Darkest Hour (27 page)

"Can't or won't, Miss Lillian?"

"Good-bye, Tottie," I said. "Good luck."

"Good-bye, Miss Lillian. You and Vera and Charles and their little boy Luther are the only people I cared to say good-bye to. And your mother, of course. Truth is, I'm saying good riddance to this unhappy place. I know you ain't happy in there, Miss Lillian. If there's anything I can do for you before I leave . . . anything."

"No, Tottie," I said, my voice cracking. "Thank you."

"Good-bye," she repeated, and walked away.

I cried so much I thought I would have no appetite for dinner, but my body surprised me. When Emily appeared with my tray, I took one look at the food and realized I was very hungry. This increased appetite continued well into my fourth and fifth months.

With my increased hunger came a revitalized energy. My short walks to see Mamma were far from enough exercise, and when I did see Mamma, I couldn't go anywhere with her, especially by the time I was in my sixth month. By then, Mamma was in bed most of the time anyway, her face sallow, her eyes dull. Emily and Papa had told Mamma that she was pregnant, that the doctor had examined her and said so. She was just confused and bewildered enough to accept the diagnosis, and, from what I understood her to say, she even told Vera she was pregnant. Of course, I didn't expect Vera to believe it, but I did expect she would be discreet about it and mind her own business.

By this time, Mamma was having more and more stomach pain and taking more and more of the painkiller. Papa had been true to his word about that. There were dozens of bottles in Mamma's room, some empty, some half empty, all lined up on the dresser and night table.

Whenever I visited her now, Mamma lay there in bed, moaning softly, her eyes barely open, barely realizing I was even there. Sometimes, she made an attempt to look good and put on some makeup, but by the time I got to her, her makeup was usually smeared and even so, she was pale beneath the rouge and lipstick. Her large eyes would stare up at me bleakly and she would only vaguely listen to whatever I was saying.

Emily wouldn't admit it, but Mamma had lost a great deal of weight. Her arms were so thin, I could see the elbow bone clearly and her cheeks had sunken something terrible. When I touched her shoulder, she felt like she was made of bird bones. I could see from the food left on her plate that she was hardly eating. I tried feeding her, but she just shook her head.

"I'm not hungry," she whined. "My stomach's acting up again. I've got to give it a rest, Violet."

Most of the time now, she called me Violet. I stopped trying to correct her even though I knew that behind me Emily smirked and shook her head.

"Mamma's very, very sick," I told Emily one afternoon at the beginning of my seventh month of pregnancy. "You've got to get Papa to send for the doctor. She must go to a hospital. She's wasting away, too."

Emily ignored me and continued to walk down the corridor, jangling her damnable ring of jailer keys.

"Don't you care about her?" I cried. I stopped in the hallway and Emily was forced to turn around. "She's your mother. Your real mother!" I shouted.

"Lower your voice," Emily said, stepping back. "Of course, I care about her," she replied coolly. "I pray for her every night and every morning. Sometimes, I go into her room and hold an hour-long prayer vigil at her bedside. Didn't you notice the candles?"

"But Emily, she needs real medical attention and soon," I pleaded. "We've got to send for the doctor right away."

"We can't send for the doctor, you fool," she snapped. "Papa and I have been telling everyone that Mamma is pregnant with your child. We can't do anything like that until after the baby is born. Now let's go back to your room before all this chatter attracts attention. Go on now."

"We can't go on with this," I said. "Mamma's health is too important. I won't take another step."

"What?"

"I want to see Papa," I said defiantly. "Go down and tell him to come up."

"If you don't go right back into your room, I won't come for you tomorrow," Emily threatened.

"Get Papa," I insisted, and folded my arms under my breasts. "I'm not moving an inch until you do."

Emily glared angrily at me and then turned and went downstairs. A short while later, Papa came up the stairway, his hair wild, his eyes bloodshot

"What is it?" he demanded. "What's going on?"

"Papa, Mamma is very, very sick. We can't pretend it is she who is pregnant any longer. You must send for the doctor right now," I insisted.

"God's teeth!" he said, his rage setting his face on fire. His eyes blazed down at me. "How dare you tell me what I should do. Get back into your room. Go on," he said. When I didn't move, he pushed me. I didn't doubt that he would have struck me if I had hesitated one more instant.

"But Mamma's very sick," I moaned. "Please, Papa. Please," I pleaded.

"I'll look after Georgia. You look after yourself," he said. "Now go on." He extended his arm and pointed his finger at my door. I went back slowly, but as soon as I stepped in, Emily slammed my door shut and locked it.

She didn't return that evening with my dinner, and when I became concerned and knocked on the locked door, she responded so quickly, I could only assumed she had been standing on the other side of the door all that time waiting for me to grow impatient and hungry.

"Papa says you are to go to bed without any supper tonight," she declared through the closed door. "That's your punishment for your misbehavior earlier."

"What misbehavior? Emily, I'm only concerned about Mamma. That's not misbehavior."

