Cutler 2 - Secrets of the Morning

by V. C. Andrews

  My heart seemed to flip over. For a moment she simply stood there, leaning on her cane and glaring in at me with her gray-stone eyes. She looked older, thinner. Her steel gray hair was still cut perfectly under her ears and just at the base of her neck with every strand in place. As always, she was elegantly dressed, not a crease showing. Under her mink stole, she wore a dark blue jacket and a white frilly collar blouse, with an ankle-length matching blue skirt and dark blue boots. Gold drop earrings dangled from each of her lobes, a small diamond glittering at the center of each earring. She wore a touch of red lipstick, just as she always did, but the brush of rouge on her cheeks looked brighter and larger than I remembered. I thought it was her way of trying to compensate for her more pasty and waxen complexion.

  Her mouth didn't look as firm. The lower lip trembled either from anger or a bit of palsy. But the pride and arrogance that had put a rod of steel in her spine and hoisted her shoulders before was still there. Despite the onslaught of age, she looked just as formidable.

  Being away from her this long, I had forgotten how much I despised her and how cold she could make my blood run whenever she turned those flint-like eyes on me. My heart pounded in anticipation. She began to shake her head slowly, her mouth curling into a smile of disgust and loathing. I wanted to sit up and scream that I loathed her twice as much as she loathed me, but I didn't move; I didn't utter a sound, afraid that I wouldn't be able to find a voice that didn't quiver.

  "It doesn't surprise me one bit," she said, closing the door behind her and coming farther into my room, "to find you in such a place under such circumstances.

  "Just a few weeks ago, I told your mother that you and she were cut of the same mold, that your own selfishness and lusts would take over and no matter where we sent you or what fine and expensive things we did for you, you would be the cause of some family embarrassment for us."

  Her smile came bitter, wry.

  "Agnes Morris has kept me quite informed as to your behavior. I knew it would only get worse and worse until something like this happened. And now it has," she concluded without disguising her satisfaction.

  "I don't care what you think," I said quickly, but I had to shift my eyes from hers, for hers burned through me with more fire.

  She flicked me a scathing glance and then laughed as she gazed about the hospital room.

  "You've done your best to make that quite evident," she replied.

  She lifted her cane and tapped the foot of the bed sharply.

  "Look at me when I speak to you," she flared. I raised my head and tried to shout back at her, but the cruelty in her eyes stunned me so much, I was speechless.

  A tiny smile came and went on her lips, lips that seemed to have forgotten how to smile.

  "Don't worry, I didn't expect you to do anything wonderful here, despite the frequent reports we received concerning your supposed singing and musical talent. I knew how you were brought up and how you would turn out. I have been anticipating the eventuality of your causing more problems. I just didn't think it would happen as quickly as it has. In that respect you did surprise me."

  I covered my face with my hands. I felt as if Fate had pulled me once again through a knothole and stretched me out, thin and flat. I trembled and had trouble bringing out my thoughts. It was as if I had lost my voice and everything would be trapped forever inside me, even my tears.

  "There's no sense trying to hide your shame. Soon it will be sticking out prominently. Fortunately," she added, "you had the good luck to have had an accident."

  "What?" I lowered my hands from my face. "How can you call being hit by a car, good luck?" I demanded. A small smile, tight and cold, met my question. No, it was not a smile, it was more of a sneer.

  "The accident provides us with a proper excuse for removing you from the school," she replied, her sneer turning into a smile of victory. Whenever she looked at me now, it was at some particular part of me. She didn't see me as a whole person, but in sections that seemed to arouse her anger . . . and she would destroy whatever made her angry.

  "Removing me from the school!"

  "Of course." She gave me that tight, firm hateful look again, her eyes beady. "Did you think I would continue to sponsor you in this condition? Did you think I would tolerate you walking through the halls and attending classes with your stomach protruding? You're here as a Cutler. Everything you do, whether you care about it or not, reflects on the Cutler name. I have good friends on the board of trustees of this school. I have a reputation to protect."

