted to believe that Momma and Daddy had done such a terrible thing. Yet in my hands, in black and white newsprint, I held the proof. There was no longer any denying what had happened.

"So there you are! Just what do you think you're doing up here?" a steely whisper demanded.

There was no mistaking that voice. Startled, I fell to the floor, the newspaper clippings scattering from my hand. I turned around and my blood chilled as I stared up into the angry wrath of Grandmother Cutler.

"I asked you a question," she hissed. "What are you doing up here?"

"I was just looking," I managed to answer.

"Looking? Only
looking? Don't
you mean
snooping!
How dare you rummage through things that don't belong to you." She gave an indignant snort. "I shouldn't be surprised. You were raised by a thief and kidnapper."

"Don't you say such things about Momma and Daddy," I said, instantly coming to their defense.

Grandmother Cutler ignored me. "Look at this mess!"

Mess? What mess? The trunks were only open . . . their contents as neatly arranged as when I had found them. All that needed to be done was a closing of the trunk lids.

I felt like contradicting her, but one look at her face made me change my mind. Her face was turning red; she was barely controlling herself.

"I'm sorry," I said, nervously playing with the pearls I had chosen to wear around my neck that morning. When I had woken up this morning, I had suddenly missed Momma more than I ever had. Putting on the pearls had made me feel better. I knew I had broken my promise to myself, but I had been unable to help it. Besides, I'd kept the pearls hidden under my blouse. Momma would have liked seeing me wear them.

Grandmother Cutler's eyes suddenly bulged.
"Where did you get those?"

Shocked, I looked up at her, shivering as she drew closer. "Get what?" I didn't know what she was talking about.

"Those pearls," she hissed.

Puzzled, I looked at the pearls. "These? I've always had them. They belonged to my family."

"Liar!
You stole them, didn't you? You found those pearls in one of the trunks."

"I did not!" I hotly answered. How dare she accuse me of stealing. "These pearls belonged to my momma. My daddy gave them to me to wear on the night of the concert." I gave Grandmother Cutler a defiant look, despite the fact that I was quivering inside. She wasn't going to scare me. "These pearls are mine."

"I don't believe you. You've never worn them before. If they're so
special,"
she sneered, "then why is this the first time I'm seeing them around your neck?"

I was about to answer when Grandmother Cutler raced forward. With lightning speed she reached for the pearls, ripping them from my neck. Momma's beautiful pearls, each one individually knotted, didn't scatter or break. But they were still gone. She held them up in one hand, triumphantly tightening a fist. "They're
mine
now."

"No!" I protested, jumping to my feet and grabbing for her fist. "Give them back!" I couldn't lose Momma's pearls. I couldn't! They were all I had left of her after Grandmother Cutler had hatefully torn up her photo. "I'm telling you the truth. I swear I am."

Grandmother Cutler gave me a vicious shove, pushing me to the floor. I landed on the dusty attic floor with an "oomph," my bottom aching with soreness.

"Don't you ever raise a hand to me again! Do you understand?"

Glaring at her defiantly, I refused to answer. My silence only infuriated her further.

"Do you understand?"
she repeated, snatching up a handful of my hair and twisting it painfully. "When I ask you a question, I expect an answer."

Tears sprang to my eyes, desperate to be free, but I wouldn't release them. I wouldn't give Grandmother Cutler the satisfaction. I wouldn't!

"Yes," I said, gritting my teeth. "I understand."

Amazingly, my answer returned her to some semblance of normalcy. She let go of my hair, and I rubbed my aching head. "Good," she purred. "Good." She gave a look at the open trunks. "Fix this place as you found it." She swept up the fallen newspaper clippings. "These will be burned," she stated, sending me a glare I had already become familiar with.

"You know I'm telling the truth," I told her. "You know those pearls belonged to Sally Jean Longchamp."

"I know nothing of the sort. All I know," she spat out, "is that I haven't seen these pearls since the day you disappeared."

"What are you saying?" I gasped.

She gave me a smug look. "What do you think I'm saying?"

"Those pearls belonged to my momma!" I cried out. "They did! I won't believe what you're insinuating. I won't!"

"I've always believed in the truth, Eugenia. Sally Jean and Ormand Longchamp stole these pearls. There's no escaping that fact, just like there's no escaping the fact that they stole you."

What she was saying couldn't be true. It couldn't! How could I bear this final stain against Momma and Daddy's memory? It was just too much to bear!

With her final words Grandmother Cutler left, taking away my last connection to my past. I waited for my tears to fall, but they didn't. That was because I had realized something. It didn't matter what had come with me from my former life. I had my memories and my memories of life with Daddy and Momma, Jimmy and Fern, were something that Grandmother Cutler could never take away.

The following morning I threw myself into my work, trying desperately not to think about what was soon to come or what had happened the previous day. I didn't linger around the other chambermaids and staff at lunch, either. Most of them were still very incensed about my taking Agatha's job. If I tried to speak or act friendly, one of them brought up Agatha and asked if anyone had heard anything about her. A few times I felt like standing up and shouting at them: "I didn't fire her! I didn't ask to be made a chambermaid! I didn't even ask to be brought back here! You're all so cruel and heartless. Why can't you see that?"

The words were tickling the tip of my tongue, but I was afraid to scream them, for I knew the moment I did, I would be even more isolated than I was now. Not even Sissy would speak to me, and my grandmother would have another reason to chastise me and make me feel lower than an insect. Not that I could feel much lower being stuffed away in some cubbyhole of a room in a distant part of the hotel as if I were a disgrace and an embarrassment my grandmother wanted hidden and forgotten.