Darkest Hour (24 page)

"You can rub a little harder, Lillian. I'm not made of delicate china," he said.

"Yes, Papa." I did his shoulders and his chest, washing and rinsing in small circles. When I reached his stomach, Papa lowered his blanket a little.

"You'll have to lower it the rest of the way, Lillian. It's too difficult for me to do."

"Yes, Papa," I said. My hands were trembling so much that the blanket actually shook. How I wished Papa would have simply hired a professional nurse to take care of him. I washed around his cast, trying to keep my eyes focused on his leg. I felt the heat in my face and knew I was crimson with embarrassment. When I glanced at his face, I saw Papa had his eyes wide open and he was scrutinizing me closely.

"You know," he said, "you do look a lot like your real mother now. She was a very pretty young lady. When I was courting Georgia, I used to tease Violet and say, 'I'll forget Georgia and wait for you, Violet.' She was a very shy young lady and she would get all red and hide her face behind a book or go running off."

He emptied the whiskey in his glass in a gulp and nodded to his own memory.

"A pretty girl, a very pretty girl," he muttered, and then he fixed his gaze on me. It made my heart skip a beat and I quickly lowered my own eyes to the water in the basin and rinsed the sponge.

"I'll get a towel and dry you, Papa," I said.

"You're not finished yet, Lillian," he said. "You've got to do all of me. A man's got to be clean all over," he said. My heart was pounding. There was only one area I hadn't washed.

"Go on, Lillian," he said. "Go on," he coaxed in a more demanding tone when I hesitated. I brought the sponge to his most private parts and moved it about quickly. He closed his eyes and a soft moan escaped his lips. When I felt him twitch, I jumped back, but he. seized my wrist and held me firmly, squeezing so tightly, I grimaced in pain.

"How far did you go with that boy, Lillian? Did you come close to losing your innocence? Is that what this reminds you of? Tell me," he said, shaking my arm.

Tears burned beneath my eyelids. "No, Papa. Please, let me go. You're hurting me."

He relaxed his grip, but nodded with a disapproving look.

"Your mother ain't done her duty with you. You don't know what to expect, what you've got to know before you go out in the world. It's not a man's responsibility to teach you, but with Georgia like she is, I'll have to take up the slack. Only I don't want anyone knowing what goes on between us, Lillian. That's private, hear?"

What did he mean, "teach me"? Teach me what and how? I was trembling so hard, my knees knocked, but I saw he was waiting for an answer, so I nodded quickly.

"All right," Papa said, releasing me. "Go get the towel."

I hurried to the bathroom and returned with the towel. Papa had poured himself another glass of whiskey and was sipping it as I brought the towel to his shoulders. I felt his eyes move with me every time I turned or reached. I dried him as quickly as I could, but when I started on his legs, I tried not to look as I worked.

Suddenly, he laughed in a strange way.

"Scares you, don't it?" he said, and laughed again. I was afraid the whiskey had stirred up the monsters once more.

"No, Papa."

"Sure it does," he said. "A grown man is scary to a young girl." Then he grew serious, seized my wrist and pulled me so close to him, I felt his hot breath on my face. "When a man is aroused, Lillian, he gets bigger, but a grown woman is pleased about that, not scared. You'll see; you'll understand," he predicted. "All right, enough about it," he added quickly. "Just get on with what you're doing."

I finished wiping his feet and then I folded the towel and helped him put on his nightshirt. After I pulled up his blanket, I brought the basin, sponge and towel into the bathroom. My heart was still pounding. I couldn't wait to leave the room. Papa was behaving in such a bizarre way. His eyes washed over my body as if I were the one naked and not he. But when I returned from the bathroom, he looked his old self again and he. asked me to read him a Bible selection.

"Read until I fall asleep and then make yourself your bed there," he said, nodding at the settee. "Put on your nightgown and get some sleep, too."

"Yes, Papa.” I sat beside the bed and began to read The Book of Job. As I read, I saw that Papa's eyelids grew heavier and heavier until he could keep them open no longer and he drifted to sleep. When he began to snore, I closed the Bible softly and went back to my room to get my nightgown.

The whole house was quiet by now, quiet and dark. I wondered what Mamma was doing. How I wished she was well enough to take care of Papa. I listened by her door, but I heard nothing. On my way back to Papa's room, I saw Emily standing just inside her doorway gazing out at me.

"Where are you going with your nightgown?" she demanded.

"Papa wants me to sleep on the settee in his room in case he needs something during the night," I explained.

She didn't respond. Instead, she closed her door.

