Cutler 1 - Dawn

by V. C. Andrews

  He paused again. The silences between our sentences were deep, and the small distance between us seemed like miles. Rapid and dramatic events had made him feel like a stranger to me. I was having trouble thinking of things to say and how to say them.

  But suddenly he smiled the same way he always had with that twinkle in his eyes, that impish grin in his face. He shook his head.

  "I can't think of you as my sister. I can't. This is too much," he said.

  "What can we do, Philip? It's true."

  "I don't know." He kept shaking his head. "So," he said, stepping closer, "how do you like the hotel? It's quite a place, isn't it? The grounds are beautiful. When it's not raining like this," he added.

  "I've only been able to explore the inside of the hotel. I haven't had much of a chance to explore outside," I said. "Mostly, I've been working and spending time alone in my room."

  "Oh." His smile widened. "Well, now that I've arrived, you will have more to do. I'll show you every nook and cranny. I'll re-explore everything with you, show you my favorite places, my old hiding places . . ."

  For a moment we let our gazes lock. My face felt hot, my heart raced. What did he see when he looked at me? Did he still think me the nicest and prettiest girl he had met?

  "On your day off," he continued quickly, "we'll walk along the beach and look for seashells and—"

  "I don't have a day off," I said.

  "What? No day off? Of course you do. Everybody gets a day off. I'll speak to Mr. Stanley right away about it."

  I shrugged and put my polishing cloth and polish in my little cart. He came closer.

  "Dawn," he said, reaching for my hand. When his fingers touched mine, I pulled away instinctively. I couldn't help it. What had once been thrilling now seemed as soiled as the linens I changed every morning. It felt wrong to look deeply into his eyes, wrong to hear him speak softly to me, wrong to have him care about me. I even felt guilty talking to him alone in the card room.

  "Not a day has passed when I didn't think about you and what a horror you've been going through. I wanted to call you, even to leave school and come home to see you, but Grandmother thought it would be better to wait," he said, and I looked up at him sharply.

  "Grandmother?"

  "Yes."

  "What did you tell her about us?" I asked quickly.

  "Tell her?" He shrugged as if it had all been so simple and so harmless. "Just how you and I had become such good friends and what a wonderful person you were and how beautifully you sang. She asked me about your mother and father, and I told her about your mother's illness and death and how surprised I was to learn what they had done."

  "I don't know why they did what they did or why any of this happened," I said, shaking my head. I looked away to hide the tears in my eyes.

  "Grandmother felt the same way. It had been a terrible surprise to her, too, when it happened," he said. I spun around.

  "Why . . . why did you call your grandmother? Why didn't you speak with . . . your father or mother?" It was still hard for me to think of them as my parents, too.

  "Oh, I've always gone to Grandmother for most things," he replied, smiling. "She's always been in charge. At least, as long as I can remember, and . . . you've met Mother," he said, raising his eyes toward the ceiling. "She's having a hard enough time about it all as it is. Father would only ask Grandmother for advice anyway if I had called him. She's quite a woman, isn't she?"

  "She's a tyrant," I snapped.

  "What?" He kept his smile.

  "She wants to change my name from Dawn to Eugenia, only I won't agree. She's insisting everyone in the hotel call me Eugenia, and they're all afraid to do otherwise."

  "I'll talk to her. I’ll get her to understand, you'll see."

  "I don't care if she understands or not. I won't change my name to please her," I declared firmly.

  He nodded, impressed with my determination. We stared at each other again.

  "Don't worry," he said, moving closer. "It will be all right."

  "It will never be all right," I moaned. "I try to keep busy so I won't think about Jimmy and Fern and what's happened to them." I looked up at him hopefully. "Have you heard anything? Do you know any-thing?"

  "No. Sorry. Oh, before I forget, regards from Mr. Moore. He says no matter what, you must continue with your music. He said to tell you he wants to come hear you sing at Carnegie Hall someday."

  I smiled for the first time in a long time.

  "I haven't felt much like singing or playing piano these days."

