“Lillian, come and walk with me.”
I sat up, and took his hand, and he stole me away, out to where we agreed to meet every moonlit night.
“Abigail led me to you. She told me how you have been suffering and that you had buried your grandfather,” he said once we were under our tree.
“I have seen such sorrow, Warren, more than I thought I could ever possibly endure,” I explained, as I leaned against him. We had been apart for endless weeks, and reunited, it felt tranquil, as if we were about to journey into new beginnings.
“I have missed you terribly. I didn’t think I could live another day without seeing you,” he said.
“I am sorry for all the time we have lost,” I replied. He reached for my hand, then brought it up and allowed his lips to linger. I rested my head against his shoulder, my long hair spilled beside him, and I wondered how I had almost sacrificed his love. While my grief consumed me, I had forgotten how exhilarating his wonderful charisma was.
Warren took a deep breath of the moist, dewy air and pulled me in, then rested his freshly shaven chin on my head. Above, high in the trees, were the sounds of the barred owl, and out in the marsh, the river frogs croaked in symphony. I felt him inhale as he took in the scent of my hair; his heart pounded as loudly as mine, adding to nature’s music all around us. He held my hand, and I opened my fingers to let his intertwine with mine. I thought it was time to make our plans and asked when we would leave. There was nothing keeping us from going away and making a new life together. Daddy was gone; the search was over. We had allies; Abigail and Hamilton would risk their lives to help us get away. We would be smart and not get caught.
Warren had nothing to fear. I pulled back, and he released my hand staring at me in anticipation of what I was about to say. I smiled and looked at him with soft, sheepish eyes, the way Momma used to when she wanted something from Daddy, and said to Warren, “I love you with all my heart, and I want to spend my life with you. I will make you happy, Warren.”
“You’ve already made me happy by coming into my life, Lillian. I am devoted to you,” he said.
“Then let’s go now, tonight. I can’t wait another minute, not another second. Abigail will cover our tracks until we can get far enough away that they will never find us. I am sure of it,” I said excitedly, hoping he would whisk me away to start our new life together. It would be a fairytale ending for me. I was going to live happily ever after by marrying my prince.
Warren looked deep into my eyes and saw my desperation, but he resisted my pleas for a new beginning. When he turned away, I moved close and snuggled up to him, then began to stroke his cheek and softly whispered in his ear how much I loved him. I sensed he was afraid of my love; he feared I might leave him the way his first love did many years before. I understood his concern; he was afraid of having his heart broken. I wanted Warren to believe I was not going to hurt him. He needed to trust me.
“I will never abandon you. Do you believe me?” I asked, placing a kiss on the side of his neck. He closed his eyes, his breathing became heavy, and just when I sensed his desire growing Warren drew away and scrambled up, as if my innocent kiss had burned his flesh. He towered over me, shifted his hat, and looked bemused. I thought he might run from me, and my heart sank. He must have thought me sinful, for only an immoral girl would steal away for kisses with a man many years her senior. I didn’t know what possessed me to be so eager; I knew better. I wanted him to respect me and feared I had ruined that with one small kiss to his neck.
“I’m sorry,” I said, jumping up and wiping the dust from my dress with my hands. “I’m really not that kind of a girl.”
I wanted desperately for him to believe that, but there was so much doubt in his sea green eyes. I turned to run, but he reached over, grabbed me, and pulled me into his embrace.
“Dear Lillian,” he muttered, stroking my hair, our faces pressed against one another. “You just don’t understand.” Warren sounded petrified; his body trembled with fear.
I tried to assure Warren that I was the right woman for him; I promised him everything. “My heart and soul are yours to keep,” I said. “Please, Warren, please, please, make me yours.”
Above us, a branch broke off from the tree and fell down beside me. Warren shifted his head; just enough that his lips brushed mine. My whole body tingled, and I lost a breath. Our eyes locked, and I stood frozen, waiting for him to make the next move. Time stood still; the world all around us melted away as Warren battled the overwhelming uncertainties in his mind. His eyes grew dark, his nostrils flared, and his strong jaw tightened as he tried to control his lust for me. It was painful to watch him struggle with his yearning, and I decided to stop it before he regretted anything.
