Darkest Hour (33 page)

He offered two prayers, one longer than the other. Then he nodded to Emily and she began the hymn. The guests were fidgety, but neither he nor Emily cared. When the service finally ended, the minister focused his sad eyes on me, eyes I always felt belonged in an undertaker's head, and began to recite the wedding vows. As soon as he asked, "Who gives this woman to be this bride?" Papa lunged forward and boasted, "I do." Bill Cutler smiled, but I looked down as the minister continued, describing how sacred and serious marriage was before he got to the part where he asked me if I took this man to be my lawful, wedded husband.

Slowly, I let my gaze wash over my future husband's face and the miracle I prayed for occurred. I didn't see Bill Cutler; I saw Niles, sweet and handsome, smiling at me with love just the way he had time after time at the magic pond.

"I do," I said. I never heard Bill Cutler's vows, but when the minister pronounced us man and wife, I felt him lift my veil and press his lips to mine eagerly, kissing me so hard and long it brought a few gasps out of the audience. My eyes snapped open and I gazed at Bill Cutler's face, swollen with pleasure. There was a cheer and the guests rose to offer their congratulations. Every one of my new husband's friends gave me a kiss and wished me luck, winking when they did so. One young man said, "You'll need lots of it, being married to this scoundrel." Finally, I was able to step aside to speak with Miss Walker.

"I wish you all the happiness and health life can offer, Lillian," she said, hugging me.

"And I wish I was still in your class, Miss Walker. I wish it was years ago and I was just a little girl again eager to be taught and excited by every little thing I learned."

She beamed.

"I will miss you," she said. "You were the brightest and best student I ever had. I had hoped you would become a teacher, but now I understand you will have a lot more responsibility as the mistress of an important beach resort."

"I'd rather I became a teacher," I said. She smiled as if I had wished for something impossible.

"Write to me from time to time," she said, and I promised I would.

As soon as the ceremony ended, the party began. I had no appetite, despite the wonderful foods that were brought out. I spent some time with some of Mamma's and Papa's relatives, saw that Charlotte had something to eat and drink, and then, when I was able to, I snuck away from the reception. A light rain had begun, but I ignored it. I lifted my skirt and hurried out the rear entrance of the house, crossing the yard quickly. I found the path to the north field and practically ran all the way to the family graveyard so I could say good-bye to Mamma and Eugenia, who lay side by side.

Raindrops commingled with my tears. For a long moment, I could say nothing. All I could do was stand there and sob, my shoulders shuddering, my heart so heavy I thought it had turned to stone in my chest. My memory focused on a sunny day years and years ago when Eugenia wasn't yet as sick as she would become. She, Mamma and I were in the gazebo. We were drinking fresh lemonade and Mamma was telling us stories about her youth. I held my little sister's hand and the two of us let our minds roam with Mamma, who wove us through some of the most wonderful days of her youth. She spoke with such feeling and excitement, it made us both feel we were there.

"Oh, the South was a wonderful place then, children. There were parties and dances. The air was festive; the men always so polite and attentive, and the young women always on the verge of one heart song or another. We fell in love every day with someone else, our emotions riding the wind. It was a storybook world in which every morning began with the words, Once upon a time . . .

"I pray, my little dears, that it will be that way for you two as well. Come, let me hug you," she said, holding her arms out to us. We buried ourselves against her breasts and felt her heart beating with joy. In those days it seemed that nothing ugly or cruel could touch us.

"Good-bye, Mamma," I finally said. "Good-bye, Eugenia. I'll never stop missing you and loving you."

The wind lifted my hair and the rain became heavier. I had to turn away and hurry back to the house. The party had really gotten into full swing. All of my husband's friends were loud and rowdy, swinging their women around wildly as they danced.

"Where were you?" Bill asked when he spotted me in the doorway.

"I went out to say good-bye to Mamma and Eugenia."

"Who's Eugenia?"

"My little sister who died."

"Another little sister? Well if she's dead, how'd you say good-bye to her?" he asked. He had already consumed a great deal of alcohol and swayed when he spoke.

"I went to the graveyard," I said dryly.

"Graveyards ain't no place for a new bride," he muttered. "Come on. Let's show these people how to do a jig." Before I could refuse, he seized my arm and pulled me onto the dance floor. Those who were dancing stopped to make a larger space for us. Bill swung me around awkwardly. I tried to look as graceful as I could, but he tripped over his own feet and fell, bringing me down on him. All of his friends thought it was hilarious, but I couldn't have been more embarrassed. As soon as I was able to stand, I ran out and up to my room. I changed out of my wedding dress and put on traveling clothes. All my things had been packed and the trunks were set near the door.

A little more than an hour later, Charles came up and knocked.

"Mr. Cutler told me to get your things into his automobile, Miss Lillian," he said with a tone of apology. "He told me to tell you to come down." I nodded, sucked in my breath, and started out. Most of the guests were still there, waiting to say good-bye and wish us luck. Bill was flopped on a sofa, his tie off, his shirt collar open. He looked all flushed, but got to his feet as soon as I appeared.

