Secrets of the Morning

by V. C. Andrews

  The wind made a loose shutter clack and the sound of it reverberated down the hall. Charlotte closed her eyes quickly and then stepped back, a shivering thought filling her eyes with terror.

  "I have to return to my room," she said. "Emily will be angry if she knows I'm here bothering you."

  "You're not bothering me. Don't go," I begged. The shutter clacked again. She turned quickly and walked out. "Charlotte!" I called, but she didn't return.

  Charlotte was the only one here to talk to and Miss Emily had her terrified of doing so. I might as well be in some jail, I thought. I couldn't have a warden more cruel than Miss Emily and why? Because I had fallen in love too quickly and had been too trusting. My sin was believing in someone, I thought. Well, I would defy her; I would write my letter to Trisha and get it mailed even if I had to mail it myself.

  I rose from my bed with new determination, hid the baby's rattle again and went back down to the kitchen where I sat and rewrote my letter to Trisha. Only this time, I told her all the ugly details. My tears splattered on the page as I wrote as quickly as I could.

  Dear Trisha,

  I've been trying to get in touch with you for months, but Grandmother Cutler's horrible sister Emily has kept me from doing so. There is no phone here so I cannot call and letters have to be taken miles to a place called Upland Station. Emily has also forbidden having my things sent here. She took my clothing the day I arrived and put it through some purification process that involved boiling and burying it and I haven't seen it or my purse since. I'm forced to wear an ugly sack gown and nothing else, not even underwear! At night I sleep with a hot water bottle to keep warm in a cold, dark, windowless room. I have a kerosene lamp for light, but I'm only given a small bit of kerosene that must last a whole week so I don't burn it as much as I'd like to for fear I'll be left in the dark for days and days.

  All I do is work in the house, cleaning and polishing and dusting. I don't even have time to read, and if I did, I would be too exhausted anyway. I've grown bigger and bigger and my back has been bothering me more and more, but Miss Emily doesn't care. I think she enjoys seeing me in pain; she thinks the more I suffer, the more I will be remorseful.

  I couldn't give you this exact address when I left New York because I didn't know it. I need you to do me a favor. I am enclosing Daddy Longchamp's address. He's the only person I can turn to now since Jimmy is still in Europe, I think, and anyway, has no idea where I am. Please contact Daddy Longchamp and tell him how desperate I am. I must get out of here. Miss Emily is a religious fanatic and her sister is mentally simple and helpless like me.

  You don't know how much I miss you and our wonderful talks. I realize now more than ever how much of a friend you were to me and how much I love you. I miss the school, too, and most of all, I miss singing and music. There is no music in this house, except church music. According to Miss Emily, everything else is the devil's work. She sees him everywhere except where she should see him—in the mirror.

  At this point I would even gladly choose to be living with Agnes again. No matter how weird she behaved at times, she was at least human.

  Once again, I miss you.

  Love,

  Dawn

  I stuck the letter into one of the envelopes I had found in the library one day. After I addressed it, I went back upstairs quietly and folded my one blanket as tightly as I could to conceal it under my dress. It would serve as my coat, since my coat was one of the articles of clothing boiled and buried. Then I started out, practically tiptoeing down the stairs. Miss Emily was still immersed in her work in the library. I saw the dim illumination from her kerosene lamp spilling out the doorway. Even so, I paused, waited to be sure she hadn't heard me, and then I walked rapidly to the front door. It squeaked terribly when I started to open it, so I opened it as slowly as I could, an inch at a time. As soon as there was a wide enough space, I slipped out and unfolded the blanket quickly and wrapped it around my body.

  The late February air was still quite cold, especially with the sun buried behind the sea of soiled thick clouds spreading from one horizon to another. It was already late in the day as well. When I looked down the long driveway and off in the direction of the dirt road, I felt a deep pang of discouragement. The world looked so unfriendly. Trees were still bare; the grass and brush was still brown and yellow. I saw only black birds sitting as still as stuffed trophies on the bare branches and staring down at me with a distrusting air.

  I had so far to go just to mail a letter, I thought. But I was determined to do it.