  She fixed her spiteful eyes on me, that detestable old woman, as if sensing all that I felt. I glared back defiantly, hoping that she could see how I abhorred the idea of even being thought related to her. Perhaps my eyes were only glass to reveal all the spinning wheels of revenge I harbored and vowed to let loose one day. If so, she ignored it. Nothing frightened her.

  "Who is the child's father?" she demanded. I looked away. She tapped her cane sharply on the floor. "Who is he?" she repeated.

  "What difference does it make now?" I asked her, my tears burning behind my eyelids, for I was trying with all my might to keep them from bursting forth. I didn't want her to have the satisfaction of seeing me cry.

  She relaxed her shoulders and nodded.

  "You're right. What difference does it make? You probably don't even know which one is the real father," she added.

  "That's not true," I cried. "I'm not that kind of girl."

  "No," she said, lifting her upper lip so that her pale white teeth were fully revealed in a scowl, "you're not that kind of girl. You're lying here in this hospital bed pregnant because you're a good girl, an asset to your family."

  I covered my face again with my palms. She was quiet for a long moment. I was hoping she might just turn away and leave me alone, but she had come to take control of my life again. I was positive it gave her great pleasure to determine my future the same way she determined everyone else's in the family, even though she despised me and didn't want to consider me a member of the family.

  "You can't return to the school," she began, "and you can't return to Agnes Morris's residence. I certainly don't want you back at the hotel. Can you imagine the embarrassment you would bring to us, parading about the building and grounds with your stomach out a mile?"

  "What do you want?" I finally asked, lowering my hands in defeat.

  "What I want I can't get, so I will settle for what must be. The story will be given out that you've been injured far worse than you actually were. You're being taken to a rehabilitation center. That's dramatic enough to satisfy the curious at your school.

  "In reality, you will leave here tomorrow and be taken to live with my sisters, Emily and Charlotte Booth, until you give birth. After that we'll see," she said.

  "Where do your sisters live?" I asked.

  "Not that it should matter to you, they live in Virginia, about twenty miles east of Lynchburg in what was my father's home, an old plantation called The Meadows. My sisters have been told of your arrival and your condition. I have arranged for a car to take you to the airport. When you arrive in Lynchburg, there will be a driver waiting to take you to The Meadows."

  "But what about my things back at Agnes's house?" I cried.

  "She'll get your things together and see that they're shipped out. You can't imagine how anxious she is to get rid of any trace of you."

  "No wonder, the way you poisoned her against me with your letter of lies," I spat out vehemently.

  "Apparently, that letter of lies, as you put it, was quite prophetic," she replied proudly. "Anyway, your fling here has ended."

  "But there are people I want to say goodbye to . . . Mrs. Liddy . . ."

  "We're trying to salvage some dignity from this situation," she snapped. "I don't want you seen gallivanting about when you're supposed to be injured and off to a rehabilitation center."

  "People will know it's not true!" I moaned.

  "Decent people will not challenge the story I give out," sh
e replied with icy assurance. "The school authorities have already been informed," she added, demonstrating how quickly and efficiently she could take control of my life.

  But what was I to do? Where could I go? I was pregnant and essentially penniless. I certainly couldn't run to Daddy Longchamp, not now that he had a new wife and was expecting a new child.

  "Your mother," she said, pronouncing "Mother" as if it were a profanity, "has been told about your accomplishments. Naturally, it has put her into one of her states of hysteria." She laughed. "She's even had her doctor, the tenth or eleventh, I can't keep track anymore, put one of those things into her arms," she said, pointing to the I.V. stand in the corner of my room. "She claims she can't eat, can't swallow. She has a nurse around the clock.

  "And all because of you. So, I wouldn't bother trying to call her to ask her to help you. She can't help herself. But," Grandmother Cutler added, "there's really nothing new about that."

  I saw the smile of satisfaction around her gray eyes.

