Darkest Hour (25 page)

"I'm fine, Vera," I replied, and bit down on my lower lip to lock up the screams and the cries that wanted to rush out. Vera remained skeptical but prepared Papa's breakfast quickly. I took the tray and left. I wanted to stop in and see Mamma on my way back up with Papa's breakfast, but Emily followed behind and rushed me along, forbidding it.

"His food will only get cold and he'll be upset," she warned. "You can look in on Mamma later. I'm sure it's nothing anyway. You know how she is."

Papa looked disappointed when he saw Emily follow me into his room. I set his tray on his bed table and then, before he could begin, Emily began the morning prayer.

"Keep it short this morning, Emily," he said. She shifted an annoyed look at me as if she blamed me for Papa's temperament and then abbreviated her reading.

"Amen," Papa said, the moment she finished. He dug into his eggs. Emily watched him eat for a few moments before turning to me.

"Get dressed," she ordered, "and come down for your own breakfast promptly. You still have your morning chores to do in my room and prayers to say."

"And then get right back up here," Papa added. "I have some letters for you to write and some orders for you to make out."

"Mamma's not feeling well today, Papa," I said. "Vera told me."

"Vera will look after her," he said. "Don't waste any time on her nonsense."

"I'll go in and see that she says a prayer," Emily assured us.

"Good," Papa said. He gulped his coffee and fixed his eyes on me. I looked away quickly and then hurried out to empty Emily's chamberpot and got dressed to go down to breakfast with her. Before I did, however, I snuck into Mamma's room.

Beneath her quilt, alone in her big bed with its thick dark oak posts and its wide headboard and footboard, and with her head settled softly in the middle of her large, fluffy pillow, Mamma looked like a little girl. Her face was as pale as a dull pearl and her unbrushed hair lay softly around her head. Her eyes were closed, but they snapped open when I approached. A gentle smile formed around her lips and brightened her eyes as soon as she saw me.

"Good morning, sweetheart," she said.

"Good morning, Mamma. I heard you weren't feeling well this morning."

"Oh, it's just a nasty tummyache. It's almost all gone already," she said, and reached for my hand.

I seized hers eagerly. Oh how I wanted to tell her what had happened. How I wanted to bury my head in her lap, to have her embrace and comfort me and tell me not to hate myself. How I needed to hear her reassure me and pet me and promise me I would be all right. I needed Mother-love, that link with something warm and tender. I longed to inhale her lavender scent and feel the softness of her hair. I hungered for her tender kisses and the peace that came over me when I felt secure in her arms.

I wanted to be a little girl again; I wanted to be that age before all the terrible truths were rained down upon me, when I was still young enough to believe in magic, when I sat on Mamma's lap or beside her with my head on her lap and listened to her soft voice as she wove the wonder of those fairy tales she used to read to Eugenia and me. Why did we have to grow up and enter a world full of deceit and ugliness? Why couldn't we be frozen in good times and kept prisoners of happiness?

"How is Eugenia this morning?" she asked before I could even think of telling her anything unpleasant.

"She's fine, Mamma," I said, choking back a sob.

"Good, good. I'll try to see her later. Is it warm and bright outside?" she asked. "It looks like it is," she said, turning toward the windows.

I realized I hadn't even looked out myself this morning. Vera had opened Mamma's curtains, but I saw a sky covered with dark gray clouds and not the blue sky Mamma thought she saw.

"Yes, Mamma," I said. "It's lovely."

"Good. Perhaps I'll take a walk today. Would you like to do that?"

"Yes, Mamma."

"Come by after lunch and we will then. We'll walk through the fields and pick some wildflowers. I need fresh flowers in my room. Okay?"

"All right, Mamma."

She patted my hand and then closed her eyes. A moment later, she smiled, but kept her eyes closed.

"I'm still a bit groggy, Violet," she said. "Tell Mamma I want to sleep a little longer."

Oh God, I thought, what's happening to her? Why does she still drift from one world to another and why doesn't anyone do more about it?