  "You will. After a while. Dawn," Philip said, this time seizing my hand and holding on to it tightly. He went on, his eyes soft as they saw my distress. "It's not all that easy forgetting about you the way you were, even when I see you here."

  "I know," I said, looking down.

  "No one can blame me, can blame you for feeling the way we do about each other. Let's just keep it our secret," he said. I looked up surprised. His eyes darkened with sincerity. "As far as I'm concerned, you're still the most beautiful girl I have ever met."

  He pressed my hand more firmly and drew close as though he wanted me to kiss him on the lips. What did he expect me to do? To say?

  I pulled my hand out of his and stepped back. "Thank you, Philip, but we have to try to think of each other differently now. Everything's changed." He looked disappointed.

  "This isn't easy for me, either, you know," he said sharply. "I know you've suffered, but I've suffered, too. You can't imagine what it was like at school," he added, his forehead creasing. Then, easy as a mask to take off, he threw away his anger and put on his dreamy-eyed romantic look.

  "But whenever I grew sad about it, I forced myself to think about all the wonderful things you and I could do here at Cutler's Cove. I meant what I said before. I want to show you the hotel and the grounds and the town and catch you up on our family history," he said, his voice full of energy and excitement.

  "Thank you," I said. "I'll look forward to that," I added. He stepped back, still holding that sexy smile, but for me it was as if we were gazing at each other over a great valley, the distance between us widening and widening until the Philip I had known dwindled into a memory and burst like a soap bubble. He was gone. Then the gap dwindled, and he was replaced by this new Philip, my older brother.

  Good-bye to my first and what I thought would be my most wonderful romantic love, I thought. Goodbye to being swept off my feet and floating alongside warm, soft white clouds. Our passionate kisses shattered and fell with the raindrops, and no one could tell which were my tears and which were the drops of rain.

  Four elderly men came in and took up seats at a corner table. They were there for their daily game of gin rummy. Philip and I watched them for a moment and then turned back to each other.

  "Well, I'd better get to my unpacking. I haven't even seen Mother yet. I can just imagine how this has all left her—headaches, nervous breakdowns." He shook his head. Then he laughed. "I wish I was here when she first set eyes on you. That must have been something. You can tell me all about it later, when we're alone," he said, his eyebrows rising.

  "I'll start working with dinner tonight. Everybody's a slave driver around here. I'll come looking for you as soon as I get free," he said as he backed away, "and we'll go for a walk or something. Okay?"

  "Okay."

  He turned and hurried off. I stared after him a moment and then returned to my work.

  Afterward I returned to my room as usual to rest. The rain had settled into a steady drizzle, and my room was dingy and dark, even though I had the lamp on. I waited for Philip and listened keenly for footsteps in the corridor. Soon I heard some and looked up expectantly when the door was opened. It was Clara Sue. For a moment we just glared at each other. Then she brought her hands to her hips and smirked, shaking her head.

  "I can't believe it. I just can't believe it," she said.

  "Hello, Clara Sue." Accepting her as my sister was a hard pill to swallow, but what choice did
I have?

  "You don't know how embarrassing all this was for me and Philip at school!" she exclaimed, widening her eyes.

  "I've already spoken to Philip. I know about the gossip he had to endure, but—"

  "Gossip?" She laughed, hard and mirthless; then her face turned hard, determined. "That was only part of it. He sat in a corner by himself and refused to have anything to do with anybody. But I wasn't going to let this spoil my fun," she said, coming a little farther into the room. She looked at the bland walls and the window without any curtains to warm them. "This used to be Bertha's room, my black nanny. Only it was a lot nicer then."

  "I haven't had a chance to decorate," I said dryly. She stepped back quickly when she saw some of her hand-me-downs on my bed.

  "Hey, isn't that one of my blouses and one of my skirts?"

  "Mrs. Boston brought it to me after she cleaned up your room."

  "What kind of people did you live with? Ugh. Stealing babies. No wonder you looked so . . . unwashed and Jimmy was so goofy."

