I heard the sobs again. It must be Momma, I thought. She was crying again, alone and locked away in her room. But I couldn’t find them and there were no answers. I tried to find my way through the pouring rain, and I fell; I got up, only to fall again. I began to cry, not from pain, but from my loss. I began to remember that Daddy was gone. Momma was gone. I gave up searching for things that could never be, and lay in the mud of a freshly dug grave, allowing the rain to saturate me as I succumbed to the confused anguish that consumed me.
I stared up at the dark, grey, ominous sky looming over Sutton Hall. I stayed in the muddy graveyard until my delusions of the past and present cleared and life as I knew it took me back. But in the time it took for the rain to flood the grounds around the mansion, I realized I had been abandoned once again. My footsteps echoed throughout the mammoth house, and I looked around in disbelief. What little furniture had once been strewn about was gone. I went from empty room to empty room, even back up to the attic; it was all gone—the trunks, the clothes, the broken chairs and tables. Even the old cobwebs had been disrupted by the removal of long stationary items. It had all happened without warning, as quick as the blink of an eye. I was completely alone.
Grandmother was gone; she had forsaken Sutton Hall for good, though her ruthless presence lingered, and there was no sign of Abigail. I looked around for clues, a letter, for any explanation, but found nothing. All I had left was my blood-soaked, fly-ridden bed. I still had the armoire that contained Momma’s dresses and books and a key I no longer needed. The door was open; there was no one left to lock me away anymore.
I wandered through the house, dripping a trail of water behind me and thought I had lost my mind, and was in some kind of strange dream; after all, I did receive a severe blow to the head. Maybe I was dead and wandered the halls the way Jacob-Thomas had, just waiting for someone to call for me.
When I entered what had been Grandmother and Grandfather’s room, I passed a mirror behind the door, obviously accidentally left behind, and saw my own reflection. I looked nothing like an apparition. I was not a ghost; I was very much alive and left to fend for myself, alone. I was no longer a prisoner; I had my freedom and could do as I pleased. I felt much the same way as the former slaves; the doors of sovereignty were opened, but without a place to go, it almost held no value. Then I thought it was up to me to make what I could of the opportunity handed to me. I would go to Warren’s cabin, and there I would wait for him until his return.
I changed into a clean, dry dress, glanced around my prison for what I believed would be the last time, and then made my exit, not looking back. I believed I remembered the way. It didn’t seem long ago that I was brought back to Sutton Hall, bound and gagged, then beaten. I was sure of the direction, and although my walk seemed a hundred times longer, I finally made it to Warren’s tiny cabin.
I didn’t expect him to be there and proceeded up to the small porch. On my walk, I thought about how long he had been gone and figured he could return any day. I was relieved to find the door unlocked.
Everything appeared as it had been when I forcefully taken away. The cabin was untidy; his bed was not made from the last night he slept there. I went to the bed, sat down, and thought about how wonderful such a simple thing as a clean bed was. It still didn’t seem real; I was actually free from the chains of evil that bound me to Sutton Hall. No longer was there a grandmother to fear; in fact, I had nothing to fear any longer. I just needed to wait for Warren, and when he heard what had unfolded to lead me to him, he would want to take me away to start our life together. I could almost feel the ocean breezes against my face as I imagined the days ahead on Cape Cod.
I suspected Warren would make me an honest woman and marry me. It couldn’t happen soon enough, and I sat on his bed and locked my eyes on the door, anticipating his return at any moment.
Day slipped gracefully into night, and though I found myself sitting in the darkness, I kept my stare, unwavering as the hours passed, fixed on the door until morning approached. The bright orange glow of the new day beamed through the small windows of the cabin, onto my face. I closed my eyes, and they remained closed until the sun rose high and morning was fully underway. Still, I was not tired, and had no desire to alter my commitment. I would sit there, eyes wide open and fixed on the door, with all the endurance I had left, until Warren came home. Occasionally, I thought I saw his shadow approach the porch and my heart would stop, but then I’d realize it was just the shadow of a branch and I’d be disappointed, take a breath, and resume my steadfast position.
