Secrets of the Morning

by V. C. Andrews

  I saw that the hem of her shift was torn and frayed and she was wearing what looked like a man's leather bedroom slippers with no stockings or socks. Her ankles were thick, even swollen, with little pink bumps around them.

  "Well you've met her, now go on back and do your needlework," Miss Emily commanded.

  "I do needlework," Charlotte said proudly. "I made all the nice towels and washcloths and Emily's got some hanging in frames in Daddy's office, don'tcha, Emily?"

  "For God's sake, don't make a fool of yourself first chance you get,. Charlotte. This isn't the time to talk about your needlework. Just go do it."

  "I'll be happy to look at some of it later," I told her. Her eyes brightened and her smile widened. She clapped her hands together again.

  "We'll have mint julep tea," she said excitedly.

  "Not tonight," Miss Emily said, practically shouting now. "It's too late for that. I'm showing Eugenia her room so she can go to sleep. She's tired."

  "Eugenia! My name's not Eugenia," I cried. "My name is Dawn."

  "My sister told me your name was Eugenia. What difference does it make here anyway?" she snapped and started down right.

  "It makes a big difference to me," I stated. All the while I had been at the hotel, Grandmother Cutler had tried to force me to accept the name Eugenia, the name of another one of her sisters, one who had died of smallpox. She had even gone so far as to cut off all food to me until I accepted the name, but I refused and she gave up when I discovered how she had arranged for my abduction.

  Now that I was in trouble and desperate, she was going to have her way with me.

  "Come along," Miss Emily ordered.

  "Good night, Charlotte," I said. "I guess I will see you in the morning."

  "I guess you will," she said and laughed again. She plucked up her skirt with her fingers and spun around. "I'm wearing Daddy's slippers," she cried.

  "Charlotte!" Miss Emily screamed.

  Charlotte dropped her skirt and gazed with frightened eyes in Miss Emily's direction. Then she spun around and hurried off in the opposite direction, that peal of childlike laughter trailing behind her.

  "Come," Miss Emily repeated, glaring angrily in Charlotte's direction for a moment. Then she turned abruptly and we went down a long corridor to the right and turned a corner which took us down another corridor toward the rear of the building. The house was truly enormous. With its long, wide hallways dark, however, I couldn't appreciate any of the old artwork or the antique mirrors and tables. Above us hung unlit chandelier after chandelier, their crystal bulbs all looking more like pieces of ice in the dim light of the kerosene lamp. As we walked, I noticed that the doors to all the rooms, and there seemed to be an endless number, were all shut tight. I knew that some had been closed for a long time because there were cobwebs between the doors and the jambs.

  Finally, Miss Emily stopped at an opened doorway and waited for me to approach.

  "This is where you will stay," she said, holding the light so that I could gaze into the room.

  It had to be one of the smaller ones, I thought. There was a narrow bed against the wall on the left. It had no headboard. It was just a mattress on a metal frame. Beside it was a bare night stand with a kerosene lamp. The floors of the room were wooden slats covered by a small, dark blue oval rug at the foot of the bed. The walls were dark gray. The remaining furniture was simple—a plain dresser with nothing on it and a small table with two chairs. There were no mirrors. I saw a closet on the right with two empty hangers dangling inside and there was another door down right.

  "This is your bathroom," Miss Emily said, directing the light of the kerosene lamp at that door. "All right, go on in," she ordered.

  I walked in slowly ahead of her. Even my little room away from the family at the Cutler's Cove Hotel was a palace compared to this, I thought. And then I realized what it was that made the room so depressing. There was no window. How could there be a room without a window?

  "Why isn't there a window?" I asked. She didn't reply. Instead she went to the dresser, put her lamp on top, and pulled open the top drawer. She reached in and drew out a plain gray gown made of cotton. It reminded me of a hospital gown. She tossed it on the bed.

  "Put this on when we're finished," she said. "Finished?"

  "This is your light," she said, indicating the small lamp on the night stand. "The matches are here," she said, picking them up and then putting them down. "You have just so much kerosene a week so don't waste it."

