I was losing track of time, and to fight off the possibility, I decided to take my piece of chalk and write the days on the bottom of the wall beside the bed. I started on day eight. Doing that, keeping track of time, was one key to staying sane. If only I had the most important thing of all—the key to the door.
In the following weeks, after endlessly trying to communicate with Hamilton when he came to empty my chamber pot, I almost gave up. I knew he heard my pleas; I saw the way he would try and speak with his big, wide eyes, but he never said a word, and I couldn’t figure out what he was trying to say. Was he asking me to leave him be? I wasn’t sure until one stormy afternoon, as the wind and rain battered against the only window of my room; I tried once again, having nothing better to do.
As soon as I caught his eye, I said, “When I was on Jasper Island, I loved the rain. I used to go outside and stick my tongue out to catch the rain drops in my mouth. I would sure love to be able to do that again.”
I didn’t realize Grandmother was right behind him. She was there, bringing my meal hours early. She scowled at me then said, “He is mute, you fool. He can’t talk to you, so stop trying.” Hamilton shifted his eyes away and took the pot, then hurried past her.
“I noticed you have been an obedient child,” she said, her words taking me by surprise.
“I have decided to allow you out of your room tomorrow.”
I jumped up from my bed and went to thank her, but she pointed her cane at me, and commanded, “Sit back down! You will be doing the cleaning from now on. I will come and get you. You will clean as I watch over you then return to your room.”
It was sad to be so grateful for such a small thing—being able to leave a room to be a servant, but it was all I had. It was an opportunity to see the place Momma grew up, even if I was the one cleaning it.
Grandmother saw the enthusiasm in my eyes, and she didn’t like it one bit. “You will be working from sun-up to sundown. Do you understand, girl? Maybe if your mother had lifted a finger in her life, she would have appreciated everything her father and I had done for her. After all, Sutton Hall wasn’t built out of nothing. Thomas spent years making it happen, seeing his dreams fulfilled. And they were,” she declared, “until the war. We were stripped of our wealth, but not our dignity. The war couldn’t take that away, nor could Amelia.”
She spoke as if I understood how to read between the lines of her words.
“Now there is a mess to clean up, and it is time. Georgia was reinstated only five years ago, and the rebuilding is painstakingly slow. We must do our part to help revise the great South and bring Sutton Hall back to its former glory. And let me say one thing to you, Yankee girl,” she paused, and then straightened her spine. “The South shall most certainly rise again.”
It was odd to hear her talk with such a heavy British accent and declare her southern pride. Was it my grandfather’s pride that lived on in her? I was anxious to begin putting the pieces of my family’s history together. Sutton Hall was the obvious place to have it all unfold. But just how many pieces were there, and would it all be revealed before Daddy came to take me home with him?
The next morning, as early as Heath, Ayden, and I used to wake for school, Grandmother came in and announced I had a full day of cleaning ahead of me. She showed me out of the room, and I tried to take it all in. The dilapidation was even more excessive than I had originally noticed many weeks before.
Grandmother walked so swiftly that I didn’t have time to see what was in each room as we made our way down the dark hall. I could tell there had once been a runner by the way the wood was worn. We headed down the staircase and proceeded through wide mahogany doors into the main dining room, which now was completely empty. Near the top of the twelve-foot ceilings was ornate crown molding, and in the very center was a medallion that used to surround, no doubt, a beautiful crystal chandelier. The walls were bare and bland with unoccupied cobwebs in every corner, but I could see outlines where numerous, most certainly expensive, oil paintings must have been prominently displayed. There was a fireplace, but its marble mantel had been removed. Grandmother was aware of how sad the mansion appeared. It was her weakness. She had a soft side for the house that showed when she gazed around or tried explaining the tragedy that stole the mansion’s beauty. However, she always reminded me that her character was still there, just waiting to come back out.