This went on for as long as I could keep my eyes open, until my lids grew so heavy that sleep won out and I lowered my head and drifted off to sleep, only to wake early into another day, angry with myself. The moment Warren walked through the door, I wanted to see his expression; I wanted to watch his sea green eyes light up and hear him call me to him. That fantasy played over and over again in my mind, so much so that my heart began to race and I became fidgety and restless. After days of sitting I finally got up. My empty stomach had been rumbling, and I decided to go through his cupboards to find something to eat, but there was nothing. So I went outside to the well, drank as much water as I could to fill me up, then went back inside, and returned to my place. Then a wonderful idea came to me. I had noticed a tin tub out on the porch, and I dragged it into the kitchen. I made a small fire and proceeded to heat up some water. I would soak myself, maybe for hours.
As soon as I slipped into the warm bath, I immediately went into a calm, serene state, leaned my head back, and virtually melted into the heat, which felt as if it were taking off the ugly, hideous layers of years spent in the God-awful walls of the house that Grandmother ruled.
The water was just hot enough to remove the filth, the blood, the dirt, and the pain—both inside and out. I had brought a bristled brush in with me and began to scrub every inch of my body, so much so that when I finally decided I was cleansed, my body was red and raw. But to me, it was a good ache; it meant I wouldn’t have to carry the stench of Sutton Hall, and although the scars on my back from the whipping would always be there, I couldn’t see them.
I took a long, deep breath, and after I was dressed and my hair had naturally dried into long, silky waves that cascaded over my shoulders and down my back, I walked out to the porch and fell into the rocker. The day was mild, and for the first time in what seemed like forever, I watched as the birds flew from tree to tree and squirrels gathered nuts and seeds to bury for a feast at a later time. The pale blue skies were filled with white puffy clouds, and I smiled, thinking of Momma and Daddy. They were up there, somewhere, looking down on me. I suspected they were finally happy, since they had been reunited in Heaven. I believed Momma had her sanity back, and Daddy was young again. All seemed well; my life was falling back into place, and I had finally taken the first of a few steps that would return me north. It was only a matter of time before I could visit the Daltons and wander the island, remembering my younger days, which truly were the very best days of my life. The sooner Warren returned, the sooner I could get out of Georgia, leaving my tragic memories behind with the empty house that sat on the once-magnificent plantation.
After days and nights of waiting for Warren, my heart sinking with each passing minute, I decided to go find him. Savannah was only fifteen miles away, and I was sure I could walk there in less than a day. I gathered myself and gingerly headed up the dirt road towards the capital. I was grateful the day was cool and most of the oppressive summer days were behind us. My shoes barely fit; I was a full size larger than Momma had been, and they had holes in them, which allowed pebbles to get in. I occasionally had to stop alongside the road and clean them out. By the fifth time I had done this, I heard a wagon coming in the distance and scurried under some brush so I wouldn’t be detected. I was still leery of strangers; always in the back of my mind, I feared Grandmother had changed her mind, returned to the plantation, and would come for me.
As it drew closer, I realize
d it was an elderly man aboard a large, lumbering mud wagon. He hadn’t spotted me, and I took the opportunity to jump on the back, hide under the cover, and hitch a ride into Savannah. The ride was horribly bumpy, and knocked me about, but I endured and jumped out, undetected, as soon as I heard the horse’s hooves hit the cobblestone city streets. My plan was to go to the railway station, steal into one of the box cars, and make my way to Massachusetts.
Savannah was much more confusing than I remembered. There were streets going in every direction and houses upon houses. I heard the whistle of the train and followed the sound through the bustling streets. People strolled along, finely dressed, and as I passed, they would stare, point, whisper, and giggle. At first, I didn’t understand what they were laughing about or why they mocked me. Then I managed to make out what they were saying.