  "Why do you hate her so?" I asked. Somehow I thought it was more than only her love affair with an itinerant singer. Anyway, that was long over and my mother was still married to Grandmother Cutler's son and had given birth to two of her grandchildren.

  "I hate anyone who is that weak and self-indulgent," she said slowly and with a sneer. "She has never been anything but a lead weight, despite her beauty.

  "In fact, her beauty is a deception. My foolish son, just like any other man, couldn't see past it in time to save himself and still can't.

  "I'm sure," she added, "someday you will find a doting fool to look after you just as Randolph looks after your mother, but until then you will do as I say. "The doctor will release you after breakfast tomorrow. I have already spoken with him. Be prepared to leave. All the arrangements are perfect and no one is to be made to wait on you. Do you understand?"

  "I understand who you are," I said, finally fixing my eyes firmly on hers, "and how unhappy you must be and must have been most of your life."

  Her eyes flared and she pulled herself up into her habitual queenly posture.

  "How dare you . . . how dare you think you can feel sorry for anyone, especially for me."

  "But I do," I said calmly, so calmly I even surprised myself. "I don't hate you as much as I pity you and hate the things that made you like you are."

  "Save your pity for yourself," she snapped back. "You will need it," she added and spun on her heels so quickly, she almost lost her balance. Then she stalked out of my hospital room, her cane tapping like a tiny hammer over the tiles as she turned and disappeared down the corridor.

  I fell back against my pillow, too weak and defeated now to bother with tears. What difference did it make anymore? I thought. Michael was gone; Jimmy was sure to hate me once he found out the truth; Daddy Longchamp had a new life and was even expecting a new child. All the people I loved and cared about were far away. Grandmother Cutler could do what she wanted with me, and I had no one to blame for it but myself.

  Goodbye to dreams of singing and being a stage star. Goodbye to the magic of love and romance and believing that fairy tales sometimes come true. Goodbye to being carefree and young, hopeful and energetic.

  I could see the clouds moving over the sun and dropping shadows like torrents of rain over the city. A gloomy darkness crept into my hospital room, chilling me. I pulled the blanket over myself and clung to the warmth within. Tomorrow, I would be whisked out of the city of my dreams. I would disappear as if I never existed. Poor Madame Steichen, I thought. How disappointed in me she must be. All her hard work and faith tossed aside.

  When we had first met and spoke, Michael had told me that passion makes us desperate, but he never told me that it could leave us lonely and empty, too. He didn't want me to know the danger in letting myself love him.

  Had it been the same for my mother? Is that what turned her into the weak person she was? Was Grandmother Cutler right in saying I was just like her? Would I become the same kind of person eventually?

  Just thinking about these things exhausted me. I couldn't keep my eyes open and didn't want to, for it was only in sleep that I had any relief from the harsh reality that had fallen around me and trapped me. Now I was once again a prisoner of fate, and Grandmother Cutler was truly once again my warden.

  Doctor Stevens appeared early in the morning to give me his final examination and declare me well enough to leave. He signed me out and the nurse arrived to help me dress and get ready after I had had my breakfast. I realized that by the time Trisha arrived, I would be gone, so I requested the use of a telephone. Agnes answered.

  "Agnes," I cried, "it's me, Dawn."

  "Dawn?" There was a silence.

  "Yes. I'm phoning from the hospital."

  "Dawn? I'm afraid you must have the wrong number," she said coldly. "I don't know anyone named Dawn."

  "Agnes, please," I begged, "don't do this. I have to speak with Trisha."

  "Trisha has gone to school," she replied, but I knew Trisha's class schedule. She couldn't have left yet.

  "Agnes, please," I begged. "I'm leaving soon and I won't have any other chance to speak with Trisha. She will make a wasted trip to the hospital because I will be gone. Won't you tell her I'm on the phone. Please."

  "Oh, dear," she said suddenly, her voice rising in pitch, "I do wish I could consider your production, but I've already committed myself to another."

  "Agnes!"