“I have an inheritance coming to me. My dear father, who resided in Wales until his death several months ago, left it all to me. When I finally receive the money, I will spend every dime of it refilling Sutton Hall with its belongings. The Union army stole it all, and I will spend every waking minute getting it all back.”
Grandmother wore a faraway look. For a moment, I felt some sympathy for her, until she saw someone in the center hall that she thought was eavesdropping. She marched over to the woman, who thought she was undetectable, and grabbed her by the arm.
“How dare you spy on me, Abigail?”
The woman, who I suspected was another of Grandmother’s former slaves, snatched her arm back, and pleaded, her hands above her face, not to be struck. Abigail was nearly the same age as Hamilton, yet she was even more petrified of Grandmother than I.
“I wasn’t spying on you, Mrs. Arrington,” she said in a trembling voice.
“How many times have I told you to mind your business?” Grandmother said through clenched teeth.
“I’m sorry. I was only trying to see her,” Abigail explained.
“You stay away from the girl. Do you understand?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Good, now go get the brush and pail.”
Abigail scurried away, but not before looking at me. Grandmother shot me a cold warning stare. She wanted me to stay away from Abigail. It was in my best interest not to make waves, to stay quiet, and let information unfold around me.
But Abigail had revealed Grandmother’s name. How could she be Mrs. Arrington when she was my maternal grandmother? Though—she never had said she was. Maybe Momma only stayed at Sutton Hall, as I had done on occasion at the Daltons’ home. Could Momma have been an orphan, taken in by Daddy’s mother? But he called her Eugenia, I remembered, not Momma or Mother. How odd, I thought.
“Girl!” Grandmother barked, interrupting my deep thoughts. “Take the bucket and get to work. I will be sitting in the parlor across the hall, having my afternoon tea.”
I watched her leave, then turned and dropped the brush into the soapy water. I saw Abigail staring at me through one of the hazy windows. I smiled at her, but as soon as I did, she rushed away. Though I was alone, on my hands and knees, scrubbing filth from the wood floors, I sensed Grandmother’s eyes were on me, and I worked hard to do a good job. I needed her approval. I wanted to win her over. Maybe she would learn to like me, if not love me like a granddaughter, and we could spend my short time here together getting to know one another.
As I scrubbed away, I imagined telling her about the lighthouse station and how great a lighthouse keeper Daddy was. I would tell her how devoted Momma was to Daddy, and that she never once strayed from him, that she was a truly devoted wife. I couldn’t reveal her madness, though. That, I planned to keep a secret.
When I was finished with the one room, after hours of scrubbing with all my might, I went into the parlor where she sat in one lone chair facing the window that overlooked the destroyed gardens. She had been sitting there the entire morning.
“I have finished, Grandmother,” I announced.
She slowly turned her head, expressionless, and told me to do it again. When I didn’t respond, in shock at her order, she repeated herself, more firmly.
“But—”
“Get on with it!”
I scurried away, like one of her servants, back to the dinning room. I glanced over the clean floor and wondered why I had to do it again. It was perfectly clean, spotless, in fact. She hadn’t even come to see.
So, unhappily, I got down and painstakingly repeated the
process, until the sun rose high above the mansion, causing the day to turn unbearably hot. I was uncomfortable, exhausted, and ready to collapse. Hamilton came in and saw me sitting against the wall, trying to relax for a moment. He worriedly came over and nudged me to get up.
“I can’t,” I whispered. “I’m so tired.”
He lifted the bucket full of dirty water, dumped it outside, and then returned. He tried to get back to me before I was noticed resting, but he was too late.
“Get off the floor,” Grandmother hollered from where she stood over me.
“I’m sorry; it’s so hot,” I stammered as I guided myself up against the wall, but she wouldn’t hear it.
“You are as lazy and undependable as Amelia. You didn’t do as you were told. You have disrespected me!” Without warning, she stuck my face with the back of her hand, sending me barreling to the floor. “Get back to your room! You’re good for nothing. Do you understand!”