"Defiance is misbehavior. We have to watch over you very carefully and not permit the smallest indiscretion," Emily explained. "Once the devil has an opening, no matter how small, he worms his way into our souls. Now you have another soul forming within you and how he would like to get his claws into that one, too. Go to sleep," she snapped.

"But Emily . . . wait," I cried, hearing her footsteps move off. I pounded the door and shook the handle, but she didn't return. Now I truly felt like a prisoner in my own room, but what made it hurt the most was the realization that poor Mamma wasn't going to get the medical attention she so desperately needed. Once again, because of me, someone I loved would be hurt.

When Emily returned the next morning with my breakfast, she declared that she and Papa had made a new decision.

"Until this ordeal is ended, we both agree it would be best if you didn't visit Mamma," she said, placing my tray on the table.

"What? Why not? I must see Mamma. She wants to see me; it cheers her up," I cried.

"Cheers her up," Emily mimicked with disdain. "She doesn't even know who you are anymore. She thinks you're her long-dead younger sister and she doesn't remember from one visit to another anyway."

"But . . . it still makes her feel better. I don't care if she mixes me up with her sister. I . . ."

"Papa said it would be best if you didn't go until after you've given birth and I agree," she declared.

"No!" I cried. "That's not fair. I've done everything else you and Papa demanded of me and I have behaved."

Emily narrowed her eyes and pressed her lips together so hard, it made the corners of her mouth white. She put her hands on her bony hips and leaned toward me, the dull strands of her hair falling down the sides of her gaunt, hard face.

"Don't force us to drag you up into the attic and chain you to the wall. Papa threatened to do that and he will!"

"No," I said, shaking my head. "I must see Mamma. I must." The tears streaked down my face, but Emily didn't change her hateful expression.

"It's been decided," she said. "That's final. Now eat your breakfast before it gets cold. Here," she said, throwing a packet of papers onto my bed. "Papa wants you to check all these figures carefully." She pivoted and marched out of my room, locking the door behind her.

I would have thought I had no, tears left, that I had cried so much in my short life I had sobbed enough for a lifetime, but being locked away from the only soft and loving person I had any contact with anymore was too much. I didn't care that Mamma confused me with my real mother. She still smiled and spoke to me softly. She still wanted to hold my hand and talk about nice things, pretty things, pleasant things. She was the only bright color left in a world of dark, drab, and dull shades. Sitting beside her, even while she slept, soothed and comforted me and helped me get through the rest of my horrid day.

I ate my breakfast and cried. Now time would go much slower. Every minute would be more like an hour, every hour more like a day. I didn't care to read another word, weave another stitch or even glance at Papa's bookkeeping. All I did was sit by my window and watch the world outside.

How strong my little sister Eugenia had been, I thought. This was the way she lived most of her short life and yet she had been able to maintain some happiness and hope. It was only my memories of her and her excitement over everything I did and described to her that sustained me through the next few days and weeks.

During the last week of my seventh month of my pregnancy, I grew bigger and gained the most weight. At times I found it difficult to breathe. I could feel the baby pushing up. It took more effort to rise every morning and move about my small room. Cleaning and polishing, even sitting for long periods, tired me quickly. One afternoon when Emily had come to take away the lunch-dishes, she criticized me for being too lazy and getting too fat.

"It's not the baby who's demanding these extra portions anymore; it's you. Look at your face. Look at your arms!"

"Well, what do you expect?" I snapped back at her. "You and Papa won't let me go out. You won't let me do any real exercise."

"It's the way it has to be," Emily declared, but after she left, I finally decided it wasn't the way it had to be. I was determined to get out, even if only for a little while.

I went to the door and studied the lock. Then I fetched a nail file and returned. Slowly, I tried to get the tooth of the lock back just enough so that when I tugged on the door, it would clear its slot and the door would open. It took me nearly an hour, almost getting it and then failing a dozen times, but I didn't give up until I finally tugged and felt the door come toward me.

For a moment I didn't know what to do with my newly-found emancipation. I just stood there in the open doorway, gaping out at the corridor. Before I stepped out, I gazed first to the right and then to the left to be sure the way was clear. Once out of my room, without Emily escorting me and confining me to a certain direction and path, I felt giddy. Every step, every corner of the house I confronted, every old picture, every window seemed new and exciting. I went directly to the top of the stairway and gazed down at the lobby and entryway that had only been a memory these past months.

The house was exceedingly quiet, I thought. All I could hear was the ticktock of the grandfather clock. Then I recalled that so many of our servants were gone, including Tottie. Was Papa down in his office working at his desk? Where was Emily? I feared she would pop out at me from any of a dozen dark corners. For a moment I considered retreating to my bedroom, but my defiance and anger grew and gave me the courage to continue. I stepped down the stairs gingerly, pausing after the slightest creak to be sure no one had heard.

At the bottom of the stairway, I paused again and waited. I thought I heard some sounds coming from the kitchen, but other than that and the grandfather clock, all was quiet. I noticed that there was no light streaming out of Papa's office. Most of the downstairs rooms were very dark. Still tiptoeing, I made my way to the front door.

