“It’s such a fine day for a walk, Mr.…Mr.…” I stopped and turned to Hattie, perplexed, then said in between giggles, “Pardon me, sir, but I don’t quite remember your name.”
“I am Lord Brighton of England,” she said with a thick English drawl, mimicking Daddy’s voice.
“Oh, please do forgive me, Lord Brighton,” I snickered. “I should have realized instantly who you are. I have been so dim-witted.”
“Yes, you have, young lady. Now go back to where you came from, you wench.”
“But Lord Brighton,” I cried with great exaggeration, “I don’t know where I came from. I’m an orphan. I have no mother, and my father abandoned me years ago. Can you not find it in your heart to take me in, poor wayward soul that I am, and care for me?”
Hattie turned her back to me dejectedly, and I fell to my knees, begging and pleading. “Please don’t turn your back on me. For if you do, I will be lost, alone, and afraid. Please!”
With great reluctance, Hattie, playing the part assiduously, reached for my hand and lifted me up, and said, “Since you have no mother, I shall take you under my wing and care for you.”
The reality of the words, though not intentional, stung like a slap to my face. I did my best to hide my pain, and we played on, though I couldn’t help but think how I missed having a mother. I somehow did always feel like a wayward soul.
~ ~ ~
~ Twenty ~
My mind drifted back to reality, and I made my way from the bedrooms down the hall to the door of the attic.
Curious to see who was lurking about, I wandered up the dark stairway to the attic, which was as vast as the enormous mansion itself.
Outside, the day was heavily overcast and allowed just enough natural light for me to see where I was going. Not much had moved since years ago when Hattie and I were last up there, and I was able to navigate my way around without bumping into anything.
Once my eyes adjusted to the dimness, I moved further into the attic. From the far side, I saw the figure of a man, and when he stepped before the small window of the dormer, I recognized Patrick.
I hesitated for a moment and simply watched as he rummaged through some of the trunks. What was he looking for? I wondered to myself. After all, most if not all of the items in the attic were junk. Old broken pieces of furniture were scattered here and there, along with trunks that contained worn clothing. Some of the boxes were filled with Eugenia’s belongings from her first marriage. I once read through the letters and other personal items that had belonged to her deceased husband. His name was Sir George Bernard Norton. Apparently, he was a prominent attorney back in England and had ties to England’s royal family. Eugenia kept all his clients’ legal documents, none of which I understood a word of. In the box were also some of his personal articles, such as spectacles, and cufflinks.
Patrick appeared to be searching for something in particular. I stayed as motionless as possible, watching him tear through everything, but when I caught sight of a spider crawling down the sleeve of my dress, I screeched in terror.
“Who’s there?” he called, startled.
I decided to try and hurry out before he knew it was me spying on him. I crouched down and ducked, then crept along the shadows as he scanned the room, looking for whoever was interrupting his private affairs.
“I know someone is here.”
I stopped and held my breath.
A storm cloud cast complete darkness over the winter sky, and a violent rumble of thunder shook the mansion. I listened as Patrick shuffled in my direction and slammed into something. Then came another boom of thunder and crackle of lightening. The attic lit up, and there stood Patrick before me. His face flashed before my eyes, and I gasped in fright. The pile of letters in his hands fell to the floor.
We stood before one another as the rain began to pelt like bullets onto the roof.
“Why do you torment me?” he whispered between the thunderclaps.
“I’m sorry . . . I was only . . .”
Patrick took hold of me and began to stroke my face with his free hand. His lips brushed against my ear. He asked despairingly, “Do you have any idea what you mean to me?”
I closed my eyes, feeling overcome by his angst.
“I think about you night and day. I have always needed you.”
His lips traveled to the nape of my neck. Tingles traveled to every inch of my body, and my mind began to struggle with uncertainty.
“Patrick,” I uttered and tried to push him back. His grip became tighter as he pressed into me. “Help me understand.”