I cried as I passed her and ran outside, not knowing where I was running to. She called for me to return and said that if I did not obey her there would be dire consequences. But I didn’t stop running until I found myself down by the edge of the river. I threw myself to the ground and beat my fists against the dirt, demanding to know why I was put in such an awful place. Though there was no one to answer me, I wanted to know what I had done to deserve such punishment. Daddy needed to take me back; I couldn’t wait any longer. Now that I had disobeyed Grandmother, I would be locked away until he did come for me. She would starve me for certain, probably take the key, and throw it away. I had to keep running. So I stood, wiped my tears, and decided on the direction I believed Savannah was. I heard her call for Hamilton to hunt me down. Panic in my throat, I lifted my dress and sped along the river, ducking under branches and around trees. Panic kept my feet moving, the fear of being beaten and thrown back into the bedroom for good gave me the energy to go faster.
The house fell into the distance, then out of sight. I ran on, though my legs were aching, my side was splitting, and I was in dire need of water, I wasn’t going to stop until it was safe and far away from the claws of my wicked grandmother, and no longer under the evil spell of Sutton Hall.
The heat of the day spilled into the night. I found myself wandering aimlessly through the forest. The river was still close, and I stopped and rested, drank some water, then sat against a sweet magnolia tree when I believed Hamilton was no longer on my trail, and it was safe enough. Then, after a short rest, I got up and walked some more, hoping I was heading in the right direction—towards Savannah. There I planned to stow away on a train that would take me back to Maine. I could easily make my way back to Jasper Island, even if I had to walk all the way to the harbor that was once my home.
My plan was good; I was comfortable with it. I had walked all of the afternoon and night, and as my legs refused to move any longer, I found a spot in a dense marsh area on the edge of the woods I had wandered into, lay down on the soft ground, and fell into a deep, long-needed sleep. I dreamt of Momma that night and saw her as the little girl that once lived in Sutton Hall. She was lovely and happy, and when I woke, I missed everything about her. My heart was melancholy, and I wished I weren’t so alone and lost. I wanted more than anything to go back in time and have my life intact. I wished Momma was still alive and Daddy able to protect me from harm. But my reality was a slap in the face, worse than Grandmother’s brutal slap. My mind wanted me to rise and continue to walk towards Savannah, but my legs refused to conform. My feet were full of sores, and my legs were heavy. I didn’t think I would be able to move a muscle until a snake slithered towards me. I screamed with fright and jumped up without any trouble. It curled up and went to strike, but I moved away, just before the bite. I backed off, hoping it would leave me alone, but from behind me I heard the blast of gunpowder. I twirled around, fearing Hamilton was shooting at me, but to my relief and surprise, it was a man—a stranger on foot. He was as tall as Heath, but years older, though not as aged as Daddy, and came to my rescue wearing a Union slouch hat.
After the snake was dead, I hurried towards the man that saved me from being bit and possibly poisoned and left to die.
“What is a young lady like yourself doing out here? This place is loaded with dangerous snakes and alligators.”
“I see that,” was all I could say.
“Have you gotten lost?” he asked, peering into my eyes, which I kept hidden under thick strands of hair that fell over my face. I didn’t want him to know I had run away; I couldn’t have him take me back to Grandmother.
“I got separated from my daddy,” I said, which after all, wasn’t a lie.
“What happened? Was there a wagon accident? You look like you have been out here for a long time; you’re skin and bones.” He stood before me and waited for my explanation. I brushed my hair aside and gazed up at him. He was very handsome. He had thick, wavy hair under his hat. It was golden blond with thick platinum streaks, and his sea green eyes were deeply mysterious.
“There was no accident. We were taking a walk, and we accidentally got separated and I lost my way,” I said, hoping he would believe me. After all, that is essentially what happened.
The man frowned, looked closely at me, and then said, “You look familiar. Do you live around these parts?”
“No. I think my daddy is in Savannah waiting for me. Could you possibly take me there?” I hoped he would agree to take me.
