Darkest Hour

by V. C. Andrews

  Upstairs in my room, Mamma gave me a quick little explanation as to why the pain and the bleeding meant I was entering womanhood. It terrified me even more to know that my body had changed in such a way as to make it possible for me to have a baby of my own. I had to know more about it, but any questions I asked, Mamma either ignored or grimaced after and pleaded for us not to talk about such dreadful things. Mamma introduced me to womanly protection and quickly ended our discussion.

  But my curiosity had been aroused. I had to have more information, more answers. I went down to Papa's library, hoping to find something in his medical books. I did find a small discussion about a woman's reproduction system and I learned in more detail about what made the bleeding occur monthly. It was so shocking to have this just happen. I couldn't help but wonder what other surprises lay in waiting for me as I grew older and my body developed more and more.

  Emily poked her head into the library and saw me on the floor, submerged in my reading. I was so involved, I didn't hear her step up to me.

  "That's disgusting," she said, gazing down at the illustration of the female reproduction system. "But I'm not surprised you're looking at it."

  "It is not disgusting. It's scientific information, just like in our books at school."

  "It is not. That sort of thing wouldn't be in our school books," she replied with assurance.

  "Well had to learn what was happening to me. You wouldn't help me," I snapped back. She glared down at me. From this angle on the floor, Emily looked even taller and leaner, her narrow facial features cut so sharply that she looked like she had been carved out of a slab of granite.

  "Don't you know what it really means, why it happens to us?"

  I shook my head and she folded her arms under her chest and lifted her face so her eyes gazed toward the ceiling.

  "It's God's curse because of what Eve did in Paradise. From then on everything to do with childbearing and childbirth was made painful and distasteful." She shook her head and looked down at me again. "Why do you think the pain and the disgustingness has happened to you so early?" she asked, then answered her own question quickly. "Because you're exceptionally evil, you're a living curse yourself."

  "No, I'm not," I said weakly, the tears misting over my eyes. She smiled.

  "Every day another proof is shown," she said triumphantly. "This is just another. Mamma and Papa will come to realize it and send you off to live in a home for wayward girls someday," she threatened.

  "They won't," I said without great confidence. What if Emily was right? She seemed to be right about everything else.

  "Yes they will. They'll have to or else you'll bring one curse after another on us, one disaster after another. You'll see," she promised. She looked at the book again. "Maybe Papa will come in here and see you reading and looking at that disgusting stuff. Keep it up," she said, and spun around to march confidently out of the library. Her final words filled me with more dread. I closed the book quickly and placed it back in its space on the shelf. Then I retreated to my room to contemplate the horrible things Emily had spit down at me. What if she was right? I wondered. I couldn't help but wonder.

  What if she was right?

  My cramps remained so intense, I didn't want to go down to dinner, but Tottie came by with my books and notebooks to tell me Eugenia had been asking after me, wondering why I hadn't stopped in after school. The desire to see her gave me new strength and I went to her to explain. She lay there, as wide-eyed and as amazed as I had been, and listened. When I was finished, she shook her head and wondered aloud if it would ever happen to her.

  "Mamma and the books I read said it happens to all of us," I said.

  "It won't happen to me," she said prophetically. "My body will stay a little girl's body until I die."

  "Don't say such terrible things," I cried.

  "You sound just like Mamma," Eugenia said, smiling. I had to admit that I did, and for the first time since I had come home from school, I smiled.

  "Well, I can't help but sound like her, when you say dark and dreary things."

  Eugenia shrugged.

  "From what you're telling me, Lillian, it doesn't sound so dark and dreary not to have my first period," she replied, and I had to laugh.

  Leave it to Eugenia, I thought, to help me forget my own pain.

  At dinner that night Papa wanted to know why I didn't have much of an appetite and why I looked so pale and sickly. Mamma told him I had begun my woman's ways and he turned and looked at me in the strangest way. It was as if he were seeing me for the first time. His dark eyes narrowed.

  "She's going to be as beautiful as Violet," Mamma said with a sigh.

  "Yes," Papa agreed, surprising me, "she is."

