“I love you. I want to marry you. I can make you happy. Just give me time. And give yourself time to love me,” he implored. “Since the moment you found me dying in the woods, I knew I would love no one else, ever!”
There wasn’t an ounce of any good feelings in me for Warren Stone. I could never think of him without hate coursing through my veins. It didn’t matter that his eyes were tear-filled with yearning and love, that his hands trembled at the thought that I might reject his proposal. I contained my anger, revealing only hateful cynicism.
“I will not marry you. I never loved you; I barely liked you,” I shouted and finally turned to him. “I used you. Now go away and leave me alone.”
I watched his face turn beet red and his eyes stop shining. He rose uncomfortably.
“I will instruct Hamilton to leave the shutters in place,” he said, “and will honor your loathing for me by leaving you alone.”
I remained undaunted by his affliction. I took up my book and began to read contentedly where I had left off, just as he turned the key to the door, locking me in once again.
That evening, Warren delivered me to Eugenia on the last hour of the day for my recital. I began my evening prayers just after Warren left my plate of soup and biscuits. Normally he would try to converse with me, though now he knew better. “I will come get your plate in an hour, if that is all right with you, Miss Arrington?” he said formally.
I began my nightly rituals. First, I sat with the light of only one candle. I sipped on my soup, as I was now able to hold down some food. I was no longer incessantly sick. The biscuits were tasty, and I savored them. I always loved Mammy’s flaky, buttery biscuits. She had taught me how to make them years ago. I used to spend hours with Mammy in the kitchen learning her recipes. My favorite was apple pie, in the cooler months. Using fresh apples picked from our own orchard, I would peel and she would slice them. Mammy mixed cinnamon, sugar, a pinch of salt and bicarbonate of soda with the apples. It took some time before I was able to succeed in making the light, flaky pie crust. When Mammy noticed my frustration every time it didn’t come out right, she would place her hands on top of my small ones and together we would take the rolling pin and ease it over the crust. “Takes patience, Miss Amelia, and just the right amount of pressure with the pin,” she instructed. “Not too hard or the crust is too thin. Not hard enough and the crust turns out thick and doughy.”
I listened carefully and allowed her to guide my hands, creating the perfect crust for the apple pie we served long ago.
After I polished off my soup, I became suddenly very tired and lightheaded. I made my way over to the bed and nearly fell over when I knelt down to pray. I clung to the side of the mattress, fighting the weighty sleep that suddenly overtook me. I tried to begin my prayers, but I couldn’t keep to my thoughts. If I’d wanted to open my lids, I couldn’t have. Beneath me, the room felt as if it were spinning, so I climbed onto the bed, hoping it would stop. As I lay still, I began to drift off, sinking into a strange sleeping spell.
I began to have distorted visions while I fought the fatigue. When I was able to fleetingly open my eyes, I watched in confusion the mad flicker of the candle and eerie shadows. Then thought I saw Warren climbing into bed with me. I must have been having terrible delusions from a sudden fever, I tried to tell myself. Warren slowly undressing me couldn’t have been real. I tried fighting the dream; I tried to scream, only I was mute from weakness. The hot kisses and distorted whispers of love were vague, and I began to crazily imagine it was Patrick who came to me.
“I can’t live without you,” I thought I heard him say while undressing me.
Patrick, is it really you? my mind asked. Have you regretted running from me all along? Do you love me after all?
If I wanted to throw my arms around him and savor his embrace, I couldn’t. As I tried to kiss his wet lips in return, my body was incapable. Instead, I lay helplessly as he made zealous love to me while I slowly faded away into a weighty and bizarre sleep - the kind where dreams never exist.
Morning came and went, but I wasn’t aware of it until I was violently shaken awake. I desperately tried to fight my lingering fatigue and headache by sitting up and blinking the sleep away from my eyes.
“You get up this instant!” Eugenia demanded. “You have missed your morning studies!”
“I’m sorry, Eugenia. I will get dressed right away.”