"Mamma, it's Lillian. I'm Lillian, not Violet," I insisted, but she didn't seem to hear or care.

"I'm so tired," she muttered. "I stayed up too late last night counting stars."

I stood there a few moments longer, holding her hand and staring down at her until her breathing became soft and regular and I realized she was asleep again. Then I let go of her hand and turned very slowly, feeling as if I were drifting away like a balloon in the wind, expecting to be tossed and tugged in the rough winds that awaited, the string that had slipped from a child's hand trailing beneath it.

Over the next few days, I really began to wonder myself whether or not the devil had possessed Papa to do what he had done to me. Papa made no reference to the incident, nor did he do or say anything to make me feel uncomfortable or ashamed. Instead, he rained compliments on me day after day, especially in Emily's presence.

"Lillian's better than a business manager," he declared. "She whips up those figures in no time and she spots mistakes with an eagle's eye. Why, she found where I've been paying too much for hog feed, didn't you, Lillian? People are always trying to squeeze an extra dollar out of you and they will, if you don't watch out. You done good work, Lillian. Mighty good work," he said.

Emily's eyes narrowed and she pursed her lips but she was forced to nod and tell me I was on the path of righteousness now.

"Just don't stray off it," she warned.

At the end of the week, the doctor came to see Papa and told him he should get a wheelchair and crutches and get up and out of the room.

"You need fresh air, Jed," he declared. "Your leg's broken, but the rest of you needs at least a little exercise. Seems to me," the doctor added, gazing my way, "you're being spoiled by all these pretty women waiting on you hand and foot, eh?"

"So what?" Papa snapped back. "You spend all your life working yourself to the bone for your family. It ain't no big deal for them to look after you once in a while."

"Of course," the doctor said.

It was Emily who suggested that Eugenia's old wheelchair be taken out of storage and given to Papa. Charles brought it up after he had oiled and polished it until it looked brand-new. That afternoon, Papa's crutches were delivered and he was up and out of his bed for the first time since the accident. But when Emily suggested he move himself down and into Eugenia's old bedroom, Papa balked.

"I'll be fine wheeling and moving around up here," he said. "When I'm ready to go downstairs, we'll work that out."

The thought of being in Eugenia's bedroom and sleeping in her bed seemed to terrify him. Instead, he ordered me to wheel him about the upstairs. I took him in to see Mamma and then he decided to take me for a tour through parts of the upstairs, describing the rooms, who lived in them and where he played as a little boy.

Getting out of his room raised his spirits and stimulated his appetite. Later that afternoon, I helped him shave and put on one of his nicer shirts. I had to cut the leg off one of his pairs of trousers so he could get them over his cast. He practiced with the crutches and worked at the desk. I was hoping that all this meant my days and nights of nursing him were coming to an end, but Papa didn't send me to my own room to sleep.

"I can get around, Lillian," he said, "but I still need you to help a while longer. You're willing, aren't you?" he asked. I nodded quickly and busied myself so he wouldn't see the disappointment in my face.

Papa began to receive some of his friends and one night, a few days later, he had a card game in his room. I brought them some refreshment and left to wait downstairs. Before all the men left, I had fallen asleep on the leather sofa in Papa's office. I heard them laughing as they came down the stairs and I hurried up to see what Papa wanted before he went to sleep. I found him in a very angry mood. He had drunk a lot and apparently had lost a lot of money, too.

"I'm just in a bad streak of luck," he muttered. "Help me get these things off," he cried a moment later and began tearing off his shirt. I rushed to him and helped him undress, pulling off his boot and socks and then tugging off his customized trousers. He wasn't very cooperative, tossing about and cursing his hard luck. He kept reaching for his glass of bourbon and when that was emptied, demanded I fill it up again.

"But it's late, Papa," I said. "Don't you want to go to sleep now?"

"Just pour my whiskey and don't nag," he snapped. I did it quickly and then folded his clothes.

I cleaned up after Papa's friends and tried airing out the room. There had been so much cigar smoke that the very walls stunk, but Papa didn't seem to care. He drank himself to sleep, muttering about his mistakes at cards.