“I must go Warren,” I said, my voice quivering.
Everything about the way he looked at me indicated an enormous conflict between his heart and his head. Warren’s hesitations left me confused.
“Lillian, you don’t understand,” he said, and I could see how he struggled for the answers to explain what troubled him so fiercely.
“Then tell me, Warren,” I cried, touching his hand.
“Not yet. I just can’t,” he said in defeat.
I was left with great confusion, and we parted ways and agreed to meet again, but I wasn’t able to shake the overwhelming feeling that Warren would change his mind and never come to see me again. I tried to put it all together, to decipher what I was doing to make him doubt; if indeed, it was because of me at all.
The last of the summer days were filled with endless wondering, though Warren and I continued to steal away. To my delight, his eyes filled with happiness when they fell on me, but he kept his affections at bay, restrained. When the occasion came that Grandmother went into Savannah, we walked along the river, holding hands and Warren would tell me how beautiful I was—the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. They were warm days when the hot sun lit up the powder-blue sky and cicada sounds surrounded the old plantation.
Warren’s resistance to the idea of taking me away plagued me, but I refused to let him see how much it really bothered me. Instead of dwelling on the answers he could never seem to divulge, I was enraptured by secret thoughts he revealed to me.
“Someday, Lillian, I want to build us a house, a grand house. There we will stay and grow old together. If you want, we can even build one by the sea. You would like that, wouldn’t you?” he asked as we sat in our favorite spot. He’d brought a basket of corn pone and macaroni for lunch.
During the months of secret rendezvous, Warren brought me extra food. I had gained enough weight to finally look healthy. Grandmother insisted Abigail restrict my food; she had noticed I had filled out. But when I didn’t lose weight, Grandmother, knowing exactly how much food was allowed me and that no extra food was missing from the kitchen, figured my growth had slowed down and my body was storing what small amount of food I was given. After all, I was locked away; my body had no exercise. Luckily, that made sense to her.
I sat gazing at Warren, and noticed the sun’s rays revealed the same color streaks of platinum as I had in my hair, and replied, “I would love that.” His smile grew wide.
“Someday, I want you to meet Ayden and Heath,” I said, taking a spoonful of macaroni. “You would like them very much.”
“Anyone you have a great fondness for, so will I. It puts my mind at ease to know that when you were growing up, there were people who loved you.”
It struck me odd. “Why does that put your mind at ease?” I asked.
He had been digging through the basket for an apple, and he suddenly stopped, thought intensely for a moment, then looked up. “Well, it means, that—” He didn’t know how to explain it. His eyes shifted away, then down to the ground.
“Come, Lillian; let’s walk,” he said, and he stood and reached for my hand.
I put out my hand and allowed him to lift me. I tried to peer into his eyes, but he lowered the brim of his hat to hide them. Warren led me alo
ng the grounds and talked of the kind of house he wanted to build us.
“I have been to Cape Cod. It’s a perfect place to build a one-and-a-half-story house along the beach, maybe even a house with a view of the lighthouse on the peninsula.”
The idea appealed to me. He saw it in my face; he knew the sea meant everything to me.
“Daddy thought I would make a good lighthouse keeper,” I told Warren.
“I suppose you would. You’re a smart girl.”
“Daddy taught me everything there is to know about working the light. I could do it in my sleep.”
Warren listened as I talked about the many nights, when Momma was sick in bed, that I was Daddy’s assistant.
“As young as I was, I was a quick learner. By the time I was six, I knew the entire workings of the light, and when I was strong enough, he even let me oil the clockworks. He never let Momma do that,” I chuckled.
“Your momma—was she as fond of living out at sea as you were?” he asked.