“You will not be served any food for three days because of your indolence. And if this ever happens again,” she said through gritted teeth, “you will be whipped. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, Eugenia,” I sighed.
“I will let Warren know. It’s a good thing you decided to remain shut away on your own accord. Perhaps you are coming along. After all, this is all for your own good. Fasting will also help God forgive you. Makes him see that you will sacrifice your own happiness as repentance for your many, many sins. And,” she added before marching out. “You look quite bloated lately. You could stand to lose weight. I will have Abigail change your diet as soon as you are allowed food again.”
It was difficult to shake the sluggishness that lingered for most of the day. I remained in bed reading, instead of sitting in the chair beside the closed-off windows. I hadn’t expected to see Warren that afternoon, so when he came in, I wondered what he wanted.
“Eugenia instructed me not to bring any food up to you, but I did anyway,” he said and held out a few biscuits and a piece of corn pone held in a cloth.
“I will do as Eugenia ordered,” I stated and went back to reading.
“You were crying out last night,” he said. “I was walking by and I couldn’t help but hear.”
“I was crying out?” I asked, then suddenly remembered my strange dream, which I hadn’t recalled until Warren triggered my memory.
“I wanted to come in and see if anything was wrong, but I had turned in the key to Eugenia already. She has me give it to her every night. She must think I would do something inappropriate,” he said uncomfortably and swung his eyes away.
“Of course she would think that. And so should you. I am a product of the devil, Warren. Hasn’t Eugenia told you?”
“Told me? No. And it doesn’t matter, Amelia, I don’t…”
I threw my book at him and screamed for him to get out, causing the food to fall onto the dirty floor. Warren went to pick it up.
“Stop trying to help me. I don’t need you. I don’t need anyone. I don’t need food. I only need God and his forgiveness.”
I quoted a part from James 1:12-16, “My brethren, count it all joy when ye fall into diverse temptations; Knowing this that the trying of your faith worsen the patience. But let patience have her perfect work, that ye may be perfect and entire, wanting nothing.”
Warren was once again resigned and kindly placed my book beside me on the bed. He left, beaten and battered by my verbal attack.
I lay back, confused and frustrated. I tried desperately to remember the details of my night, but it was all a fog. I could only remember certain bits and pieces of my peculiar delusion. I wanted to curse myself for allowing Patrick back into my thoughts. He didn’t deserve to be there. Patrick left me; he turned his back on us after promising me his unconditional love. If he hadn’t forsaken me, I wouldn’t have run off and straight into the arms of Perry Montgomery. And even though I didn’t regret our painfully brief marriage, I was suffering all too much with heartache and an ill-omened pregnancy. How could I ever learn to trust a man again? Then again, did I ever want to? Only harm came from falling in love. It happened to Mummy, Mammy, me, and even Eugenia. We were all abandoned by the men we loved and devoted ourselves to, whether by choice or by death. Either way, we women were the ones to suffer. For that, I refused to love again. Not that I would be granted such an opportunity before my impending death in a matter of months. I was in no way worthy of ever being loved, I told myself.
The hours crept by excruciatingly slowly during the next few days. My stomach
grumbled and screamed for food, and it was all I could do to concentrate on my reading. My mind wandered, my thinking was obsessed with thoughts of food. I nearly regretted telling Warren not to steal me food. But when I heard his footsteps occasionally passing the attic door, as much as my stomach tried to override my resolve, I stayed true to my determination to fast.
By the last day, I was too weak to read and purely miserable. All I could do was lie on the bed, listening to the rain. It had been raining all day, and the dampness crept into the mansion. All I had was a light quilt; all other linens had been stripped when I was first brought back home. Then I reminded myself that I didn’t deserve to be comfortable. If I hadn’t been tricked by the devil, I would never have been in such a predicament. I was shamefully sinful, and my suffering wasn’t ever going to end, especially since I was tormented with recurrent intimate dreams of Patrick, Warren, and Perry as the next few weeks went by. The dreams were almost always the same, except I didn’t always know who was seducing. I usually imagined it to be Patrick, through in my state of confusion, almost as if I was half asleep, at times it would start out as Warren and then his face would slowly transform into Perry’s. The next day, it was always difficult to make sense of the night before. I began to dread the nights, and I felt as if I were the devil’s prey all over again; he was seducing me into lusting after men.