Exhausted, I finally turned in myself. Hours later, I awoke to the sound of his crashing on the floor. From what I could gather, he had forgotten his broken leg and, in a drunken stupor, tried to get up to go to the bathroom. I got up quickly and rushed to help him, but lifting him was beyond me. He was a dead weight, doing nothing to assist my efforts.

"Papa," I pleaded. "You're on the floor. Try to get back to bed."

"What . . . what," he said, pulling me down to him in an effort to pull himself up.

"Papa," I pleaded, but he held me down against him, my body twisted so awkwardly, I could barely turn or twist myself free. I thought of yelling for Emily, but feared what she would say if she saw me entwined in Papa's arms like this. Instead, I pleaded with him to let me go. He mumbled and groaned and finally turned enough for me to break free. Once again, I tried to get him to help himself. This time, he took hold of the bedpost and pulled enough to get his upper body back on the bed. I lifted and pushed until I had him on the bed again. Exhausted, I stood by panting.

But suddenly Papa laughed and thrust out his hand to seize my wrist. He pulled me down to him. "Papa, no," I cried. "Let me go. Please."

"Bed warmer," he muttered. He took hold of my nightgown and yanked it up as he rolled me over and under him. Pinned down by his weight, I could only try to slither out, but my movements only pleased him and encouraged him even more. He laughed and muttered names I had never heard, apparently confusing me with women he had known on his business trips. I started to scream, but he clamped his big hand over my mouth.

"Shh," he said. "Or you'll wake the house."

"Papa, please, don't do this again. Please," I pleaded.

"You gotta learn," he said. "You gotta know what to expect. I'll teach you. . I'll teach you. Better me than some stranger, some dirty stranger. Yes, yes . . . just let me show you . . ."

In moments he was in me again. I turned my head away as he grunted and heaved his body over me. I tried closing my eyes and pretending I was somewhere else, but his smelly hot breath invaded my thoughts and his lips moved quickly over my hair and forehead, sucking, licking, kissing. I felt his hot explosion inside me and then felt his body grow limp. He groaned and slowly turned over.

"Bad luck," he said. "Just a streak of bad luck. Gotta break out of it."

I didn't move. I could hear my heart pounding so hard, I thought it would shatter in my chest. Slowly, I sat up and got off the bed. Papa didn't move, didn't speak. From the sound of his breathing, I was sure he had fallen asleep again. My body shuddered with sobs that began in my heart and remained in my chest. I went to my things, gathered them together and retreated from the room. I wanted to sleep in my own bed. I wanted to die in my own bed.

Emily shook me awake the next morning. I had fallen asleep clutching my pillow to me. When I opened my eyes, I saw her glaring down at me.

"Papa's calling for you," she said. "Can't you hear him screaming in the corridor? I have to wake you up? Get out of that bed this instant," she ordered.

I looked at the pillow and for a moment, I felt Papa's hot, sweaty body over me again. I heard him muttering his promises and calling me by other names. I felt his fingers squeezing my breasts and his mouth pressing down over mine and I screamed.

I screamed so loud and so unexpectedly that Emily fell back, her mouth agape. Then, I began to pound the pillow. I struck it with my fists over and over, sometimes missing it altogether and striking myself, but I didn't stop. I pulled at my hair and then pressed my palms against my temples and screamed again and again, bouncing on the bed and striking myself in the thighs, in the stomach and in the head.

Emily pulled her Bible from her housecoat pocket and began reading, raising her voice to cover my screams. The louder she read, the louder I screamed. Finally, my throat was too hoarse and dry and I collapsed on the bed where I shuddered and shivered, my lips trembling, my teeth clicking. Emily continued to read her Biblical passages over me and then she crossed herself again and began to retreat, singing a hymn as she did so.

She brought Papa to my bedroom door. He stood on his crutches and looked in at me.

"The devil entered her body last night," she told him. "I've started the process of driving him out."