  "Isn't there any place nicer?" I asked. "There's no window here."

  "It isn't for you to choose your room," she said sharply. "This isn't a hotel."

  "But why was a room made without a window?" I pursued. She put her hands on her hips and glared at me.

  "If you must know, this room was built long after the house had been completed. It was built especially for sick people, to keep them isolated from the others," she said. "Especially during the terrible smallpox epidemics and the epidemic of Spanish flu."

  "But I'm not sick; I'm pregnant. Being pregnant isn't being sick," I protested, tears now burning under my eyelids.

  "Pregnant like you are without a husband is the same as being sick," she replied. "There are all sorts of sicknesses, sicknesses of the soul as well as of the body. Disgrace can weaken and kill a person as quickly as any disease. Now take off your clothes so I can see how far along you are."

  "What?" I stepped back.

  "I told you; I have been a midwife. Everyone for miles and miles around here calls me instead of any doctor. I've delivered dozens of babies and all safely and well, except for those that were sick in the mother's stomach. Quickly," she snapped. "I have other things to do yet tonight."

  "But it's so cold in here," I complained. "Where is the heat?"

  "You have an extra blanket under the bed if you need it. Before I go to sleep," she added in a relenting voice, "I will bring you a hot water bottle. That's how we all sleep here and always have. We save the wood and coal for the stove in the kitchen. I've only got Luther now and I can't have him chopping wood all day to keep this house warm and coal costs money."

  She lit the kerosene lamp on the night stand and turned expectantly toward me.

  "I thought I would have a doctor," I said, "and be taken to a hospital at the right time. I was recently in an accident. I was hit by a car and I just got out of a hospital," I added, but she simply stared at me as if I hadn't said a word, stared and waited, her eyes fixed on me with the same cold, glassy glaze Grandmother Cutler had.

  "I can't do what has to be done for you if I don't know what you need," she finally said.

  "What do you want?" I asked.

  "Take off your clothes and come stand here by me in the light," she ordered. She folded her arms under her small bosom and threw back her shoulders, her head high and arrogant again.

  Slowly, reluctantly, I peeled off my coat and began to unbutton my blouse.

  "I told you, I have many other things to do tonight," she snapped. "Can't you move any faster?"

  "My fingers are cold," I said.

  "Humph." She stepped forward and pulled my fingers away from my buttons roughly. Then she began to take off my clothing herself. She nearly skinned my arms when she unfastened my bra and drew the straps over my shoulders and down past my elbows. After she undid my skirt, she gave me a small push so I would step out of it. I stood before her in the pale glow of the kerosene lamps, my arms crossed over my naked breasts, shivering. All I wore were my panties and boots and socks.

  Miss Emily circled me slowly, squeezing her narrow chin between her thumb and forefinger. As she drew closer, I saw the pockmarks in her cheeks and in her forehead. It looked like someone had taken sandpaper to her skin; it was that dry. Her eyebrows were thick and untrimmed and she had small dark hairs growing freely above her upper lip.

  Suddenly, when she stood behind me, I felt her frosty, callous fingers on my sides. I started to move forward, but she pressed harder to hold me in pla
ce. I moaned in pain.

  "Stand still," she commanded. She widened her hands so that they stretched around toward my belly button. Her cold, bony fingers felt more like wires. She continued to press and squeeze, which was starting to make me nauseous. I gathered she was measuring the size of my stomach. Then she pulled her hands away and came around in front of me.

  Without speaking, she seized my wrists and pulled my arms from my bosom, holding them up as she gazed freely at my breasts. I saw her steel-gray eyes narrow as she leaned toward me to look closer. She nodded and released her hold on my wrists. Instinctively, my arms fluttered like broken bird wings and I brought my hands to my throat, pressing one on top of the other as I stared into Miss Emily's hard face.

  This close her features looked chiseled from stone, the nose cut sharply, her thin lips sliced across a granite visage. A chilling shiver raced down my spine, making me want to run and hide.