  "Jimmy wasn't goofy," I snapped. "And I never looked unwashed. I admit we were poor, but we were not dirty. I said I didn't have much clothing, but what I did have, I cleaned and washed regularly." She shrugged as if I couldn't say anything that would dispute her statements.

  "Jimmy was weird," she insisted. "Everyone said so."

  "He was shy and gentle and loving. He wasn't weird. He was just afraid, that's all. Afraid of not being accepted by a school full of snobs." I couldn't stand talking about Jimmy this way, acting as if he were dead. That made me more angry than the things she was saying.

  "Why are you defending him so strongly? He wasn't really your brother," she retorted. Then she embraced herself and shook her head. "It must have been horrible and disgusting, like being forced to live with strangers."

  "No, it wasn't. Momma and Daddy were always—"

  "They weren't your momma and daddy," she snapped. "Don't call them that. Call them what they were—kidnappers, baby snatchers!"

  I looked away, the tears stinging behind my eyes. I wouldn't let her see me cry, but what could I say? She was right, and she enjoyed driving the nails of ridicule into me.

  "The worst thing of all was you and Philip," she said grimacing and twisting her mouth as if she had gulped castor oil. "No wonder he sat alone, sulking. He felt so dirty and stupid wanting to be his sister's boyfriend. And everybody knew!" She grimaced again, her face much chubbier than mine, ballooning in the cheeks. We shared hair color and eyes, but our mouths and our figures were so different.

  "He can't be blamed for something he didn't know," I said softly. How long would we have to make excuses and defend our actions? I wondered. Who else would bring it up here?

  "So what? It was still disgusting. How far did you two go?" she asked, stepping closer again. "You might as well tell me. Besides, I warned you about Philip, so I won't be surprised by anything you say. I'm your sister now, and you don't have anyone else you can trust," she added and swung her eyes to me. They were full of expectation.

  I stared at her. Could I ever trust her? Did she mean it? She saw the hesitation in my face.

  "I'm glad Mrs. Boston brought you all my old clothing," she said. "I'd much rather you have it than throw it out or give it to the help. And I'm sorry about the things I did to you," she added quietly, "but I didn't know who you were, and I didn't think it was right then that Philip should like you so much. I must have had a prem . . . prem . . ."

  "Premonition?"

  "Yes," she said. "Thank you. I know you're smart and I'm glad." She pushed aside some of the clothing and sat on my bed. "So, you can tell me," she said, her face lighting with anticipation. "I know he took you to his favorite spot. You must have kissed and kissed, right?"

  "Not exactly, no," I said, sitting down beside her. Maybe it would be wonderful to have a sister close to my age, I thought. Maybe I could forgive her for all the terrible things she had done, and we could learn to really get to like each other and share thoughts and dreams as well as clothes and other things. I had always wanted a sister near my age. Girls needed other girls to confide in.

  She looked at me with inquisitive eyes, urging me on with her soft, sympathetic look.

  "Was Philip your first boyfriend?" she asked.

  I nodded.

  "I haven't had a real boyfriend yet," she said.

  "Oh, you will. You're a very pretty girl."

  "I know that," she said, shaking her head. "It's not that I couldn't have a boyfriend. There have been a number who have wanted to be, but I didn't like any one enough, And none of them were as nice as Philip or as good-looking as he is. All my friends have crushes on him and were jealous of you."

  "I thought so," I said.

  "You know Louise had a terrible crush on Jimmy." She laughed. "I found this love letter she wrote to him but never had the nerve to mail. It was full of 'I love you' and 'You're the nicest boy I have ever met and the best-looking.' And she even wrote love words in French! I stole it and showed it to all the other girls."

  "You shouldn't have done that. It must have been painful for her," I said. She blinked her eyes quickly and sat back on her hands.

  "She's a freak anyway. You were the only one who ever paid her any attention. And anyway," she said, sitting up, "I used the letter to make her do things, like spy on you and get her to cooperate when we sprayed you with that stuff,"

  "It was a horrible trick, Clara Sue, no matter how much you didn't like me."

  She shrugged.