I gradually came to realize my delusions or dreams, whatever they were, always came soon after I finished my late evening meal. The food wasn’t always the same, but it happened only on the nights that Warren brought me my meal. On the rare occasions when Mammy delivered my plate, I never had those crazy dreams or felt tired and drained all the next day. I wasn’t sure what to think, but I decided one night to not eat the food Warren brought to me.
I sat waiting for Warren, reading as usual. He came on time, predictably at nine thirty.
“Hello, Amelia,” he greeted me. I customarily refrained from greeting him. He put the tray down. “I hope you sleep well. I will be going to Savannah early in the morning. Leave your tray, and I will take it when I come with your morning meal. I need to get to bed.”
“Have only Mammy bring my food from now on,” I replied, taking him by surprise.
“Eugenia won’t allow that. Besides,” he said before he departed, “Hattie is sick again, and your mammy is tending to her.”
I stared down at the food, my instincts telling me not to eat or drink anything Warren gave me. I needed to see if I was dreaming or if something very sinister was happening to me. I dreaded the thought and hoped I was wrong. Only time would tell, and I waited in bed, pretending to sleep . . . waiting, waiting.
~ ~ ~
~ Twenty-nine ~
I heard the grandfather clock from downstairs chime twice. I was still awake, barely blinking at all. Two o’clock passed, then three. I was becoming groggy and almost too tired to stay awake when I heard the key unlock the door.
I snapped my eyes closed and held my breath, waiting anxiously on edge for him to draw near. All those hours I lay awake, trying to prepare for what to do if he came to my room, yet when he came into the bed, I was seized with fear.
At first Warren rested beside me, merely caressing my hair. The attic was pitch black, and I knew he couldn’t tell that I was wide awake and very afraid. All those weeks he had been coming to me and I had been unaware of what was really happening to me, oblivious to the truth, and shockingly taken advantage of. I never suspected Warren could do such a thing.
“You have the softest hair,” he murmured as he brought the ends to his face. I swallowed hard; my breathing became quick and shallow. I gripped onto the pillow, trying to find the courage to confront him as his fingers traveled slowly down my back and reached my bottom.
“I love being with you, Amelia. Even if this way is the only way. I wish you would love me,” he whispered, then put his hands on my waist, turning me so he could begin undressing me, when I let out a scream. Warren gasped and slammed his hand over my mouth to muffle my panic.
“Don’t scream. It’s me, Warren!”
I bit his hand, pushed him back, jumped out of the bed, and then quickly went for the matches. Warren rushed up, but without being able to see where he was going he tripped and fell. With trembling hands, I managed to light the candle.
The room lit up just as Warren approached me, and then he suddenly stopped. Warren looked me over, and it was only when his eyes fell onto my newly protruding belly under my chemise that I realized he would know. My mind scrambled to take control of him. “I know what you’ve been doing to me!” I shouted. “Look what you’ve done! I’m carrying your baby.”
I took a chance, thinking that all the times he came to me he had never noticed my belly, for when I was lying down, the bulge remained low and unpronounced.
Warren was in complete shock. He stood there stunned and speechless. I took my plate of food and threw it at him.
“You disgusting pig! How dare you put sleeping medications in my food to make me sleep and then come to me? You raped me!”
He began to pace back and forth, frantic now.
“It’s not that way. You make it seem so sick. But it’s not. I came to you because I love you. I made love to you! It wasn’t rape!” he said and rushed me. “We can get married. We’ll tell Eugenia and she will agree. I will make you an honest woman. You must agree now.”