  I clutched the blanket to my bosom and started away. Snow began to fall just as I reached the end of the long driveway. The flakes came down in tiny particles at first and gradually grew larger and larger. Parts of the roadway were soft and parts were so frozen hard and rocky my feet slipped and slid in the shoe boots I wore without socks. The cold air easily found openings in my blanket and rushed up and through my simple dress. I shuddered and tried walking faster and harder to keep warm.

  If only someone would come along, I thought. I began to pray for it even though I knew this was a road built mainly to serve The Meadows. The sky grew darker and darker, but the snowflakes became whiter and larger. Caught up in a rough wind, the flakes were soon whirling about me, slapping me in the face and falling so hard and fast I had to walk with my eyes closed most of the time.

  Unfamiliar with the road, I stumbled and fell over a large bump. I screamed and threw out my hands to break my fall. I landed on some gravel and skinned my palms badly. The impact shook me something terribly too and for a moment I thought I would be unable to get myself up. I felt a terrible pain shoot through my lower abdomen.

  Oh, no, I thought, the baby. I struggled to my hands and knees and caught my breath. With the blanket open and mostly off, I was fully exposed to the wind and the snow. The icy flakes were falling down the back of my neck. I realized I had dropped my letter to Trisha, and had to search for it. After I found it, I stood up and took deep breaths as I clutched the blanket to my body. The pain in my abdomen subsided, but now my palms stung like there were needles jabbed in them.

  I started to sob. I had only made things worse for myself, I thought. As I took renewed steps forward, I felt a pain in my lower back. It grew sharper and wider with every moment. I had to pause to catch my breath, but even then, the pain did not diminish. The pain began to spread around my sides toward my stomach. It felt like I was in the grip of fingers of steel, squeezing. I panicked and started to run. The snow was so heavy I could barely see in front of me anymore. I fell again, and again I scraped my hands.

  This time when I stood up, I spun around in confusion.

  It had grown so dark so quickly, I thought. Was I heading in the right direction? Should I have turned left or right? My panic grew. I started in one direction and then stopped and started in another. Then, terrified that I was lost and would die in the cold, I broke into a trot, my stomach bouncing so hard, I had to keep my hands under it and consequently lost my blanket off my shoulders. But I didn't stop to retrieve it. I kept running and running and running. My foot got stuck in a soft part of the road and when I pulled up, it came right out of my shoe. It seemed as if the very earth were trying to swallow me up. I was so panicked I didn't even notice I was running with a bare right foot. I ran on and on until I was gasping for breath and had to stop. Then, clutching my stomach, the pain excruciating everywhere on my body, I fell to my knees and sobbed and sobbed.

  Suddenly, I heard the sound of an engine and looked up. I screamed just as Luther's truck came to a stop directly in front of me, the bumper of the truck nearly touching my face. He got out and helped me to my feet, but I was mostly in a daze, my hands and feet numb with cold. He lifted me up and carried me around to put me into the truck. My head fell back against the window. My teeth were chattering so hard I thought they would break. He threw the old brown blanket over me and backed the truck down the road a few hundred yards and turned back into the driveway. Apparently, I hadn
't gotten very far; I had been running in circles.

  Luther drove up to the rear of the plantation house and carried me through the back door. Miss Emily, with Charlotte at her side, her face aghast, stood like a sentinel, her arms crossed under her small bosom.

  "You little fool," she said. "You foolish little fool. Just lucky for you, Luther happened to gaze down the road and see you running about like a chicken with its head chopped off. You should have yours chopped off for this."

  She nodded at Luther and he took me into the pantry and lowered me to the tub. Then he left and Miss Emily stepped up to pull off my wet and soiled dress. I couldn't stop shivering; my teeth continued to clatter. Luther brought in pail after pail of warm water. As the level built and more of my body was covered, I began to feel a deep fatigue in my lower limbs. No longer concerned about my nudity, I lay back and let Luther pour the warm water over my shoulders and breasts. Finally, Miss Emily declared it had been enough.

  "Get out," she commanded and held up a towel. I rose slowly and, with Charlotte's help, stepped out of the tub. Miss Emily wrapped the towel around me quickly.