The storm outside intensified as Patrick’s personal storm appeared to rage inside him. Soon his hands were eagerly and freely roaming the outside of my dress, and his lips muffled my pleas for answers.
“Oh, Charlotte,” he moaned and held me close. “I have missed you so.”
In the moment, Patrick saw me as no one but Charlotte, just as I had aimed to accomplish. Little had I guessed how much he had loved her. I couldn’t have imagined the extent of his feelings before willfully tormenting him.
In the midst of receiving his hungry kisses, I became enraptured with my own body’s excitement. It was much more intense than the first time he kissed me.
The rain turned to hail, and the wind whipped and howled through the eaves of the mansion, stifling my cries of happiness and confusion. I wanted Patrick to want me any way he could, even if it was because he believed I was someone else. But it hurt to watch him deny who I really was, even if that reality meant we couldn’t, or shouldn’t, be together.
“Patrick, wait. Listen to me,” I begged and took hold of his hands. I risked snapping him out of his dream and having him regret our passionate moment, but it felt deceitful to continue hurting him, all for the sake of my own happiness. “I’m Amelia, not Charlotte. I’m sorry you think I’m my mother. I shouldn’t have pretended to be. I know you will regret this, so please stop.”
Patrick blinked his eyes in doubt and frowned, shaking his head. “Don’t push me away. I need you. I have waited forever. The pain in my heart has never gone away.”
He bent down to scoop up the letters.
“Are those my mummy’s letters?” I nervously asked. I hadn’t ever come upon letters written to her.
He didn’t answer. Instead he slumped down and began to sob, sadly holding the letters on his lap. I knelt down to reach for one when he snapped and snatched the letters away from me.
“Go away! Just leave me alone!”
“We both miss her. I’m sorry for stirring up painful memories,” I cried. “I didn’t mean to hurt you; I simply wanted to become closer to you, through her.”
“Just leave me, Amelia,” he said flatly.
Devastated, I flew out from the attic, knocking down objects in my wake, though the relentless thunder masked the loud crashes. I was a stupid fool to play such grown up games. I cursed myself. I wasn’t the woman I wanted to be and thought I was.
I stood before my mirror and violently tore my hairstyle apart. It was only the frantic knocking on my door, followed by Mammy’s voice, that made me stop abruptly.
“Miss Amelia, something terrible happened. We got a telegram. Here, read it!”
I quickly scanned the telegram, then looked at Mammy and said through my hoarse, cried-out voice, “We must send for Daddy and Eugenia.”
“Mr. Stone and Hamilton will go. The rains are heavy, but they got to come home.”
Outside, the relentless rain left muddy pools on the ground. The wagon became stuck several times, and it took Patrick, Warren, and Hamilton working for an hour in the pouring rain to free the wheels from the thick mud and be on their way to Atlanta.
“It will take them twice as long in this weather,” Patrick yelled over the wind.
Mammy ushered me inside. “You get out of your wet clothes before you catch the death of you,” she insisted. “I will bring you up boiling water for a bath.”
Both Patrick and I were soaked to the bon
e, beaten by the rain and our heavy-hearted feelings for one another.
Mammy went to fire up the stove.
“This is just so sad.”
Patrick didn’t respond. He stood dripping wet, just standing there in the grand foyer looking forlorn. With his uniform weighed down against his body and his hair pasted against his face, I waited for him to say something. Anything. But Patrick refused to say one word to me. To my dismay, he wouldn’t look at me, talk to me, or acknowledge my presence. In the two nights and three days it took Daddy, Eugenia, and Hamilton to return, Patrick continued to disregard me. At breakfast, at supper, passing one another in the halls of the ominous mansion, he held a cold, stone-like face, and his eyes refrained from meeting mine.
It was ever so noticeable when Hattie and Jacob Thomas joined us inside. When chores weren’t being carried out, Patrick was either talking with Hattie or playing with Jacob Thomas.
I never knew Patrick to talk so much. Hattie enjoyed the attention, and she followed him around like a lost puppy dog.