I reentered Papa's room. He was still asleep so I moved about as quietly as I could. I got into my nightgown, made my bed, whispered my prayers, and went to sleep myself. Hours later, Papa woke me.

"Lillian," he called. "Get over here. I'm cold."

"Cold, Papa?" I didn't think it was very cold. "Do you want another blanket?"

"No," he said. "Get in here beside me," he said. "All I need is the warmth from your young body." "What? What do you mean, Papa?"

"It ain't so unusual, Lillian. Why my grandfather used to have young slave girls keeping him warm. He called them bed warmers. Come on," he urged, lifting his blanket. "Just lay up against me," he said.

Hesitantly, my heart pounding, I sat on the bed beside him.

"Hurry up," he cried. "I'm letting out what warmth there is under this blanket."

I stretched out my legs and, with my back to him, slipped under the blanket. Instantly, Papa pulled me closer. For a few moments, we lay there that way, me with my eyes open wide, him breathing heavy and hot over my neck. I smelled the odor of stale whiskey on his breath and my stomach churned.

"I should have waited for Violet," he whispered. "She was far more beautiful than Georgia and with a man like me, she wouldn't have gotten into trouble. Your real father was too soft, too young and too weak," he muttered.

I didn't move; I didn't say a word. Suddenly, I felt Papa's hand slip under my nightgown and rest on my thigh. His thick fingers squeezed my leg gently and his arm began to move up higher, taking my nightgown up with it.

"Got to keep warm," Papa muttered in my ear. "Just lay still. That's a girl, that's a good girl."

Terrified, my heart skipping beats, I brought my hand to my mouth and smothered a cry when Papa's hand reached my breast. He cupped it greedily and with his other hand, he lifted my nightgown over my waist. I felt his knees press under mine and then his hardness reached me and pushed forward. I started to pull away, but his arm tightened around my body, pulling me closer and closer to him.

"Warm," he repeated. "Got to keep warm, that's all."

But that wasn't all. I squeezed my eyelids shut as tightly as I could and began to tell myself this wasn't happening. I didn't feel what I felt moving up between my legs; I didn't feel my legs being forced apart and I didn't feel Papa force himself into me. He groaned and bit down my neck just soft enough not to draw blood. I gasped and started to pull myself away, but Papa swung his heavy body, cast and all, over me, driving me down against the mattress. He grunted and pressed on.

My cries were tiny, my tears quickly soaked up by the pillow and sheets. To me it seemed to go on and on for hours, when in reality it was only minutes. When it was over, Papa did not release me and he did not pull back. He held me just as tightly, his head against mine.

"Warm now," he muttered. I waited and waited, afraid to move, afraid to complain. A short while later, I heard him snore and I began a slow journey to extract myself from his grip and slide myself out from under his dead weight. It must have taken me hours, for I was terrified of waking him, but finally, I was free enough to put my leg down and then slip out and away. He groaned and then started to snore again.

I stood in the darkness, trembling, swallowing my sobs one after the other as each rose to the base of my throat. Afraid one would burst free and then another would follow, which would waken Papa, I tiptoed out of the room and into the dimly lit corridor. I took a deep breath and closed the door softly behind me. Then I turned to the right, thinking I would go to Mamma. But I hesitated. What could I tell her and what would she do? Would she understand? It could easily put Papa into a mad rage. No, I couldn't go to Mamma. I could go down to Vera and Charles, but I was too ashamed. I couldn't even tell Tottie.

I spun around and around, confused, my heart pounding, and then I rushed into the room where all the old pictures and artifacts were kept. I quickly found my real mother's picture and, embracing it, squatted on the floor. There I rocked and cried until I heard footsteps and saw the thin light of Emily's candle part the darkness. In moments she stood in the doorway.

She lifted her candle to let the light wash over me. "What are you doing in here? What's in your hands?"

I bit down on my lips and sobbed. I wanted to tell her what had happened; I wanted to shout it out.

"What is it?" she demanded. "What are you clutching? Let me see right now."

Slowly, I revealed my real mother's portrait. Emily looked surprised for a moment and then studied me closer.

"Stand up," she ordered. "Go on. Stand up." I did so.

Emily came closer, lifting the candle and walking around me.

"Look at you," she said suddenly. "You're having your time and you didn't prepare. What shame. Don't you have an ounce of self-respect?"

"I'm not having my time."

"Your nightgown is stained," she reported.

I sucked in my breath. This was the time to tell her, but the words were stuck in my throat.

"Put on a clean one and put on a sanitary napkin immediately," she ordered. "I swear," she said, shaking her head, "sometimes I think you're not only morally retarded, but mentally retarded as well."