  "You've lost a shoe, I see," she said. "You'll have to do without it and go barefoot now. I don't bear fools and sinners easily. March up to your room," she commanded.

  My legs barely carried me along. The cold floor under my bare feet made it feel as if I were walking over a frozen pond. Charlotte held my arm as I started through the kitchen, but Miss Emily gave me no assistance. I struggled to climb the stairs, getting so dizzy at one point, I thought I would faint and roll down the steps. I reached out frantically and grabbed the banister.

  "Just move on," Miss Emily said, her words like a whip striking my naked shoulders. I took a deep breath and continued. When I reached my horrid room, I remembered I no longer had a blanket. As soon as Miss Emily lit the kerosene lamp, she saw that immediately.

  "You lost your blanket out there, didn't you. I should leave you without one just so you would learn your lesson," she said.

  I didn't have the strength to talk back. I crawled under the sheet and pulled it up to my mouth, wishing I could pull it over my head and die.

  "Go bring her another blanket," she ordered Charlotte and ranted and raved about my ingratitude and how much more difficult I was making an already horrible situation. I kept my eyes closed until Charlotte returned with the blanket and spread it over me.

  "Thank you, Charlotte," I said in a voice barely strong enough to sound more than a whisper. She smiled.

  "Leave her," Miss Emily said. When Charlotte left the room, she stepped up to me. "Where did you think you were going in this weather?" she demanded.

  "I wanted to mail my letter," I said.

  "Yes, your letter."

  I looked up and saw she had opened the envelope and taken out the letter.

  "You had no right to open the envelope and read that," I said.

  "Again, you tell me what I have a right to do and not to? How dare you tell someone I should look into the mirror to see the devil? How dare you call me a religious fanatic and say I'm not human? How dare you call anyone else names anyway, you who bear the mark of sin? And who is this . . . this Daddy Longchamp? Is this the man who kidnapped you when you were a baby? Why would you want to contact such a person?" she asked when I didn't reply.

  "Because unlike you and Grandmother Cutler, he's good," I said.

  "Good? A man who steals babies is good? There's no question as to whether or not the devil is inside of you. The question is will you ever get him out?"

  "The devil is in you, not me," I muttered. I couldn't keep my eyes open. "He's in you . . ." My voice trailed off.

  Miss Emily droned on and on, spinning her talk about the devil and hell and my ingratitude into a blanket of venom and hate to throw over me. After a while I didn't hear words, just the droning and I fell into a deep sleep.

  I awoke hours later in the darkness and for a moment, I didn't know where I was. But the aches in my arms and legs and shoulders helped refresh my memory. I groaned and turned in the bed. And then I heard the sound of a match and saw a single candle lit. The eerie amber light illuminated Miss Emily's face. She had been sitting in the dark near me waiting for me to stir awake. She leaned toward me. My heart began to pound as she brought her face closer and closer to mine.

  "I have prayed over you," she said in a hoarse whisper. "And I have watched over you, but unless you repent of your ways, the devil won't release his grip on you. I want you to recite the Lord's Prayer now and every night, do you understand? Make the vessel of your body an unfriendly place for the devil to reside.

  Pray!" she commanded, her eyes two glowing embers.

  "I'm tired," I said. "I'm so tired . . ."

  "Pray," she repeated. "Drive the devil back into hell. Pray, pray, pray," she chanted.

  "Our Father," I began, my lips trembling, "who art in Heaven . . ."

  I couldn't remember the words and she claimed that it was the devil who was making me forget. She made me repeat it until I recited it perfectly and then she blew out the candle between us and slipped out through the darkness like one who was well acquainted with the night and the shadows and all the dark thoughts that haunt us in our most troubled moments.

  I fell asleep again, not sure whether what had happened was a nightmare or not.