I watched them the evening as they sat in the parlor before Daddy and Eugenia were due back. I listened as Hattie willingly answered many of Patrick’s questions. “Momma came here to the plantation when I was very young. She instantly became like a mother to Amelia, since she had none of her own. Momma loves Amelia as much as she loves me,” Hattie said, “and Amelia and I are just like sisters.”
“And your brother? How old is he?” Patrick lit up his pipe and leaned into the settee, listing attentively as Hattie gave nearly all of the details away to Patrick, with the exception of the most intimate details of Daddy’s relationship with Mammy, from Daddy’s love for Mammy to Jacob Thomas’s birth and everything in between, including Mammy’s marriage to Hamilton.
When they were finished conversing, after Patrick heard everything he apparently wanted to hear, he excused himself and thanked Hattie for her company. “You are a remarkable young lady. Thank you for such good conversation, Miss Hattie.”
I hid myself behind the door so Patrick wouldn’t see me as he left, and I waited until Hattie came upstairs to look for Jacob Thomas, who was playing in my room.
With my blood boiling, I stood waiting for her to enter the room. Jacob Thomas was happily playing with a handful of marbles by my feet and didn’t look up when Hattie opened the door.
“Hello, Hattie,” I said with an icy tone.
“Amelia, I didn’t know you were in here. Have you been with Jacob this entire time?” she asked, not meeting my eyes.
“No.” I didn’t move aside when she went to lift him up.
“I want to play more, Hattie,” Jacob Thomas cried.
“We have to get washed up, Jacob. Don’t sass me,” Hattie ordered.
Jacob was struggling to be put back down. I stepped back and lashed out at Hattie.
“What were you doing talking with Patrick? He doesn’t have time to converse with you all the time, Hattie. He has endless chores to carry out.”
“I haven’t been conversing with him all the time,” she replied. She put Jacob Thomas down and spun around. “I only answer the questions he asks. I have my own chores to take care of, you know.”
“Really? Then why is it you seem to have so much time to sit with him in the parlor day after day?”
Hattie’s face turned into a serious scowl. “So, you were spying on us?”
“No,” I stammered. “I have seen you by coincidence, as I have passed the rooms doing my own chores.”
“What is it about me speaking with Patrick disturbs you so? It is harmless conversation, that’s all.”
“What does he want to know? And why does he ask you and not me?”
Hattie seemed confused with my sudden outburst. “I don’t know. Why don’t you ask him?”
I didn’t want to reveal that he wasn’t speaking to me - or any other details of our intense and peculiar relationship. I couldn’t share that intimate secret with anyone.
“Do you find him handsome?” I asked, easing my tone.
Hattie thought for a moment, then answered, “Yes, he is handsome.”
My eyes narrowed onto her. My anger couldn’t be contained. “He is not available to you, Hattie. The thought of it is completely absurd, you know. After all he is an officer in the Confederate Navy, years older than you, and no doubt he already has a woman in his life.”
“What exactly are you saying?”
“I am telling you, Hattie Arrington, to stay away from my brother!”
“Your brother? Isn’t he my brother as well? Aren’t we sisters? Aren’t I just as much as an Arrington as you?”
When I didn’t reply, her eyes went from tear-filled to burning with animosity. “I see now. I see the way it is. You see me as an ordinary slave after all.”
Hattie didn’t understand. It had nothing to do with slavery or the color of her skin. But I couldn’t confess I was jealous of her and reveal my true feelings for Patrick. So I didn’t deny it.
Hattie stormed out, unable to contain her anger. I felt horrible, but I remained frozen in place, both physically and emotionally. I let her run off, believing the one thing that was the farthest from the truth.
In my life to come, whether wittingly or by fate, truths and lies would become one and the same.
~ ~ ~
~ Twenty-one ~
Eugenia and Daddy returned late that evening and moans of sorrow filled nearly every inch of Sutton Hall. The twins, Violet and Beatrice, had contracted cholera and died within hours of one another. Their nanny was on her way back to America, voyaging over the dangerous wartime seas to return with their bodies to be buried in Savannah in our family cemetery at Sutton Hall.