  "I said I was sorry. Look, you ruined one of my best coats," she retorted. "I had to throw it out."

  "You threw it out? Why didn't you just clean it?"

  "What for?" She smiled slyly. "It's easier to get Daddy to buy me a new one. I just told him someone stole it, and he sent me money for a new one." She sat forward eagerly. "But let's forget about all that and talk about Philip and you. What else did you two do besides kiss?"

  "Nothing," I said.

  "You don't have to be afraid to tell me," she urged.

  "There's nothing to tell."

  She looked very disappointed.

  "You let him touch you and stuff, right? I'm sure he wanted to. He did it to one of my friends last year, slipped his hand right under her sweater, even though he denies it."

  I shook my head quickly. I didn't want to hear these things about Philip, and I couldn't imagine him doing anything to a girl that she didn't want him to do anyway.

  "I don't blame you for being embarrassed about it, now that the truth is out," Clara Sue said. She narrowed her eyes, eyes which became as cold metallic gray as our grandmother's eyes. "Look, I saw him kiss you in the car the night of the concert. It was a movie star kiss, a long kiss, with tongues touching, right?" she asked, her voice nearly a whisper. I shook my head vehemently, but she nodded, believing what she wanted to believe.

  "He came looking for you as soon as he got here, didn't he? I heard him drop his suitcases and go rushing out of his room. Did he find you?" I nodded. "Well, what did he say? Was he angry? Did he feel like a fool?"

  "He's understandably upset."

  "I'll bet. I hope he doesn't forget you are his sister now," she added curtly. She gazed at me a moment. "He didn't kiss you again on the lips, did he?"

  "Of course not," I said, but she looked skeptical. "We both understand what's happened," I added.

  "Um." Her eyes brightened with a new thought. "What did my father say when he net you?"

  "He said . . . he welcomed me to the hotel," I said, "and he told me he would have a long talk with me, but he hasn't yet. He's been very busy."

  "He's always very busy. That's why I get whatever I want. He'd rather give it to me than be bothered.

  "What do you think of Mother?" she asked. "You must have quite an opinion of her." She laughed anticipating. "If one of her fingernails breaks or Mrs. Boston leaves a hairbrush out of place, she has a breakdown. I can just imagine what she was like when she heard about you."

>   "I'm sorry she's so nervous and sick so often," said, "because she is very beautiful."

  Clara Sue nodded and folded her arms under her bosom. She was becoming a full-figured girl quickly, her baby fat already softening into what I knew most boys would consider a voluptuous look.

  "Grandmother says she got sick right after you were kidnapped, and the only thing that saved her and made her happy at all again was my birth," she said, obviously proud of that. "They had me as quickly as they could to overcome their grief about losing you, and now you're back," she added, not disguising her note of disappointment. She gazed at me a moment and then smiled again.

  "Grandmother made you into a chambermaid, huh?"

  "Yes."

  "I'm one of the receptionists now, you know," she boasted. "I get dressed up and work behind the counter. I'm letting my hair grow longer this year. Grandmother told me to go to the beautician tomorrow and have it styled," she said, gazing at herself in the mirror. She glanced quickly at me. "All the chambermaids usually cut their hair short. Grandmother likes them to."

  "I'm not cutting my hair short," I said flatly.

  "If Grandmother tells you to, you will. You'll have to, otherwise your hair will be dirty every day anyway. It looks dirty right now."

  I couldn't argue with that. I hadn't washed it for days, not caring about my looks. It was easier to wear the bandanna.

  "That's why I don't do menial jobs," Clara Sue said. "I never did. And now Grandmother thinks I'm pretty enough to be at the front desk and old enough to handle the responsibilities."

  "That's very nice. You're very lucky," I said. "But I'd rather not be meeting a lot of people and forcing smiles anyway," I added. It wiped the condescending leer from her face.

  "Well, I'm sure everyone's embarrassed about all this, and for now they're just trying to hide you from the public," she said curtly.

  I shrugged. It was a very good theory, but I didn't want to show her that what she said might be true. "Maybe."