“Would y’all look at that dress she is wearin’? That girl looks like she is still waiting on Jefferson Davis to rescue us,” a woman snickered.
Among the locals I was out of place, a figure straight out of the war—all because of my clothes. A man even approached and stopped me in my tracks to taunt me.
“Y’all look ready for some debutante ball,” he teased. He was with a few other men, whose eyes scanned me up and down and whose lips, under their bushy moustaches, revealed lustful smiles.
“I’m going to the station,” I said nervously.
“Do y’all realize we did, in fact, lose the war?”
“Please, let me be. This is the only dress I have,” I cried.
They all doubled over with laughter.
“Hey, she ain’t no southern bell. She talks like a Yankee!” one man exclaimed.
They had stopped me in the middle of the busy street and circled me as carriages and buggies whizzed dangerously by. When I heard the steam whistle blow again, I tried to nudge my way out, but the man before me grabbed me and pulled me into him. His breath smelled like the stuff Daddy used to drink. His teeth were yellow and covered in bits of chewing tobacco. I had never seen such a hideous face before.
“Y’all is one of the prettiest little ladies I have ever seen walkin’ these here streets,” he said, then to my astonishment, he reached out and grabbed me.
I gasped and smacked his hand away, on the verge of tears. They continued to laugh as I pushed my way through and ran ahead, darting around horse-drawn wagons and carriages, hearing their laughter until I made it around a corner and up another unfamiliar street.
I stopped and leaned against the brick wall of a general store to catch my breath and calm myself. I was trembling and caught up in my fright. People went in and out, but only gave me strange glances. I wasn’t going to stay but one more minute, when I was again approached by a man, though he was much more dignified and well dressed.
“Young lady, are you lost?” he asked.
“No, sir. I’m on my way to the train station. I’m meeting someone,” I said.
I sensed he was there out of kindness, not to take advantage of me as the other men had.
“Let me take you. There is my carriage,” he said, pointing. It was a fancy carriage. He noticed my uncertainty and hesitation. “Please, allow me to introduce myself. My name is Richard Parker.” He had a northern accent. “I’m a commercial illustrator.”
I didn’t know what a commercial illustrator was.
“I draw images of people for books and magazines,” explained Richard.
“Oh. And you live here?”
He smiled, and with his extended finger, pointed to his place. “I rent a small apartment a block over.”
I noticed a gold wedding band on his left finger, which put me at ease, and I agreed to his offer to take me to the station.
“Thank you, Mr. Parker,” I said, as he assisted me into the carriage, instructing his driver where to go.
“I couldn’t help but notice you,” Richard said. He was a dapper man, just like the men in the photograph I took from the attic. Richard was tall and slender; his hair was thick, dark brown with unmistakable red highlights, and his eyes were a deep copper color.
“I know,” I said, and shifted my eyes to the floor of the carriage. “The dress. It’s the only one I have.”
He gave a light chuckle and patted me on the knee, then said, “It has nothing to do with your dress. I noticed your timeless beauty.” My eyes lifted, and I stared at him. He was amused by my gullibility and innocence. “You don’t even realize how stunning you are, do you?”
“Well, my momma was a beautiful woman, and I was told I look like her,” I replied.
“Then there you have it.” He gave me a long gaze, then said, “I don’t know your name.”
“Lillian.”
“Lillian what?”
“Just Lillian.”
“I see,” Richard said, nodding in understanding.
The carriage approached the station, and I thanked him warmly as the driver came around to assist me out. Richard leaned out of the window and said, “If you ever want to be famous, allow me to draw your image, and the world and its riches will be yours.”
_______________
Chapter Twenty
I stayed by the station, aimlessly wandering about, waiting until the last train was to leave. I planned to jump aboard under the cover of darkness. All day long, people paid very little attention to me; they were all too busy getting to where they needed to go. One conductor did ask me who I was waiting for and glared at me with skepticism when I told him my daddy was arriving on the last train. After that, I stayed hidden behind the station and was grateful when night finally ended the long, drawn-out day.
