Darkest Hour (32 page)

"You don't have to worry about that," I said softly. "I'm more ashamed of it than you are. But Papa," I cried, appealing to whatever softness there was left in him, "please, please don't make me marry that man. I could never love him."

"You don't have to love him. You think all married people love each other?" he said, smiling sardonically. "That's the stuff of your mother's foolish books. Marriage is a business arrangement from start to finish. The wife provides something for the husband and the husband provides for the wife, and most of all, the two families benefit. If it's a well-arranged marriage, that is.

"What can be so bad for you?" he continued. "You'll be the mistress of a fine house and it's my guess that in no time, you'll have more money than I ever had. I'm doing you a favor, Lillian, so I expect more appreciation."

"You're saving your plantation, Papa. You're not doing me any favors," I accused, my eyes narrow slits of rage. It took him back for a moment.

"Nevertheless," he said, straightening up, "you will marry Bill Cutler two weeks from tomorrow. Get yourself set on it. And don't let me hear one word to the contrary, hear?" he said, his tone sterile, as if his heart had been removed. He glared at me a moment. I said nothing; I simply looked away, and then he turned and left me.

I fell back on my bed. It had begun to rain, suddenly making my room damp and chilly. The drops tapped on my window and pelted the roof. I felt the world couldn't look any darker and any more unfriendly to me. A shivering thought came rushing over me with the gust of wind that slapped the rain against the house: suicide.

For the first time in my life, I considered the possibility. Maybe I would crawl out on the roof and let myself fall to my death as Niles had fallen to his. Maybe I would die in the exact same spot. Even death seemed better than marrying a man like Bill Cutler. The very thought of it made my stomach churn. The truth was that if Papa hadn't lost a game of cards, I wouldn't be tossed over the table like just another gambling chip. It wasn't fair. Once again, impish fate was toying with my destiny, playing with my life. Was this part of my curse, too? Maybe it was better to end it.

My thoughts went to Charlotte. What made this proposed marriage even more horrible was the realization that I wouldn't see her very much anymore, for I wouldn't be able to take Charlotte with me. I couldn't very well claim her as my own. I would have to leave my baby behind. My heart felt like stone with the hard conclusion that in time I would become more like a stranger to my own child. Just like me, Charlotte would lose her real mother and Emily would take on more and more of the responsibilities. Emily would have the most influence over her life. How sad. That sweet, cherub face would lose its brightness under a sky of constant gray in a world of gloom and doom.

Of course, I would escape this horrid world by marrying Bill Cutler, I thought. If only I could manage to find a way to bring Charlotte with me, too, I might be able to endure living with that man. Maybe I could convince Papa. Maybe somehow . . . then both Charlotte and I would be free of Emily and Papa and the misery that lived alongside us in this dying plantation, a house filled with tragic memories and dark shadows. Marrying Bill Cutler would somehow be worth it then, I rationalized. What else could I do?

I got up and went downstairs. Bill Cutler had left and Papa was just straightening out some things on his desk. He looked up sharply when I entered, anticipating more argument.

"Lillian, I'm through discussing the issue. As I told you upstairs—"

"I'm not arguing with you about it, Papa. I just wanted to ask you for one thing and then I'll willingly marry Bill Cutler and save The Meadows for you," I said. He was impressed and sat back.

"Go on. What do you want?"

"I want Charlotte. I want to be able to take her with me when I go," I said.

"Charlotte? Take the baby?" He thought a moment, his eyes fixing on the rain-washed windows. For a moment he was really considering it. My hopes began to soar. Papa had no real love for Charlotte. If he could get her off too . . . then he shook his head and turned back to me. "I can't do that, Lillian. She's my child. I can't go giving up my child. What would people think?" His eyes widened. "I'll tell you what they'd think. They'd think you was her mother. No sir, I can't give up Charlotte.

"But," he said before I could respond, "maybe in time, Charlotte would spend more of her life with you. Maybe," he said, but I didn't believe it. I saw, however, that it was the best I could expect.

"Where will the wedding be held?" I asked, defeated.

"Right here at The Meadows. It will be just a small affair . . . a few of my close friends, some cousins . . ."

"Can I invite Miss Walker?"

"If you must," he begrudgingly said.

"And can I have Mamma's wedding dress fixed for me? Vera could do it," I said.