  I glanced across the table at Emily. Her face had turned crimson. Papa didn't think I brought curses and disasters to The Meadows, I thought happily.

  Emily realized that too. She bit down hard on her lower lip.

  "Can I choose the Bible passage tonight, Papa?" she asked.

  "Of course, go on, Emily," he said, folding his large hands on the table. Emily gazed at me and opened the book.

  " 'And the Lord said, Who told thee that thou wast naked? Hast thou eaten of the tree, whereof I commanded thee that thou shouldest not eat?

  " 'And the man said,' " Emily continued, lifting her eyes toward me, " 'the woman whom thou gayest to be with me, she gave me of the tree and I did eat.—' "

  She looked at the Bible again and quickly read how God would punish the serpent. Then, in a louder, clearer voice she read, " 'Unto the woman the Lord said, I will greatly multiply thy sorrow and thy conception; in sorrow thou shalt bring forth children . . .' "

  She closed the book and sat back, a look of satisfaction on her fade. Neither Mamma nor Papa spoke for a moment. Then Papa cleared his throat.

  "Yes, well . . . very good, Emily." He bowed his head. "We thank thee Lord for these gifts."

  He started to eat vigorously, pausing occasionally to glance at me, adding just a little more of confusion to what had been the strangest and most confusing day of my life.

  The changes in me that followed were a great deal more subtle. My bosom continued to sprout a little bit at a time until Mamma remarked one day that I had cleavage.

  "That little dark space between our breasts," she told me in a whisper, "fascinates menfolk."

  She went on to tell me about a female character in one of her books who deliberately sought out ways to reveal and make the most of it. She wore undergarments that would lift and squeeze her breasts, "making them bulge and their cleavages deepen." The very thought of such a thing made my heart pound.

  "The men talked about her behind her back and called her a tease," Mamma said. "You have to be careful from now on, Lillian, that you don't do anything to lead men to believe you're anything like that sort. Those are loose women who never win the respect of a decent man."

  Suddenly, things that seemed so ordinary and insignificant took on new meaning and danger, and Emily assumed a new responsibility, even though I was sure no one had asked her to do so. She as much as told me so on the way to school one morning.

  "Now that you've had your time," she declared, "I'm sure you'll do something to bring shame to our family. I'll be watching you."

  "I will not shame our family," I snapped back. Another subtle change that had come over me was a greater sense of self-confidence. It was as if a wave of maturity had passed over me and left me years older than I had been. Emily wasn't going to terrify me anymore, I thought. But she simply smiled in that self-assured, arrogant way.

  "Yes you will," she predicted. "The evil that's in you will take form every way and every chance it gets." She spun around and walked on in her usual self-righteous manner.

  Of course, I understood that I was under a new spotlight, my every move, my every word judged and evaluated. I had to be sure that each and every button on my blouse was fastened securely. If I stood too closely to a boy, Emily's eyes widened with interest
and followed my every gesture. She was just waiting to pounce, to see an arm graze an arm, a shoulder touch, or, God forbid, my bosom brush against some part of a boy's body, even accidentally in passing. Hardly a day ended without her accusing me of flirting. In her eyes, I either smiled too much or turned my shoulders too suggestively.

  "It's a simple, easy step for you to go from being a Jonah to a Jezebel," she declared.

  "It is not," I retorted, not even sure what she meant. But that night at dinner, she opened the Bible and chose her passage from I Kings. With her eyes fixed on me as furiously as always, she read.

  " 'And it came to pass, as if it had been a light thing for him to walk in the sins of Jerobo-am the son of Ne-bat, that he took to wife Jez-e-bel, the daughter of Eth-ba-al king of the Zi-do-ni-ans, and went and served Ba-al, and worshipped him.' "

  When she was finished reading, I caught Papa looking at me in a strange way again, only this time he looked like he was thinking Emily might be right, I might be the daughter of evil. I became very self-conscious and shifted my eyes away quickly.