"Here she is!" he announced. "My new bride. Well, we're off to the honeymoon. I know some of you would like to come along," he added, and his friends laughed. "But there ain't room but for two in our bed."

"Wait and see," someone yelled. There was more laughter. All of his friends gathered around him to pat him on the back and shake his hand one last time.

Papa, who had consumed far too much alcohol, was collapsed in a chair, his head to one side.

"Ready?" Bill asked.

"No, but I'll go," I said. He laughed at that and started to scoop his arm under mine when he remembered something.

"Hold on," he said and produced Papa's land title to The Meadows, the document he had won at cards. He sauntered over to him and shook his shoulders.

"Wha . . . what?" Papa said, his eyes flickering open.

"Here you go, Pappy," Bill said, and shoved the document into Papa's hands. Papa gazed at it dumbly for a moment and then looked up at me. I shifted my eyes and gazed at Emily who stood off with some of our relatives, sipping from a cup of tea. Her eyes met mine and for a moment, I thought there was an expression of pity and compassion in her face.

"Let's go, Mrs. Cutler," Bill said. The crowd followed us to the door where Vera waited with Charlotte in her arms and Luther at her side. I paused to hold Charlotte one last time and kiss her cheek. She looked at me strangely, beginning to sense the finality of this parting. Her eyes grew small and troubled and her tiny lips quivered.

"Lil," she said when I returned her to Vera's arms. "Lil."

"Good-bye, Vera."

"God bless," Vera said, swallowing her tears quickly. I brushed Luther's hair and kissed him on the forehead, and then I followed my new husband out the door of The Meadows. Charles had everything packed in the car and Bill's rowdy friends were cheering behind us in the doorway.

"Good-bye, Miss Lillian. Good luck," Charles said.

"She don't need luck no more," Bill said. "She got me."

"We all need some luck," Charles insisted. He helped me into the car and closed the door as Bill got in and behind the steering wheel. As soon as the car was started, Bill shifted and began to drive over the bumpy driveway.

I looked back. Vera was in the doorway now, still holding Charlotte, with Luther at her side, clinging to her skirt. She waved.

Good-bye, I mouthed. I said my good-byes to a different home, a different Meadows, the one I remembered and cherished dearly. The Meadows I said farewell to was a plantation full of light and life.

My farewell was to the sound of song birds, the flutter of chimney swallows, the chatter of blue jays and mockingbirds, the joy of seeing them flit from one branch to another. My farewell was to a clean, bright plantation house with windows that glittered and columns that stood tall and proud in the Southern sunlight, a house with a heritage and a history, whose walls still reverberated with the voices of dozens of servants. My farewell was to white-starred young magnolia trees, to wisteria tumbling over the verandas, to whitewashed brick and pink crepe myrtle bushes, to rolling green lawns with sparkling fountains in which birds bathed and dipped their feathers. My farewell trailed down a drive lined with full, thick oak trees. My farewell was to Henry singing as he worked, to Louella hanging out the sweet smelling wash, to Eugenia waving from her window, to Mamma looking up from one of her romance novels, her face still flushed because of something she had read.

And my farewell was to a little girl running excitedly up the drive, her hand clutching a school paper covered with gold stars, her voice crying out with such joy and excitement she thought she would burst

"What are you crying about?" Bill demanded.

"Nothing," I said quickly.

"This should be the happiest day of your life, Lillian. You're married to a handsome, young Southern gentleman on the rise. I'm rescuing you. That's what I'm doing," he bragged.

I wiped my cheeks and turned as we continued to bounce down the driveway.

"Why did you want to marry me anyway?" I asked.

"Why? Lillian," he said, "you're the first woman I met I wanted but couldn't get to want me. I knew right off you was something special and Bill Cutler ain't one to pass over something special. And besides, everyone's been telling me it's time I took a wife. Cutler's Cove caters to a family clientele. You will soon be part of it."

"You know I don't love you," I said. "You know why I married you."

He shrugged.

"That's fine. You'll start loving me once I start making love to you," he promised. "Then you'll realize just how lucky you are.

"In fact," he said, as we started the turn away from The Meadows, "I've decided we should stop along the way and not put off your good fortune any longer than we have to. Instead of spending our honeymoon night at Cutler's Cove, we'll spend it at a bed and breakfast I know just an hour and a half from here. How's that sound?"

"Horrible," I muttered.

He roared. "Just like breaking a wild stallion," he declared. "I'm going to enjoy this."

We rolled on and I looked back only once more when we came to the path that used to take me and Niles to the magic pond. How I wished I could have paused and dipped my hands into the wonderful water and wished myself someplace else.

But magic only happens when you're with people you love, I thought. It would be a long time before I would ever see or feel it again, and that, more than anything else, made me feel lost and alone.

Had I married a man I loved and who I was sure loved me, the Dew Drop Inn—the quaint hotel Bill had found for our wedding night—would have been delightful and romantic to me. It was a two-story building with periwinkle blue shutters and milk-white clapboard siding, nestled just off the highway in a pocket of oak and hickory trees. The building had bay windows and spindle porch supports. Our upstairs room opened to a second-story landing that provided a wide view of the countryside across the way. Down-stairs there was a large parlor with well-preserved colonial furnishings and scenic oil paintings above the fieldstone fireplace and on the walls in the hallway and large dining room as well.