Warren was desperate. However, I was not going to marry Warren Stone, and I let him know in no uncertain terms. “I want you to tell Eugenia you’re leaving Sutton Hall for good.”
“What!”
“If you don’t, I will tell her about your amnesia and all your lies. I will tell her how you’ve raped me. No doubt you took her sleeping powders. I will tell her you stole from her as well.”
“You wouldn’t!”
“Wouldn’t I?”
“You’re not thinking clearly. Once she finds out you’re with child, you will never see the light of day. I am your only hope.” He tried to hold me, but I hit his chest hard.
“You are no hope!”
“I’m not leaving,” he said defiantly.
“If you tell Eugenia I’m carrying your baby, I will tell her all about your lies.” I stood resolute, determined not to let him see my fright or my mortification at what he’d done to me. “And she will most likely have you hanged.”
He appeared to think hard.
“You will not come to me anymore, for I will scream rape for all to hear. You stay away from me, Warren Stone. You tell Eugenia you can’t bring me my food anymore. Tell her it’s because you fear my wicked ways. She will believe that. Do you understand?”
Warren signed and lowered his head. “I am truly ashamed. I’m very sorry.”
“You should be. Never forget how much I hate you, even if I am carrying your baby,” I lied. “For it’s not the fault of this innocent child it has a repulsive father.”
My words were a dagger to his heart.
“You will never claim this baby as yours. It will be an Arrington, whether I die giving this child life or not. It will never bear your name or know you as its father.”
“How can you be so cruel?” he mumbled with tear-filled eyes. “All I asked is to have your love.”
“You didn’t ask; you took what wasn’t rightfully yours. For that, I hope you burn in hell.”
“All right. You will see nothing of me again.”
“Good riddance!”
As soon as he was gone, I fell apart. After I became physically sick, I fell back onto the bed. During all those weeks of confusion, I had believed my mind was becoming unhinged and my soul was trapped by the devil. Instead, it was Warren who infringed on my privacy and violated me. In every way.
Eugenia came early that morning after I’d slept for only an hour. I had dressed in time for her arrival, covering my condition with my newly-altered dress. I attempted to compose myself and put on a good appearance. I was hoping she wouldn’t notice much of me.
I stood at
attention as she wandered in with a letter in her hand. Eugenia scoped the room, picked up my book, and gazed at it, then put it back down. I was nervous, and my heart fluttered madly, fearing she would find something or that the letter she was holding would reveal Warren’s betrayal.
Finally, she stopped, spun on her heels, and said in a cool, icy tone, “Warren Stone has left Savannah. Do you happen to know why?”
I hesitated before answering, not knowing if she really knew the reason and was just pretending not to.
“He left me a letter. Shall I read it aloud to you?” It wasn’t a question. She didn’t wait for an answer. I held my breath while she read his letter.
“Dear Mrs. Arrington. I thank you and your family for your extended hospitality. At this time, I feel I need to move on and search out my regiment, as my duties to serve the Confederate Army have been long awaited. My reasons for such hesitation came from my feelings for Amelia. I have loved her since the moment I laid eyes on her, yet she feels nothing for me. I have confessed my affections for her, asked for her hand in marriage, yet she has rejected my proposals time and time again. I fear I have no other choice than to move on and return to my prior obligations.”
Eugenia placed the letter down on the small table and said, “You are the death of everyone, including this family.”
“How is this my fault?” I cried.
“You have managed to send every man away! I needed Warren Stone here in your father’s absence!”
Eugenia lashed out at me. I held my hands out to shield myself from being struck. Eugenia’s fury became violent. She held me responsible for everything that had ever gone wrong in her life.
“You are an evil presence. You are the devil in disguise. I have asked God to help me, begged him to take you away, yet here you are, instead of my girls. How can this be?”
She hit me several times, striking my face with her large hands, sending me down to the floor. Then she proceeded to kick me in my back.
Box Set: The ArringtonTrilogy Page 24