"Emily," I began. I was so desperate, I had to tell someone, even her. "Emily, I . . ."

"I won't stand here in the dark another minute with you. Put that picture away," she said, "and go to sleep. You have much to do for Papa," she added. She turned quickly and left me in the darkness.

I shuddered with the thought of returning to Papa's bedroom, but I was afraid to do anything else. After I changed my nightgown, I returned, hesitating in the doorway to be sure he was still asleep. Then I quickly crawled into my makeshift bed and pulled the cover over me, folding myself into a fetal position. There I cried myself to sleep.

What Papa had done made me feel unclean, made me feel as if the stain was spreading through my body until it reached my heart. Not twenty, not a hundred, not a thousand baths would cleanse me of this darkness. My soul was tainted and blotched. In the morning when Emily saw me in the light of day, she would know I had been defiled. I would wear this stigma on my face forever.

Surely, I told myself, this was just another part of my punishment. I had no right to complain. Every bad thing that happened to me now, happened for a reason. Anyway, to whom would I complain? The people I loved and who loved me were either dead or gone or sick themselves. All I could do was pray for forgiveness.

Somehow, I thought, I had tempted Papa into doing a bad thing. Now something terrible would happen to him and once again, it would be my fault.

Papa woke first in the morning. He groaned and then shouted for me to wake.

"Give me that urine bottle," he ordered. I hopped out of bed and handed it to him. While he relieved himself, I quickly got into my bathrobe and slippers. When he was finished, I took the bottle into the bathroom and emptied it. But no sooner had I done that when he began to yell for his breakfast.

"Hot coffee and eggs this morning. I'm ravishingly hungry." He slapped his hands together and smiled. Could he have forgotten what he had done the night before? I wondered. There was no remorse, no guilt in his face.

"Yes, Papa," I said, avoiding his eyes and starting for the door.

"Lillian," he called. I turned, but kept my eyes lowered. Even though he had forced himself on me, it was I who felt ashamed. "Look at me whenever I speak to you," he demanded. I raised my head slowly. "That's better. Now then," he said, "you're doing a good job of taking care of me. I'm sure I'll get better faster because of it. And when someone does a good deed like you're doing, she makes up for some of the bad things she's done. The Lord is merciful. Just remember that," he said.

I swallowed back my urge to cry and smothered the moan that was trying to make its way up my throat. What about last night? I wanted to scream. Will the Lord forgive that too?

"Will you remember that?" he asked. It had the resonance of a threat instead of a question.

"I will, Papa."

"Good," he said. "Good." He nodded and I hurried out and down to the kitchen to get him his breakfast. Emily was already up and waiting at the table. I was sure she would know what had happened the moment she set eyes on me and recalled how she had found me the night before, but she looked at me no differently than she did every other morning. Her face was filled with the same contempt, the same disgust.

"Good morning, Emily," I said as I headed toward the kitchen. "I have to get Papa his breakfast."

"Just a minute," she snapped. I hesitated, but tried not to look directly at her.

"Did you do what you had to do last night to keep yourself clean?"

"Yes, Emily."

"You should keep track of your monthly time, keep track of it so it doesn't come as a surprise. Just remember why it comes—to remind us always of Eve's sin in Paradise."

"I will, Emily."

"Why did you sleep so late? Why weren't you in my room this morning to empty my chamberpot?" she asked quickly.

"I'm sorry, Emily, but . . ." I raised my eyes to her. Maybe, if I explained how it had happened . . . "But Papa was cold last night and . . ."

"Never mind all that," she said quickly. "I told you . . . you have to maintain your regular penance as well as look after all of Papa's needs. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Emily."

"Hmm," she said. She pursed her lips and squeezed her eyes into slits of suspicion. I decided if she asked me why I had gone to my real mother's picture, I would tell her. I would spit it at her. But she didn't ask because she didn't really care why I was in that room, sobbing.

"All right," she said after a moment. "When you're finished with Papa, go to my room and empty the pot."

"Yes, Emily." I released a trapped breath and continued into the kitchen where I found Vera was making Mamma some tea.

"I looked in on her this morning," Vera explained. "She said she had a bellyache and wanted nothing else."

"Mamma is sick?"

"She was probably eating those sweet chocolates all night and overdid it," Vera said. "I swear she forgets from one moment to the other how many she's already eaten. How's the Captain this morning?"

"He's hungry," I said and told her what Papa wanted. Vera stared at me a moment.

"Are you all right, Lillian?" she asked softly. "You look on the pale side and tired." I shifted my eyes quickly.