I leaned down to pick up some wildflowers and plucked their petals as we walked through the former plantation fields. I remembered that Momma used to love to be alone with Daddy up in the watch tower, and sometimes, when they didn’t see me hiding in the shadows, they became passionately engaged with one another. Daddy was enamored with her beauty, and she was aware it made him lose his concentration. He could think of nothing but taking her into his arms, kissing her neck, and whispering things in her ear that made her flush.
“Lillian?” Warren had stopped and taken hold of my arm.
“Yes?”
“Your momma—was she happy?”
I didn’t have to think about my answer and quickly said, “Of course. She loved Daddy and the sea, and me.”
“So your daddy gave her everything? He loved her up until the very moment she died?” Warren’s eyes burned with intensity, so much so it made me quiver.
“Well—yes. I mean, she was in the asylum; he wasn’t there when she died. But I know how broken he was. Life was not the same the minute he had to send her away.”
“Why would he send her away if he loved her as much as you say?”
I looked up at him and saw his skepticism and doubt that a man that loved a woman as much as Daddy loved Momma could just send her away to a cold institution far from his loving arms.
“I would never have sent her away,” I thought I heard him say.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean I would never send someone I love away, no matter what,” Warren said firmly.
“But you don’t understand,” I cried.
“I do, Lillian. He didn’t want her anymore; she was a burden, a disgrace!”
He was angry, mad at the thought of Daddy rejecting her.
“No! It wasn’t like that.” I was filled with tears, recalling the moment I heard Momma’s screams of pain and ran to where she was lying on the floor in a pool of blood from the stab wound she inflicted upon herself.
“Then what drove your daddy to leave her in such a horrible place to die alone?” Warren demanded.
By now, the tears were streaming down my cheek, but Warren was so overcome with anger that he didn’t see how distraught I was.
“Momma tried to kill herself, more than once. Daddy did all he could,” I shouted, sobbing. “Don’t you see? He had no choice.” I choked back my cries.
He shook his head in protest then said, “Then it was your own father that made her so miserable that she wanted to end her life.”
He wasn’t hearing me; he was so engrossed in his own distorted vision of what had happened.
“Don’t you dare say that!” I commanded. “Don’t you ever say another bad thing about Daddy again, or I will never speak to you again for as long as I live.” I ran off, leaving him standing in the field, his hat in hand and a tear in the corner of his eye.
I refused his letters for weeks after our argument. I tore them up instead of sending them back unopened. He even had Abigail plead on his behalf.
“He is asking for your forgiveness, Miss Lillian,” she said.
“Tell him I won’t.” I sat on the bed, my arms folded over my chest.
“He isn’t going to stop trying,” Abigail said, and then she smiled at me. “That man’s in love with you.”
For only a moment, I thought of how his love had made me feel, how he filled me with so much joy, but then I remembered how angry he was, and the mean things he said about Daddy. I couldn’t forgive him.
Abigail sat beside me, and made me look at her. “You need to remember, Miss Lillian; he is going take you away some day, and he is your only way out of here.”
“Why don’t you go with Hamilton? Why do you stay in such a horrible place when you have your freedom?” I begged.
Her eyes softened, and she placed my hand in hers, then said with a heavy voice, “I can’t leave my boy.”
“But he’s gone. He died long ago.”
“No, Miss Lillian; Jacob-Thomas is sure here. You haven’t seen him yet? You don’t hear him at night, when it’s still?”
I thought hard, but no, I hadn’t sensed a ghostly presence, ever.
“Well, he is sure here. And I’m not leaving ‘til it’s my time to go. Besides, Hattie knows I’m here. She is going come back here someday, and I’m waiting for her.”
I gasped and placed my hand over my heart. Momma had thought I was Hattie, but I never knew who she was.
“Hattie? Who is she?” I asked, on the verge of jumping off the bed in excitement.
“Hattie is my girl. She and your momma were best friends. Like sisters.”