“Why would he be in Savannah waiting for you if you were lost? Wouldn’t he be out looking for you?”
My heart began to race. I was afraid he knew I was lying.
“I suppose,” I said.
“Well, then, why don’t you come with me, and we’ll see what we can do to find him. I don’t live far. My horse is over yonder.”
He didn’t wait for me to agree and walked back towards the horse, expecting me to follow. Something inside me told me not to go, that I needed to stick to my plan, and not be sidetracked. The man would figure out I was lying and send me back to the horrible mansion. He seemed kind, he appeared genuinely concerned, but could I trust him? I stayed motionless, trying to decide whether to run or go with him. When he noticed I wasn’t steps behind him, he turned, and I decided to run. I wasn’t going to take another chance; I had to get back to Daddy.
“Stop!” the man shouted, but not before I had tripped on my dress and fallen hard. I screamed in pain, and he rushed over to help me up.
“My leg,” I moaned. He lifted me and carried me off. I clung to him and cried in agony.
“My place is not far; I will take you there,” he said, carefully lifting me onto his horse. He mounted behind me and said, “I will hold on to you so you don’t fall.” He pulled me close, and just before we took off, a horse-drawn carriage flew down the road. It was Hamilton and Grandmother.
“Please, take me with you,” I said before they got to me.
“Why? I don’t understand,” I turned my head and looked up at him. He saw the desperation in my face and the pleading in my eyes, and he kicked the horse into a gallop and headed off the road and into the woods. He held me tight against him as we jumped thick logs and dodged tall live oaks until we lost them. Then the man slowed the horse to a trot until we arrived at what appeared to be his home. It was a small cabin hidden deep in the woods. He dismounted, and I slid down the side of the horse and into his arms. After Heath, he was the most handsome man I had ever laid eyes on. He had a strong, chiseled jaw and high cheek bones. His arms were as strong as Daddy’s, and I felt safe with him.
He carried me inside his sparse dwelling, placed me in the nearest chair, and cordially introduced himself. “My name is Warren Stone.” He extended his hand. “And you are?”
I didn’t want to reveal my name; I wanted no one to know I belonged to Sutton Hall and the wicked grandmother who ruled it. So I made up a name, the first one that came to mind.
“I’m Clara Dalton,” I said, then shook his hand. The pain in my leg was still excruciat
ing, but my curiosity about Warren helped relax me.
“Well, it is nice to meet you, Clara. I’m sorry my place is such a mess. I wasn’t expecting company.” He saw me wince in pain. “I better take a look at your leg, if that is all right with you.”
I nodded. He lifted the bottom of my dress to reveal my ankle. It was swollen and already starting to bruise. He gently touched my ankle, keeping his eyes on my face to see how badly it hurt when he tried to move it.
“Ouch!” I cried.
“I’m sorry, Clara. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I think you only sprained it, though I am not a doctor.”
“I don’t need to see a doctor. I just need to rest it for a while. Then I have to get to Savannah. Will you please take me there, Mr. Stone?”
“Well, I don’t know, Clara. Those people—why were they after you?” His eyes narrowed, and I looked away, afraid he would see the truth—that I was running from them.
“I don’t know who they were.”
Warren placed his finger under my chin and guided my face up so I would look at him. Our faces were only inches apart, and he stared at me for the longest time, studying me with such scrutiny that it made my heart skip a beat. His eyes suddenly turned light to dark, then widened, as if he had just seen a ghost.
_______________
Chapter Fifteen
After an awkward moment, Warren backed away and cleared his throat, then said, “You must be hungry. Let me fix you something to eat.”
I was famished and watched as he prepared a simple meal. He knew his way around the kitchen; he obviously lived alone. The one-room cabin was somewhat disarrayed. The bed wasn’t made, the floors needed a sweep, and the table was covered in plates that needed to be washed. I wondered why he wasn’t married; he was certainly handsome enough to have a wife.
The Girl in the Lighthouse (Arrington) Page 17