I prepared to leave, to execute my plan to find Warren, and I was about to make my way to the box cars, when out of the corner of my eye, under the glow of the lamppost, his platinum blond hair caught my attention. My heart skipped a beat when I realized it was Warren! He had returned, and I had seen him before I made a worthless and likely dangerous journey up north.
I immediately called to him and he spun around, then our eyes locked.
“Lillian!” He at once dropped his luggage, opened his arms wide enough for me to fall into, and hugged me tight.
“What are you doing here?” he said into my ear.
“Oh, Warren, if you only knew,” I groaned, and before I had a chance to prepare, I was bawling onto his shoulder.
“What is it? What happened to you?” he asked, pulling back so he could better look at me. I could barely contain my sobs; my chest heaved in and out so hard I could barely catch my breath. The conductor came over to see what was wrong.
“Nothing, sir. We are fine. She’s just a little upset. We’ll be on our way.” He led me off the platform and to the stables, where his horse had been boarded. Once there, he sat me down on a bale of hay then hushed me and caressed my hair as I leaned into his chest. I had broken down and collapsed onto the man who swore he would save me. I had kept that moment bottled up for weeks on end, and he was taken aback; he couldn’t make sense of my jumbled words.
“Slow down,; take a deep breath and tell me why you were at the train station.”
I lifted my head, and noticed his shirt was saturated with my tears. “I’m sorry,” I mumbled.
Warren smiled, and said, “It’s okay.”
I began the tale of what led me to him—the beating, the brutal murder, the hasty abandonment, the tragedy, and my eventual freedom. He looked at me with disbelieving eyes, and I wondered how he could be so stunned; after all, he knew of Grandmother and the evil kingdom she ruled.
When we arrived at his cabin, he hurried me inside and sat me down, and told me how very sorry he was for not being there to help me in my time of need, for not protecting me the way he should have.
“I feel like a good-for-nothing,” he said with sorrowful, defeated eyes.
“It’s not your fault,” I said, reaching for his hand.
He squeezed it, then told me to lay down and get some rest. “I’m sure it has been a long day for you.”
; I agreed, and he allowed me to use one of his shirts to sleep in. We eased into an understanding; Warren slept on the floor, his coat rolled up as a pillow. It was too chilly to sleep out on the porch I insisted.
“Will you tell me everything about Cape Cod in the morning?” I asked, just as I closed my tired eyes.
After a long silence, he said, just before we fell asleep, “What there is to tell you, I will.”
To wake up to the first light of day and have my gaze fall upon Warren, peacefully sleeping on the floor, was almost a dream come true. I felt safe and finally embraced my freedom. My despair was behind me; I no longer had to look over my shoulder and wait for something bad to happen. I had a whole new outlook on life, and I was happy, so much so, that I couldn’t wait for Warren to wake. I needed to hear all about the Cape and when our house would be ready.
I quietly slipped out of bed and went to stand over him. I watched for a while as he slept with a small smile on his rosy lips and breathed softly. Warren appeared years younger when he was like that. I wanted to lie down and cuddle up behind him. I needed to place my lips on the back of his neck and tell him how grateful I was to him, but I contained my eagerness, knowing how important it was to be proper, and woke him with a gentle tap on the shoulder.
Warren rolled over and wiped the sleep from his face, and then a huge smile filled his attractive face. “Hello there,” he said
“Good morning, sleepy head,” I giggled.
“I bet you’re hungry,” he said, sitting up. “I need to get some supplies.”
“How about you go, and I will straighten up while you’re gone? Then, after breakfast, you can tell me everything about your trip.”
Warren agreed and said, “You’re a planner, that’s for sure.”
I took that as a compliment and practically shoved him out the door so I could start cleaning.
Box Set: The ArringtonTrilogy Page 54