"Yes," Papa said. "That's a good idea, a good economy. Now you're thinking wisely, Lillian."

"It's not an economy. I thought of it out of love," I said firmly.

Papa fixed his gaze on me a moment and sat back. "It's a good thing, Lillian. It's a good thing for both of us that you're moving on now," he declared, his voice bitter.

"For once, Papa, I am in agreement with you," I said, and pivoted to leave him in his dark office.

15

Carrying oil lamps, Vera and I went up to the attic to look for Mamma's wedding dress in one of the old black trunks stored in the far right corner. We dusted and cleared off the cobwebs. Then we searched until we found it. Buried in mothballs with the dress, veil and shoes were some of Mamma's wedding mementos: her dried and faded corsage pressed between the pages of the palomino leather-bound Bible their minister used, a copy of the wedding invitation with a list an arm long of the invited guests, the now tarnished silver knife used to cut the wedding cake, and Papa's and her engraved silver wine cups.

As I took everything out, I couldn't help but wonder how Mamma had felt just before her wedding. Had she been excited and happy? Did she believe marrying Papa and living at The Meadows would be a wonderful thing? Did she love him, even a little bit, and did he pretend to love her well enough for her to have believed it?

I had seen some of their wedding pictures, of course, and in them Mamma did look young and beautiful, radiant and hopeful. She seemed so proud with how she was dressed and so pleased with all the excitement around her. How different our two wed-dings would be. Hers had been a gala affair that had excited the entire community. Mine would be as simple and quick as an afterthought. I would hate pronouncing the vows and hate looking at the bride-groom. Surely, I would avert my gaze when I said, "I do." Any smile on my face would be a false smile, a mask Papa had made me wear. Nothing would be real. In fact, to get myself through the ceremony, I decided I would pretend I was marrying Niles. That illusion is what sustained me over the next two weeks. It was what provided me with enough enthusiasm to do the things that had to be done.

Vera and I took the wedding dress down to her room, where she fitted and adjusted it, shortening and tightening until it did look very pretty on me. As Vera worked, little Charlotte crawled in between my legs and around us, sitting and watching with interest. Unbeknownst to her, these festivities and this ceremony would take me away, and just like me she would be losing her real mother. I tried not to dwell on it.

"What was your wedding like, Vera?" I asked. She looked up from the hem she was sewing.

"My wedding?" She smiled and tilted her head. "Quick and simple. We got married at the minister's house, in his front parlor, with his wife, my daddy and mamma and Charles's daddy and mamma present. None of Charles's brothers came. They had work to do, and my sister was employed as a housekeeper at the time and couldn't get away."

"At least you were in love with the man you married," I said sadly.

Vera sat back, a half smile on her face.

"Love?" she said. "I suppose. At the time that didn't seem to be as important as getting on and making a life for ourselves. Marriage was a promise, a way to team us up and get us moving toward better things. At least," she said with a sigh, "that was the way we saw it then. Being young, we thought every-thing would be easy."

"Was Charles your only boyfriend?"

"One and only, although I dreamt of being discovered and swept away by my own handsome prince," she confessed with a smile. Then she lifted and dropped her shoulders with a sigh. "But the time came to get down to earth and I accepted Charles's proposal. Charles may not be the handsomest man ever to come around, but he's a good man, a hard-working man, and a kind man. Sometimes," Vera said, looking up at me quickly, "that's the best a young girl can hope for, the best she can get. Love, the way you're thinking of it right now . . . that's a luxury enjoyed only by the rich."

"I hate the man I'm going to marry even though he's wealthy," I declared. Vera didn't need to hear the admission. She nodded with understanding.

"Maybe," she said, picking up the needle and thread again, "you can change him, make him into someone you can tolerate at least." She paused. "You've grown a lot these last few years, Lillian. No doubt in my mind but that you're the strongest of the Booths and the brightest. Something in you will give you the steel backbone you need. I'm sure of it. Just stand your ground. Mr. Cutler, he strikes me as being too interested in his own pleasure to be willing to put up much of a fuss when it comes to conflict."

I nodded and then I ran forward to embrace Vera and thank her. It brought tears to her eyes. Little Charlotte was jealous of the expression of affection and cried to be picked up. I lifted her in my arms and kissed her cheek.

"Please watch over Charlotte as best you can, Vera. It breaks my heart to leave her behind."