  With Emily hovering over me like a hawk about to leap, I found myself torn between the feelings that grew and developed, feelings that made me want to be with boys, especially Niles, and feelings of guilt. If Niles had liked my smile before, he seemed to be hypnotized by me now. I don't think I ever turned around in class without finding him gazing at me, his dark eyes soft and full of interest. I felt myself blush all over, the tingle that rested constantly just under my breasts spiraling turbulently through my stomach and down through my thighs. I thought everyone could see my feelings on my face for sure, and hid my eyes quickly after checking first to be sure Emily wasn't watching. Almost always, she was.

  Now, on our walks home from school, Emily always lingered behind so as to walk behind Niles and me and not ahead. The twins complained about her slow gait, but Emily ignored them or told them to just go on ahead. Of course, Niles felt Emily's eyes, too, and understood that he had to keep a respectable gap between us. If we exchanged books or papers, we had to be sure our fingers didn't touch in front of Emily.

  One afternoon that spring, however, we were granted a respite from Emily's watchful eyes. Miss Walker asked her to remain after school to help her with some paperwork. Emily enjoyed the added responsibility and the sense of power and authority it gave her, so she quickly agreed.

  "Be sure you go right home," she warned me at the door. She looked at Niles and the twins who waited for me. "And be sure you do nothing to bring shame to the Booths."

  "I'm a Booth, too," I spit back at her. She smirked and turned away.

  I was in a rage most of the walk home. The twins, in their usual hurry, walked more quickly than Niles and I did. Before long, they were out of sight. He and I had been practicing our Latin lesson, reciting conjugations back and forth when suddenly he stopped and looked toward a pathway they went off to the right. We were very close to the turnoff to his house.

  "There is a great pond in here," he said. "It's fed by a small waterfall and the water is so clear, you can see the fish swimming in schools. Would you like to see it? It's only a little way in," he said, and then he added, "It's like my own secret place. When I was little, I used to think it was a magical place. I still do," he confessed and shifted his eyes away shyly.

  I couldn't help but smile. Niles wanted to share something secret with me. I was sure he had never told another soul, not even his sisters, how he felt about the pond. I was both flattered and excited by his trust in me.

  "If it's really only a little way in," I said. "I've got to get home."

  "It is," he promised. "Come on." With a bold move, he reached out and took my hand. Then he charged of the road, tugging me along quickly. I laughed and protested, but he kept trotting until suddenly, just as he had promised, we came upon a small pond, hidden in the woods. We stood gazing across the water at the waterfall. A crow swooped down from a tree and glided across. The bushes and grass around the pond looked greener, plusher than everywhere else, and the water was uniquely clear. I could see the schools of small fish moving with such synchronization that they looked like they had rehearsed an underwater ballet. A large bullfrog on a half-submerged log gazed at us and then croaked.

  "Oh Niles," I said. "You were right. This is a magical place!'

  "I thought you'd like it," he said, smiling. He was still holding my hand. "I always come here when something makes me sad and in moments, I feel happy again. And you know what," he said, "if you want to make a wish for something, just kneel down, put the tips of your fingers into the water, close your eyes and wish."

  "Really?"

  "Go on," he coaxed. "Try it."

  I took a deep breath and thought I'd wish for something titillating. I wished that Niles and I could exchange a kiss. I couldn't help myself because when I closed my eyes, I saw us doing it. After I dipped my fingers in the water, I stood up again and opened my eyes.

  "You can tell me your wish if you want," he said. "It won't stop it from coming true."

  "I can't," I said. I don't know if I was blushing or if he could see my wish in my eyes, but he looked like he understood.

  "You know what I did yesterday?" he said. "I came here and wished that somehow, I would be able to get you to come here and see the pond. And look," he said, holding out his arms. "You're here. Do you want to tell me your wish now?" I shook my head. "I wished for something else," he said. His eyes turned softer, meeting and locking with mine. "I wished that you would be the first girl I ever kissed."

  The moment he said it, I felt my heart stop and then begin to pound. How could he have wished for the same thing and at this very spot? Was this really a magical pond? I looked at the water again and then turned back to him. I saw his eyes, his dark eyes wistfully waiting, and I closed mine. With my heart thumping, I started to lean toward him and then felt the soft, warm touch of his lips on mine. It was a quick kiss, almost too quick to believe it had happened, but it had. When I opened my eyes, I found him still so close, his lips could touch mine in an instant again. He opened his eyes, too, and then he stepped back.