  "Perhaps you will consider changing your production dates." She laughed. "Other producers have done that to accommodate me."

  I saw it was no use. She was either doing this because Trisha was nearby and she didn't want her to know she was speaking to me, or she had really gone off on one of her memories and was far gone.

  "Agnes," I said through my tears, "won't you let me speak with Trisha."

  "I'm sorry, but I'm very busy," she replied and hung up.

  "Agnes!" I cried into a dead receiver. I cradled it and started to cry. How would Trisha know where I was or what had happened to me?

  The nurse asked me what was wrong and I explained that I had a friend coming later in the day, but I would already be gone and I couldn't reach her now.

  "Just leave her a note," she said, "and I'll see that she gets it."

  "Oh, would you? Thank you."

  I took out the piece of paper on which I had intended to write Jimmy a letter and began to write my goodbye note to Trisha.

  Dear Trisha,

  By the time you read this, I will be long gone. Grandmother Cutler has come and taken control of my life. I'm to live with her sisters in Virginia until the baby is born. This way I'll be out of sight and out of mind and the precious Cutler name will be protected. I don't even know the exact address. I don't really care anymore. I know you are the only person I will miss. I will write you every chance I get. Please say goodbye to Mrs. Liddy for me and to the twins, and even to crazy Donald.

  And thanks, thanks from all my heart for being my one true friend in all the world.

  Love,

  Dawn

  I folded it up and gave it to the nurse.

  A short while later, a chauffeur appeared. He was just someone from a company Grandmother Cutler had hired in the city to take me to the airport. I could see that to him I was like a package to deliver. Since I had already been signed out and Grandmother Cutler had taken care of everything else, there was nothing to do but leave with him. The nurses bid me goodbye and wished me luck.

  All I had on me was what I had worn the day of my accident. The chauffeur was surprised.

  "No luggage?" he asked, lingering in the doorway.

  "No, sir. Everything's being shipped or has been," I said.

  "Fine," he said, obviously grateful that things had been made easier for him.

  It was a luxurious limousine. I was surprised Grandmother Cutler had gone to the expense, but then I thought she was probably trying to impress everyone with how well she takes care of her own family. I sat
in the back at a corner of the large, black leather seat and stared out the window as we drove out of the city and toward the airport. My memories of my arrival returned.

  How full of hope and excitement I had been. Yes, I had been afraid, too, but when I had first set eyes on these tall buildings and had seen all the people rushing by, I thought I might just become a famous singer and live in a penthouse apartment. Now, with people scurrying up and down sidewalks to keep warm and the traffic moving at a slow pace through the slushy streets, the shine was certainly off. People looked troubled, frenzied, even bored to me. And the city looked brown and dirty.

  Only the Christmas decorations in the store front windows gave me any feeling of warmth and happiness. It would have been wonderful, Michael and I strolling down Fifth Avenue, my hands in a fur muff. We would have heard the Christmas carols and seen the lighted displays and he would have hugged me to him. Later, we would have lain together at the foot of our little Christmas tree and made plans for our future.

  As the limousine continued down the avenue, I saw a happy couple walking hand in hand just the way I had dreamt Michael and I would have. The young woman looked so happy and alive, her cheeks rosy, her eyes full of promise. Her young man was gesturing exuberantly and saying things that made her laugh. I could see the happy puffs of breath from both their mouths join in the air before them.

  The limousine started to make a turn. I looked back at them as long as I could. Then the limousine sped up and they were left behind, just like all my dreams.

  12

  THE MEADOWS

  Once I boarded the airplane, I fell asleep and woke up just before the stewardess announced we were going to land. The airport wasn't very busy when I arrived, so I didn't expect to have any problem finding my driver to take me to The Meadows, the home of Grandmother Cutler's sisters. But when I came through the gate and looked around, I saw no one holding up a sign with my name on it. In moments the people who had been there to greet arriving passengers left with everyone else who had gotten off the plane, and I was practically all alone in the lobby. I sat down and waited.