"You don't have to ask, Miss Lillian. I think of her as I do my own Luther. The two of them will grow up side by side and will watch over each other, too, I'm sure," Vera said. "Now let's get this dress in shape. It might not be the most expensive wedding, but you're going to shine as though it was the fanciest wedding this part of Virginia ever did see. Miss Georgia would want it no other way."

I laughed and had to agree. If Mamma were alive and well, she would be running all over the house, seeing that everything was clean and shiny. She'd have flowers everywhere. It would be just as it was when she hosted one of her famous barbecues. I could see her now, blossoming more and more with every minute that drew us closer and closer to the gala event. When Mamma was young and beautiful she basked in the activity and excitement, soaking it up the way a flower soaks up sunlight.

That joie de vivre was something Emily hadn't inherited. She had little interest in the preparations, except to discuss the religious aspects of the ceremony with the minister, deciding on the prayers and the hymns. And Papa was only concerned about keeping the expense down as much as he could. When Bill Cutler heard how Papa was cutting corners, he told him not to worry about the expenses; he would pick up the cost of the reception to follow the ceremony. He wanted it to be a good party, even though it was going to be small.

"I've got a few close friends coming. Make sure there's music," he ordered. "And plenty of good whiskey. No Southern rotgut." Papa was embarrassed about taking his future son-in-law's handout, but he acceded to Bill Cutler's demands, contracted a band and had some servants hired to help Vera serve and prepare fancier foods.

Each day that drew me closer to my wedding date made me more and more anxious. Sometimes I would stop in the middle of what I was doing and find my fingers trembling, my legs shaking, a sick, empty feeling swirling in the bottom of my stomach. As if he knew the sight of him might change my mind, Bill Cutler stayed away from The Meadows until our wedding day. He told Papa he had to return to Cutler's Cove to see about his hotel. His own daddy was dead and his mother too old and senile to travel. He was an only child and would return with some close friends and no relatives.

Some of Papa's and Mamma's cousins were coming. Miss Walker replied to my invitation and promised to attend. Papa restricted his invitations to a half dozen neighboring families, the Thompsons not being one of them, All in all, there were barely three dozen guests, a far cry from the hordes of people who used to show up for one of the great affairs at The Meadows in its heyday.

The night before my wedding, I hardly ate a morsel at dinner. My stomach was all in knots. I felt like someone being sentenced to a chain gang. Papa took one look at me and went into one of his rages.

"Don't you come down those stairs tomorrow wearing that long face, Lillian. I don't want people thinking I'm sending you to your death. I'm spending all I can afford and then some to make this a nice affair," he said, pretending not to have taken anything from Bill Cutler.

"I'm sorry, Papa," I cried. "I'm trying, but I can't help how I feel."

"You should feel blessed," Emily inserted. "You're going to participate in one of the most sacred of sacraments—marriage—and you should think of it only as that," she lectured, looking down her long thin nose at me pompously.

"I can't think of my marriage as a sacrament; it's more like a curse," I retorted. "I'm being treated no better than the slaves were treated before the Civil War, traded off like a horse or a cow."

"Damn!" Papa cried, smashing the table with his fist. The dishes jumped. "If you embarrass me tomorrow . . ."

"Don't worry, Papa," I said with a sigh. "I will walk down the aisle and take Bill Cutler's hand in marriage. I'll recite the words, but that's all it will be, a recital. I won't mean any vow I take."

"If you put your hand on the Bible and lie—" Emily began to threaten.

"Stop it, Emily. Do you think God is deaf and dumb? Do you think He can't read our hearts and minds? What good is my saying believe the words of the marriage vows I take, if in my heart I won't?" I sat back. "Someday, Emily, you might see that God has something to do with love and truth as well as with punishment and retribution and you will realize just how much you have missed sitting in the dark," I told her. I got up before she could respond and left her and Papa in the dining room to chew on their ugly thoughts.

I didn't sleep much at all. Instead, I sat by my window and watched the night sky become more and more star-studded. Toward morning, a wave of clouds slipped over the horizon and began to cover the tiny, twinkling diamonds. I closed my eyes and fell asleep for a while and when I awoke again, I saw that it would be a dull, gray day with rain threatening to fall. It added to my gloom and doom. I didn't go down for breakfast. Vera anticipated my action and came up with a tray of hot tea and oatmeal.