  "Take off those ridiculous underpants," she commanded. I knew she was referring to the lace trim.

  "I'm cold," I complained.

  "The longer you procrastinate, the longer it takes and the longer you remain naked."

  Reluctantly, too tired and weak to offer any resistance, I did as she commanded. She told me to lie down on my back and then she brought the kerosene lamp to the foot of the bed so the light fell over my naked body. She took my ankles firmly in those strong hands and pulled my legs apart. I closed my eyes and prayed for the examination to end quickly.

  "As I expected, it will be a hard birth," she declared. "The first birthing is always the hardest, but when you're young, it's even harder."

  "You know why that is?" she asked, dropping my feet and stepping up to the side of the bed so she could gaze down at me. I shook my head. "It's because of Eve's sin in Paradise. Because of that all women have been cursed with the pain of labor. You will pay dearly for your fleeting moments of iniquitous pleasure."

  She lifted the kerosene lamp high and held it above me. With her face so fully bathed in the light, it looked like it, too, was on fire. Her eyes blazed down. I had to shield my eyes.

  "And when you conceive out of wedlock," she continued, "that pain and labor is even more horrendous."

  "I don't care," I cried. "I'm not afraid."

  She nodded and then those pencil-thin lips curled up at the corners as she slowly lowered the light.

  "We'll see how brave you are when your time comes, Eugenia," she spat.

  "Don't call me Eugenia. My name is Dawn." She stopped smiling.

  "Put on your gown and get to bed," she ordered. "We're wasting kerosene. I'll return with your hot water bottle."

  She gathered my clothing quickly.

  "What are you doing with my clothes? Those things are all I have .right now."

  "They have to be washed, purified. Don't worry, I'll keep them safely for you," she said, rolling everything into one ball within her embrace.

  "But . . . I want my things. We've got to find out about my things," I demanded.

  "Oh stop whining," she snapped, eyes blazing furiously. "You're just like all the other young girls today . . . I want; I want; I want! Well look at what your I want has done for you," she spat. "Put on your gown," she repeated and turned and started out.

  It was so cold, I had no choice but to quickly pull the ugly gown over my head. It smelled like mothballs and felt rough against my skin. I knelt down and looked under the bed for the blanket she had told me would be there. I dragged it out and shook it. Dust particles flew everywhere. Then I pulled back the cover sheet on the narrow bed. The bed sheet looked clean, but was cold and rough to the touch. I was shivering too much to care and quickly slipped into the bed and drew the blanket over me.

  It seemed to take forever for Miss Emily to return. I was beginning to think she wouldn't when, finally, she appeared with a hot water bottle wrapped in a white towel. She thrust it at me and I took it gratefully and brought it to my trembling body. The warmth felt like a gentle pair of hands quickly wiping away the cold.

  "It's so cold here," I said. "I'll only get sick."

  "Of course you won't get sick. If anything, you will get stronger. Difficulties and hardships toughen us and allow us to battle the devil and his followers. Life was too soft and easy for you; that's why you got into trouble," she declared.

  "My life was far from easy. You don't know anything about me," I cried, but I was weak and tired from the trip, the cold and the entire ordeal. My words had no fire. They sounded terribly pathetic, even to me.

  "I know enough about you," she said. "If you behave and you are cooperative, we will succeed and you will have a second chance, but if you persist in being a spoiled young lady, you will make things harder for both of us and, eventually, impossible for you. Do I make myself quite clear?" She was waiting for my response. "Well?"

  "Yes," I said, "but in the morning I want to go to the general store and call to find out where my things are. I need my things," I insisted. "Luther will drive me."

  "Luther doesn't have time to spend on nonsense. He has his chores. It was hard enough for him to leave to get you. As it is he will have to work well into the night to make up for it. One final thing," she said, approaching the bed. I could only lie there all cramped up around the water bottle, borrowing from its warmth.

  "I don't want you having much to do with Charlotte or encouraging her to say or do any of her silly things. You are not to pay attention to her," she warned. "Don't listen to any of the stupid things she says."