Day after day, Eugenia cried as the cold winter rains lingered. Daddy did all he could do to console Eugenia on his own, then when his efforts became useless, he came to me for help.
“I can’t begin to make her feel better. I’m at my wits’ end and don’t know what to do,” he said wearily.
He hadn’t slept for days, worried about Eugenia and stressed about returning to his regiment at the end of the week. The doctor had given Daddy a clean bill of health for his return. Under Daddy’s sad eyes were deep, dark circles, and his brow was permanently creased. Daddy and I barely knew one another now. My childhood days of looking for him to call to me to walk along the river and talk, or nights waiting for him to come up and tuck me in and leave tender sweet kisses on my cheek, whispering that I was the most special girl in the world were long gone. I didn’t idolize Daddy as I had then. I now saw him as a weak, feeble man who had succumbed to the influence of a woman, and not for her beauty, but for her strong-willed intention to rule her kingdom with an iron fist.
We had prayed that day, all of us, for hours on end. We prayed for God to take the little girls under his wing and care for them and allow their father to tend to them until Eugenia’s time to be called up into heaven. Patrick read verses of the Bible aloud, and I sang hymns. Eugenia clutched photographs of her girls and sat motionless with her eyes clamped shut. She prayed with us until the sun went down and retired to her room without supper.
“She needs someone to console her. Please go to her. Comfort her,” Daddy pleaded.
I gulped hard, reluctant to think of comforting a stone-cold woman such as Eugenia. I knew she was suffering greatly, but I didn’t believe she would want me near to her. And I didn’t aim to please Daddy, for he did nothing at all to please me.
“Daddy, I don’t think it’s a good idea. Eugenia doesn’t like me at all.”
Daddy shook his head in denial and said, “She loves you like one of her own daughters.”
How could he think such a thing! Didn’t he witness the years of scowls she threw my way and the punishments she subjected me to? Wasn’t he aware how much she loathed me because I looked and acted so much like my own mother, the young woman who stole Daddy’s heart when he was already married and trapped him with an illegitimate child.
“Daddy, you’re wrong.
”
“Go to her, Amelia,” Daddy insisted.
Without further objection, I nodded and did as he insisted. I wandered up the grand staircase, taking my time with every step, dreading seeing her. I sensed it would go badly and wished anyone but me could try and comfort her. But there was no one else, so I mustered as much courage as I could and softly rapped on her door.
“Eugenia it is me, Amelia. May I come in?”
There was no answer.
I eased open the door and stepped inside the room. A modest fire was burning in the fireplace, but the room remained chilly and made me shiver. I rubbed my arms to warm them up a little and went over to the bed where she lay still under the covers, staring with a vacant gaze up at the ceiling. On her chest, which slowly lowered and rose with each breath, were the photographs of the girls.
I stepped up to the bed and looked down at her. She didn’t acknowledge me. She didn’t bat an eye or look my way. I took a shallow breath and smiled at her.
“Eugenia?”
“What is it?” she asked with no emotion.
“I’ve come to see if you need anything. Aren’t you hungry? Can I get you a hot cup of tea?”
She blinked back her newly-formed tears a few times and picked up the photographs and stared at them for the longest time.
“I am sorry for your loss. They were just innocent girls, and it’s so unfortunate. I will miss them as well,” I said with great compassion and reached to hold her hand.
Instantly she slapped my hand away and sat up. “Get out! I don’t want you near me! GET OUT!” she raged.
“But I was only trying to help,” I stuttered, backing away.
“You are a vile, unworthy piece of trash. I hate everything about you. You are nothing like my girls. They were beautiful, smart, and worthy of being on this earth. What was God thinking when he took them?” she shrieked. “He should have taken you instead! You are not worthy of being here!”
Box Set: The ArringtonTrilogy Page 18