"Hmm," Papa said. "Good," he said, and quickly returned to his own bedroom. He didn't demand I come back. Vera and Tottie came to see me and brought me something hot to eat and drink, but I wouldn't take anything, not a crumb. All I did was sip some water in the evening and in the morning. I remained in bed all that day and the next. Periodically, Emily stopped by to recite some prayers and sing a hymn.

Finally, on the morning of the third day, I rose, took a hot bath and went downstairs. Vera and Tottie were happy to see me up and about. They fawned all over me, treating me like the lady of the house. I said very little. I went in to see Mamma and sat with her most of the day, listening to her fantasies and her stories, watching her sleep, reading one of her romance novels to her. She lived in strange spurts of energy, sometimes rising to fix her hair and then retreating to bed. Sometimes she got up and dressed herself, and then she would quickly undress and get into a nightgown and robe. Her erratic behavior, her insanity, seemed soothing to me. I felt so lost and confused myself.

The days passed. Papa began to do more and more for himself. Soon he was navigating the stairway on his crutches and going to his office. Whenever he saw me, he would shift his eyes away quickly and busy himself with something. I tried not to see him; I tried to look through him. Finally, he muttered a hello or a good morning and I muttered one back.

For whatever reasons she had, Emily began to leave me alone, too. She recited her prayers and asked me to read something from the Bible from time to time, but she didn't hover over me and haunt me with her religious demands the way she had since Niles's death.

I spent a good deal of my time reading. Vera taught me how to do needlepoint and I began to do some of that. I took my walks and ate my meals in relative silence. I felt strangely outside myself; I felt like a spirit hovering above, watching my body go through its daily activities with dreary monotony.

One day I managed to get Mamma outside, but she had more headaches and stomachaches than usual and spent most of her time in bed. The only long conversation I had with Papa was about her. I asked him to send for the doctor.

"She's not imagining or pretending, Papa," I told him. "She's really in pain."

He grunted, avoided my eyes as usual, and promised to do something after he finished with his paperwork. But weeks passed without him doing anything until finally, one night, Mamma was in such pain, she was literally howling. Papa was frightened himself and sent Charles for the doctor. After he examined her, he wanted to take her to the hospital, but Papa wouldn't permit it.

"None of us Booths have gone to any hospital, not even Eugenia. Give her some tonic and she'll be just fine," he insisted.

"I think it's more serious, Jed. I need some other doctors looking at her and some tests done on her."

"Just give her some tonic," Papa repeated. Reluctantly, the doctor gave Mamma something for the pain and left. Papa told her to take the tonic every time she was in pain. He promised to get her a case of it if she liked. I told Emily he was wrong and she should convince him to listen to the doctor.

"God will look after Mamma," Emily retorted, "not a bunch of atheistic doctors."

More time passed. Mamma didn't get any better, but she didn't seem to get any worse. The tonic had a sedative effect and she slept most of the time. I was sorry for her because autumn had slipped in upon us with brighter yellows and crisper browns than I could recall. I wanted to take her for walks.

One morning, as soon as I awoke, I made up my mind I would get Mamma dressed and out of bed, but when I started to rise myself, a wave of nausea came over me and sent me scurrying to the bathroom where I vomited until my stomach ached. I couldn't imagine what had done it and done it so suddenly. I sat on the floor, my head spinning, and closed my eyes.

Then it came to me. It washed over me like a pail of ice water, but it left my face hot and my heart pounding. It had been nearly two months and I hadn't had my period. I got up quickly, dressed and hurried downstairs to, go directly to Papa's office and his medical books. I opened the one that I knew discussed pregnancy and read the shocking news I knew in my heart.

I was still sitting on the floor, the book opened in my lap, when Papa entered his office. He stopped with surprise.

"What are you doing here this hour?" he demanded. "What's that you're reading?"

"It's one of your medical books, Papa. I wanted to be sure first," I said. My voice was so full of defiance, Papa was taken aback.

"What do you mean? Sure of what?"

"Sure I was pregnant," I declared. The words fell like thunder. His eyes opened wide and his mouth dropped. He shook his head. "Yes, Papa, it's true. I'm pregnant," I said. "And you know why and how it happened."