  "What's wrong with her?" I asked.

  "The same thing that will probably be wrong with your offspring," she replied.

  "Why?"

  "She, too, was born out of wedlock, the result of one of my father's sexual indiscretions. As a result she is an idiot," Miss Emily spat. "I keep her only because . . . she has no other place to go. Besides, it would be a disgrace to put her someplace because she still carries the Booth name.

  "Anyway," she said, that sneer forming, "now you know what you have to look forward to," she added, and before I could respond, she bent over and blew out the kerosene lamp beside my bed. Then, she started away with her own, closed the door and left me in pitch darkness.

  I began to sob.

  Perhaps Miss Emily was right, I thought; perhaps I was a terrible sinner.

  For surely, I was now as close as I could be to hell on earth.

  13

  UGLY REALITIES

  "Get up, get up, get out of bed, you silly, silly sleepy head," I heard someone sing.

  I unfolded myself slowly. I had been sleeping with my body as tight as a fist, the hot water bottle against my stomach. My muscles ached as I stretched out. Then I peered over the blanket toward the door. It was open, but there was no one there. Had I dreamt it?

  Someone giggled.

  "Who's there?" I asked, sitting up and embracing myself. Without the morning light through a window, the room was still quite dark, but there was some light coming through a window in the corridor.

  "Who is it?" I demanded. When she giggled again, I recognized the childlike tones. "Charlotte?"

  She stepped into the doorway. Her hair was still tied into two thick braids and she still wore the same faded pink shift with the yellow ribbon belt. I saw she continued to wear her father's old slippers, too.

  "Emily sent me to fetch you. She says you should have been up and down to breakfast already," she added, forming as serious a face as she could. "Besides," she said, changing her expression quickly to a smile, "today is my birthday."

  "Is it? That's very nice. Happy birthday," I said, yawning. I had had one of the worst nights of sleep ever. Every part of my body ached, from the back of my neck to my ankles. I was as stiff as a wet blouse frozen on a winter clothes line.

  I swung my legs over the bed and found my boots. The insides were so cold it was like stepping into a puddle of ice water. I couldn't stop rubbing my arms. Charlotte stood there staring at me and smiling.

  "How old are you, today?" I
asked. Her smile evaporated quickly.

  "Oh, that's not nice. You shouldn't ask a lady how old she is," she chastised, suddenly sounding remarkably like Miss Emily. "It's not good etiquette," she recited.

  "I'm sorry."

  "But we will have a cake and you can sing 'Happy Birthday' to me. We're going to have guests, too," she added. "All the neighbors and cousins and people from as far away as Hadleyville. Even Lynchburg!"

  "That's very nice. I'm looking forward to it," I said. I lit the kerosene lamp so there would be some more light and carried it to the bathroom. "I'll be right out," I said.

  The door didn't open easily. I had to tug and tug on it. Once I opened it and looked in, I thought it would have been better had I not been able to open it. The bathroom consisted of a small, rust-stained sink and a toilet with a cracked toilet seat. A lump of lard soap lay on the edge of the sink. There was a dark gray towel and a dark gray washcloth on a wooden rack above the sink, but there was no mirror, no tub, no shower. The floor had a yellowish linoleum on it, but it was peeled and cracked in the corners and around the toilet.

  I closed the door behind me and went to the bathroom. Then I turned on the faucet marked hot, but nothing came out of it. Water only flowed from the faucet marked cold, and that water had a brown tint to it. I let it run, but it didn't clear up. Finally, having no choice, I wet the washcloth and washed my face using the horrible soap.

  I realized I had no brush for my hair. I had had a comb in my purse, but Miss Emily had taken everything last night. I ran my fingers through my hair, which already felt dirty and scraggly and then emerged from the bathroom.

  Charlotte was sitting on the bed, her hands folded in her lap. She smiled up at me. Her complexion was much softer than Miss Emily's, and there was even a bit of a rosy tint in her plump cheeks.