I was elated to learn that Momma didn’t have a make-believe friend, but a girl she shared a real kinship with. “Where is Hattie now?”
“I don’t know. But when she wants to see me again, she knows where I am.”
I lay in bed that night and remembered how fond Momma was of Hattie. They must have shared a wonderful, close friendship if Momma had kept Hattie in her thoughts throughout her years of madness. I pictured her as pretty as I could tell Abigail once was. I suspected Hattie ran away to gain her freedom, just as Momma had. I hoped she would someday soon come back to Sutton Hall. I hoped she would share stories with me and tell me what Momma was really like as a young girl. Maybe she knew Daddy, too. And I hoped Hattie would be the one to reveal all of the secrets that Sutton Hall kept under lock and key, hidden from me for all the years I had been mercilessly abandoned and shut away.
_______________
Chapter Nineteen
Warren was relentless in his pursuit to win back my affections. It took nearly four weeks before he finally changed my mind and I was no longer angry at him.
I woke one morning to a small present left with a note beside my plate. I hurried and opened the small box to reveal a beautiful broach with a hand painted portrait of a beautiful woman on it.
In the note he apologized once again and told me he was going up north to buy the piece of land he would build our house on. He said he loved me and would be back in a few weeks, then ended the letter with, “I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me.”
I was overwhelmed by the gesture and immediately regretted all the weeks I had harbored such animosity towards him. After all, he was on his way to Cape Cod to make a first big step towards our future together. We would have a house someday, up north, where I could sink my feet into the cool sand every day and watch vessels make their way across the ocean. The brisk, salty air would fill my lungs every morning and I would never again take that for granted.
I waited impatiently for Warren’s return. I couldn’t wait to tell him I, too, was sorry and that I never wanted to have another cross day with him again. I was relieved that he still fought for my devotion and refused to let go, though I had callously shunned him. And although the days went by at a snail’s pace, I kept busy with the few books I periodically stole from Grandmother’s library downstairs, off the sitting room. I was careful not to be caught, and when I to
ok a book, I replaced one. Usually I took one in the middle of the night or when she went into Savannah.
Then there was the time I stole out of my room with only a small candle in the darkness of a mid-autumn night to try the doors of the dozens of rooms, to see if, perhaps, any had been left unlocked. The house had cooled off; the weather had seen below normal temperatures all week. The nights were almost frigid and every fireplace but mine was burning and casting eerie shadows on the towering walls. I slowly wandered about on the first floor, then went back upstairs and proceeded to Grandmother’s wing. I hadn’t stepped foot in that hall since I had seen Grandfather.
The floor creaked, and I held my breath with every step. I moved slowly until I came to her door. I hurried past and giggled to myself. It was fun taking chances; it was my way of having an adventure of my own. I wanted to get to the door at the end of the hall, the one I was drawn to. I looked closely at the lock and realized it was broken, so I quietly turned the knob and crept up the dark, narrow stairway to the third floor, the attic. The top story covered the entire span of the mansion, and I could only see what was directly in front of me.
Clutter was everywhere; the attic filled with items I couldn’t wait to look through. I lifted my candle and gazed at the trunks that lined the thick beams that supported the roof. There were old, broken Windsor chairs scattered about and clothes everywhere. I spotted three crinolines, some old French hats, a pair of children’s gloves, and dozens of ball gowns. There were old, muddy boots in a small pile in the center of the floor, and near them, on a nail, was what looked to be a blood-stained Confederate’s uniform.
When I tried to open the trunks, all but one was locked. That particular trunk was filled with money! There must have been thousands of dollars inside. I picked up a pile and peered closely at it, then realized it was all worthless Confederate money. At one time, the Arringtons must have been wealthy beyond my imagination. Now they were virtually penniless, struggling to put a morsel of food on the table. I went back and tried to open one of the other trunks; I played with the lock and tugged hard, but it was no use. Then, underneath, I caught a glimpse of a photograph sticking out.
The Girl in the Lighthouse (Arrington) Page 22