  "Don't be angry," he said quickly. "I couldn't help myself."

  "I'm not angry."

  "You're not?"

  "No." I bit down on my lips and then I confessed it. "I wished for the same thing," I said, and turned quickly to run back up the path before my heart burst. I charged out on the road, gasping for breath. My hair had broken loose and fell about my forehead and cheeks. For a moment I was so excited, I didn't see her. But when I turned and looked in the direction of the school, there was Emily, plodding along. She stopped in her tracks. A moment later, Niles emerged from the woods, too.

  And my heart which had become as light as a feather turned into a lump of lead. Without hesitation, I ran all the way home, Emily's accusing eyes chasing me. I could hear her screaming, "Jezebel," even after I had closed the door behind me.

  5

  FIRST LOVE

  I sat on my bed in my room, shivering with fear. I didn't see Mamma when I walked into the house, but when I passed Papa's office, I saw the door was opened and I caught a glimpse of him working at his desk, a spiral of smoke rising from his big cigar in the ashtray, his tumbler of bourbon and mint beside it. He didn't look up from his papers. I hurried upstairs and fixed my hair, but no matter how hard I scrubbed my cheeks, I couldn't get the redness out of them. I would look guilty and ashamed for the rest of my life, I thought. And why? What did I do that was so terrible?

  If anything, I thought, it had been wonderful. I had kissed a boy . . . full on the lips and for the first time! It hadn't been like it was in Mamma's romance novels. Niles hadn't put his arms around me and pulled me to him, sweeping me off my feet; but to me, it was just as exciting as those long, famous kisses the women in Mamma's books always had, their hair blowing in the wind or the shoulders bare so that the man's lips would find the way to them over their necks. The thought of his doing that both frightened

 
and excited me. Would I swoon? Would I grow limp in his arms and become helpless like the women in Mamma's novels?

  I sprawled out on my bed to dream about it, to dream about Niles and me and . . .

  Suddenly, I heard the sound of heavy footsteps in the hallway, but it wasn't Emily's and it wasn't Mamma's. It was Papa's heavy steps. The click of his boot heels on the wooden floor were unmistakable. I sat up quickly and held my breath, expecting him to go by to his bedroom, but he paused at my door and a moment later, opened it and stepped in, closing the door softly behind him.

  Papa rarely came to my room. I thought I could count the times on my fingers when he had. Once, Mamma brought him in to show him where she wanted some work done on my closets, claiming they had to be expanded. Then when I'd had the measles, he came just inside the doorway to see me, but he hated being around sick children, and visited with Eugenia only a little more than he did with me. Whenever he did step into my room, I remember thinking how big he was and how small my things looked beside him. It was like Gulliver in Lilliput, I thought, recalling the story I had just recently read.

  But Papa always seemed different to me in different rooms. He was most uncomfortable in the living room with all of its dainty furnishings and accoutrements. It was as if he thought his merely touching Mamma's expensive vases and figurines with his big hands and thick fingers would crumble them to dust. He looked very ill at ease on the silk settee or in the thin-framed, high-backed chair. He wanted his furniture thick, wide, firm and heavy, and he roared with displeasure every time Mamma complained about the way he plopped down in one of her expensive French Provencal chairs.

  He never raised his voice in Eugenia's room. He moved about it reverently. I knew that he was just as afraid of touching Eugenia as he was of touching Mamma's precious things. But he was never one to show great affection. If he kissed Eugenia or me when we were little girls, it was always a quick peck on the cheek, his lips snapping on our skin. And then, as if it made him choke to do so, he always had to clear his throat. I never saw him kiss Emily. He behaved the same way toward Mamma, never holding her or kissing her, never embracing her in any loving way in our presence. She didn't seem to mind though, so Eugenia and I, whenever we discussed it, simply assumed that that was the way things should be between husband and wife, no matter what we read in books. However, I couldn't help but wonder if that was why Mamma loved her romance novels so much—it was the only place she found any romance.