"You better get something in you," she advised, "or you'll pass out at the altar."

"Maybe I'd be better off, Vera," I said, but I listened to her and ate as much as I could. I heard some of the people hired to help at the reception arriving downstairs and the preparations to decorate and set up the ballroom begin. Shortly afterward, some of Mamma's and Papa's cousins began to arrive. A few had come from more than a hundred miles away. The musicians appeared and as soon as they turned up their instruments, there was music. Before long, the plantation had a festive air about it. The aromas of luscious foods traveled through the corridors and the dark, old place was filled with light and noise and the chatter of excitement. Despite the way I felt, I couldn't help but be pleased by the changes.

Charlotte and Luther were very excited with the arrival of all the guests and servants. Some of Mamma's and Papa's relatives had never seen Charlotte and doted on her. Afterward, Vera brought her up to my room to see me. She had made her a fancy little dress, too, and she did look adorable. She was eager to go back downstairs and join Luther and not miss a thing.

"At least the children are happy," I muttered. My eyes fell on the clock. With each tick, the hands were being drawn closer and closer to the hour when I would have to emerge from my room and descend the stairs to the notes of "Here Comes the Bride." Only to me it felt more like I was descending the stairs to my execution.

Vera pressed my hand and smiled.

"You look very beautiful, honey," she said. "Your mother would be bursting with pride."

"Thank you, Vera. How I wish Tottie was still here and Henry."

She nodded, took Charlotte's little hand and left me to wait for the clock to strike the hour. Not that many years ago, when Mamma was alive and well, I dreamt of how she and I would spend my wedding day. We would spend hours and hours at her vanity table planning out every strand of my hair. Then we'd experiment with rouge and lipstick. I would have my own wedding dress created with matching shoes and veil. Mamma would dwell over her jewelry box to decide what precious bracelet or necklace I would wear.

After all that I was going to wear had been chosen and the preparations completed, we would sit for hours and hours and talk. I would listen to her memories of her own wedding and Mamma would give me advice about how to act on my first night with my new husband. Then, when I came down the stairs, I would see her gazing up at me with proud, loving eyes. We would exchange smiles and glances like two conspirators who had plotted out every delicious moment. She would reach out and squeeze my hand before I stepped up to the altar and after it was over, she would be the first to hug and kiss me and wish me all the luck and happiness life had to offer. I would cry and feel frightened when I finally left to go on my honeymoon, but Mamma's smile would soothe me and I would be strong enough to start my own wonderful, married life.

Instead of all that, I sat alone in my dreary room and listened to the dreadful tick-tock of my clock with nothing but my own dark thoughts to accompany me.

I wiped away the inevitable tears and sucked in my breath when I heard the music grow louder and when I heard Papa's footsteps in the hallway. He had come to escort me to the top of the stairway. He had come to give me away, to trade me off and repair the blunders of his own ways. I stood up and greeted him with a face of stone when he opened my door.

"Ready?" he asked.

"As much as I'll ever be," I said. He smirked, tugged on his mustache and held out his arm.

I took it and started out, pausing at the doorway to look back at my room, a room that had been a prison to me at one point. But I thought I saw Niles's face in the window looking in and smiling. I smiled back, closed my eyes, pretended it was he waiting for me below, and walked on with Papa.

I stepped down slowly, afraid that my legs would shatter like glass and send me tumbling head over heels down the spiraling stairway to the feet of the smiling guests, now all seated and waiting. I focused on Miss Walker who smiled up at me and I gathered my strength. Papa nodded at some of his friends. I saw the faces of my future husband's friends, strangers who were gazing up at me with close scrutiny to see who had captured Bill Cutler's heart. A few smiled with the same sort of licentious grins; the others remained interested, curious.

We paused at the base of the stairs. The gathering applauded. Ahead of us, the minister waited with Bill Cutler. He turned and flashed his arrogant smile at me as I was led down the aisle like a lamb to slaughter. He did look handsome in his tuxedo with his wavy dark hair brushed neatly on the sides. I saw Emily sitting up front, with Charlotte beside her sitting up properly, her big eyes following everyone's movement and widening when she saw me approaching. Papa brought me up front and stood back. The music stopped. Someone coughed. I heard light laughter from Bill's friends, and then the minister raised his eyes toward the ceiling and began.