  15

  NEVER-ENDING NIGHTMARES

  In the days and weeks that followed, I felt myself slowly but surely becoming more and more numb. I was deadened and dulled, moving about the plantation house like a robot, without feeling, uncaring, hardly seeing or hearing anything or anyone around me. It was as if the terrible cold that had engulfed me so viciously that afternoon when I had tried to walk to Upland Station still had a grip on me. I grew used to the house of darkness, the long shadows and the deep silences. I no longer glared defiantly at Miss Emily or challenged her authority and orders with questions. Whatever she told me to do, I did. Wherever she told me to go, I went.

  One day she had me take out each and every volume in the library and dust the book jackets and the shelves. There were hundreds of books, some never touched for years and years, their pages so yellow and brittle they crumbled in my fingers if I pressed them too hard. I was there all afternoon and didn't even finish by the time the sun had begun to fall behind the trees outside the window. Miss Emily made me return after I had cleaned up the dinner dishes. I had to work by kerosene lamp and didn't finish until nearly midnight.

  Exhausted, I pulled myself up the stairway and found myself grateful even for my decrepit room and bed. But I overslept the next morning, and when I didn't appear when I was supposed to, Miss Emily came up and poured a glass of ice cold water on my head. I screamed and jerked myself up abruptly out of a dead sleep. I felt something tear in my rib cage. The pain was excruciating, but Miss Emily wasn't interested.

  "Sloth is one of the seven deadly sins," she declared as she hovered over me. "Rise early and be at your chores promptly and you will provide no sinful flesh for the devil to gnaw upon. Now dry yourself and come right down to the kitchen," she ordered.

  Even at this outrage, I didn't moan. My flag of pride remained unfurled; my dignity lay at my feet. I was tugged from chore to chore, room to room. I let myself be ridiculed and made an example whenever Miss Emily decided to preach to us at the dinner table. One Sunday, she made me the subject of the service in the make-shift chapel. I thought I was even beginning to see a look of pity for me in both Luther's and Charlotte's eyes.

  But I felt helpless and lost. My mother never had inquired about me and I had been unable to contact Trisha or Jimmy or Daddy Longchamp. All that mattered now was putting in the time that remained and giving birth to a healthy and beautiful child, Michael's child.

  Visions of the baby provided my only pleasant moments. Sometimes I would stop whatever I was doing and place both my palms over my stomach. I'd close my eyes and imagine the baby's little face. In my mind I saw a girl. She had my blond hair, but Michael's dark
sapphire eyes. She had a robust little pink face and a happy disposition. I couldn't wait for the moment when I would hold her in my arms.

  Despite the horrid circumstances and the tragic blows dealt me by the hand of fate, I foresaw only good things after the baby's birth. She would precipitate a change of luck. Somehow, I would make us a good life together and she would grow up to be beautiful and good. I could daydream for hours and hours about the two of us walking hand in hand in the sunshine on some beautiful beach.

  Of course, I began to think about names. I had considered naming her after Momma Longchamp, but now I decided she should have an identity free of anyone else, an identity purely her own. Every chance I got, I thumbed through the dusty old volumes in the library, searching for unique names. One afternoon, Miss Emily caught me doing so.

  "What are you looking for in those books?" she demanded, her eyes small and suspicious. "There are no erotic or provocative passages in my books."

  "That's not what I'm trying to find," I said. "If you must know, I'm thinking about names for my baby."

  She smirked.

  "If it's a girl, call her Chastity or Virtue. She will have enough to overcome as it is. If it's a boy, name him after one of the disciples."

  I didn't reply. There was no question I would reject any names she suggested. I liked the name Christie for a girl, but I was no longer sure what to call it, if it was a boy. As I mused over it, I realized Michael had never gone over names with me. I should have been more suspicious when he didn't have a proud father's interest from the start. I couldn't help wondering about him still. I was sure he was starring in some new spring production by now.

  According to Luther, spring was late this year in the South and that played havoc with the planting. Days didn't finally warm up until the beginning of April, even though trees had formed buds and grass had begun to turn green. However, I didn't have much chance to appreciate the nicer weather, the birds and blossoming flowers anyway. Miss Emily's list of chores usually kept me busy all day. And despite the warmer days and nights, the great plantation house didn't seem to be any less cold to me. It was as if the sunlight pouring through the windows when the curtains were open lost strength the moment it entered this dark, brooding house.