When my hand felt the door knob, I experienced a surge of electric excitement. In moments I would be out of the house and in the daylight. I would feel the warm spring sun all over me. I knew I would risk being spotted in my pregnant condition, but no longer concerned about my own shame, I opened the door slowly. It creaked so loud I was sure it would draw Emily and Papa out to look, but no one appeared and I stepped outside.

How wonderful the sunlight felt. How sweet the flowers smelled. Grass was never this green, magnolias never this white. I vowed never to take a thing for granted, no matter how small and insignificant it seemed to be. I loved everything—the sound of the gravel crunching beneath my feet, the swoop of the chimney swallows, the bark of the hound dogs, the shadows cast by the sunlight, the scent of the farm animals, and the open fields with the tall grasses swaying in the breeze. Nothing was as precious as freedom.

I walked, taking pleasure in each and every thing I saw. Fortunately, there was no one around. All the farm hands were still in the fields and Charles was probably in the barn. I didn't realize how far I had gone until I turned around and looked back at the house. But I didn't return; I continued on, following an old path I had run over many times as a young girl. It took me to the woods where I enjoyed the cool shade and the pungent scent of pine trees. Mocking-birds and jays flitted about everywhere. They seemed as excited as I was with my entrance into their sanctuary.

As I continued down the cool, dark path, my youthful memories flowed unabated. I recalled coming into the woods with Henry to find some good wood to carve. I remembered following a squirrel to watch him store his acorns. I recalled the first time I had taken Eugenia out for a walk and, of course, I remembered our wonderful journey to the magic pond. With that recollection came the realization that I had walked nearly three quarters of the way to the Thompsons' plantation. This wooded pathway was a short cut that the Thompson twins, Niles, Emily and I often had taken.

My heart began to pound. Over this pathway, poor Niles had surely run to see me that dreadful night. As I continued on, I saw his face and his smile, I heard his voice and his sweet laughter. I saw his eyes pledging love and felt his lips brush over mine. It took my breath away, but I walked on, despite the fatigue that had come into my legs. Not only was I lugging more weight and finding walking more difficult because of my swollen stomach, but my body had not had this much exercise for months. My ankles ached and I had to stop to catch my breath. Anyway, I had come to the end of the wooded pathway and now gazed out at the Thompsons' fields.

I looked at their plantation house, their barns and their smokehouse. I saw their wagons and their tractors, but when I turned to my right, my heart did flip-flops and I nearly fainted. Here, at the rear of one of their south fields was the Thompson family grave-yard. Niles's headstone was only a dozen or so yards away. Had Fate brought me here? Had I somehow been drawn by Niles's spirit? I hesitated. I wasn't afraid of something supernatural; I was afraid of my own emotions, afraid of the torrent of tears that surged and tossed against the walls of my heart, threatening to drown me in this renewed ocean of sorrow.

But coming this far, I couldn't turn back without resting my eyes on Niles's grave. Slowly, nearly tripping twice over the undergrowth, I made my way to the family plots and approached Niles's tombstone. It still looked fresh. Someone had recently placed flowers in front of it. I drew my breath in and held it as I raised my eyes to read the inscription:

NILES RICHARD THOMPSON

GONE BUT NOT FORGOTTEN

I stared at the dates and read and reread his name. Then I stepped close enough to put my hand on the top of his stone. Having been basking in the afternoon sun, the granite was warm. I closed my eyes and thought about his warm cheek against mine, his warm hand holding mine.

"Oh Niles," I moaned. "Forgive me. Forgive me for being a curse to you, too. If only you hadn't come to my room . . . if only we never looked at each other with any affection . . . if only I had left your heart untouched . . . forgive me for loving you, dear Niles. I miss you more than you could ever imagine."

Tears dropped off my cheeks and fell on his grave. My body shuddered and my legs of clay collapsed beneath me, bringing me to my knees. There I knelt, my sobs growing stronger, harder until my shortness of breath terrified me. I was starving for oxygen; I could die here, I thought, and my baby would die here, too. Panic seized me. I reached up and took hold of Niles's stone and pulled myself to my feet so awkwardly, I tottered uncertainly for a moment before gaining a secure stance. Then, my tears still flowing, I turned away from the grave and hurried toward the wooded path.

I had made a terrible mistake. I had gone too far. Fear and anxiety seized hold of my legs and made each step an ordeal. My stomach grew twice as heavy and my breathing grew shorter, faster. How my back ached with every turn. My head began to spin. Suddenly, my foot got caught under a tree root and I fell forward, screaming as I caught myself on a bush and felt it scratch my arms and neck. I hit the earth with a thud, the collision sending a resounding clap of thunder down from my shoulders, through my chest and into my stomach. I groaned and turned over on my back. There I remained for minutes, holding my stomach, waiting for the storm of pain to end.

The forest had grown quiet. The birds were in shock, too, I thought. What had started out as pleasurable and wonderful had become dark and frightening. The very shadows that had earlier looked cool and inviting now looked dark and ominous, and the wooded pathway that attracted me and promised enjoyment had turned into a formidable journey fraught with danger and peril.