The Dobbs, the owners, were an elderly couple who Bill had obviously gotten to know on his way to The Meadows when he planned out our itinerary. They knew he would be returning with his new bride. Mr. Dobbs was a tall, lean man with two patches of gray, steel-wool-like hair on the sides of his shiny bald head which was peppered with dark age spots. He had small light-brown eyes, and a long, narrow nose that dipped over his thin mouth. Because of his height and thinness, as well as his facial features, he reminded me of a scarecrow. He had large hands with long fingers and continually washed his palms against each other nervously as he spoke. His wife, also tall, but much stouter with shoulders like a lumber jack and a heavy hard-looking bosom, stood aside, nodding after everything her husband said.

"We hope you'll be cozy and warm and have a most delightful stay with us," Mr. Dobbs said. "And Marion here is going to make you two the best breakfast, ain't you, Marion?"

"I make a good breakfast every day," she said firmly, and then smiled. "But tomorrow's will be extra special, seeing the occasion and all."

"And I expect you two will be hungry," Mr. Dobbs added, winking and smiling at Bill, who pulled his shoulders up and smiled back.

"I expect we will," he replied.

"Everything's ready just as you wanted it to be," Mr. Dobbs said. "You want me to show you around again?"

"No need," Bill said. "First, I'll show my new bride the room and then I'll come back and get some of our things."

"Oh, want me to help you with that?" Mr. Dobbs asked.

"No need," Bill said. "I got plenty of energy tonight," he added. He took my hand and headed toward the stairway.

"Well now, sleep tight and don't let the bedbugs bite," Mr. Dobbs called after us.

"We ain't got no bedbugs, Horace Dobbs," his wife snapped. "And never have."

"Just kidding, Mother. Just kidding," he mumbled, and hurried away.

"Congratulations," Mrs. Dobbs called to us before following her husband. Bill nodded and continued to lead me up the stairs.

The room was pleasant. It had a brass bed with ornate designs on the poles and headboard, a wide mattress covered with a flowery pattern quilt and two enormous matching pillows. The windows were done in bright blue-and-white cotton curtains. The hard-wood floor looked as though it had been polished and polished to bring out its natural sheen. There was a soft-looking, cream wool rug under the bed. Both night tables had brass oil lamps.

"The scene of the seduction," Bill announced gleefully. "How do you like it?"

"It's very nice," I had to admit. Why take my unhappiness out on the Dobbses, I thought, or this cozy little house.

"I got an eye for these things," he bragged. "It's the hotel owner's blood at work. I was driving along, thinking about our first night and as soon as I set eyes on this place, I stepped down on the brakes and made the arrangements. I don't usually put myself out to please a woman, you know."

"According to the minister, I'm not just any woman to you anymore. He did mention the words husband and wife," I said dryly. Bill laughed and showed me where the bathroom was located in the hallway.

"I'll go down and bring up your bag and my own while you make yourself comfortable," he said, nodding toward the bed, "and ready." He ran the tip of his tongue from one side of his mouth to the other and then turned and rushed downstairs.

I sat down on the bed and folded my hands on my lap. My heart was beginning to thump in anticipation. In moments I would have to surrender myself to a man I hardly knew. He would learn the most intimate details of my body. I had been telling myself all along that I could get through this by closing my eyes and pretending Bill Cutler was Niles, but now that I was here and it was only moments before it would begin, I realized it would be impossible to shut out the reality and replace it with a dream. Bill Cutler was not the sort of man who would be denied.

I looked down and saw my fingers were trembling. My knees wanted to knock together; my eyes wanted to pour out their tears. The little girl in me wanted to plead for mercy, to cry for Mommy. What was I going to do? Should I beg my new husband to be gentle and kind and give me more time? Should I confess all the horrors of my life and seek his compassion?

Another part of me shouted
No,
loud and clear. Bill Cutler was not the sort of man who would understand and care; he was not a Southern gentleman in any sense of the words. Old Henry's words of wisdom came back to me: "A branch that doesn't bend with the wind breaks." I sucked in my breath and swallowed back my cries. Bill Cutler would see no fear in my face, no tears in my eyes. Yes, the wind blew me from one place to another, and there was seemingly nothing to do about it, but that didn't mean I had to wail and moan. I would move faster than the wind. I would bend harder. I would make the devilish wind look inadequate, and I would take charge of my own destiny.

By the time Bill returned to our honeymoon bedroom with our bags, I was undressed and under the blanket. He paused in the doorway, his eyes full of surprise. I knew he had been anticipating resistance, even hoping for it just so he could lord it over me.

"Well, now," he said, putting the bags aside. "Well, now." He prowled around me, a cat on the stalk, ready to spring. "Don't you look inviting?"

I wanted to say, let's get it over with, but I kept my lips sealed and followed him with my eyes. He pulled off his tie and literally attacked his clothes, impatient with buttons and zippers. I had to admit he was a fine-looking man, slim and muscular. The way I studied him took him aback and he paused before he lowered his shorts.

"You don't have the face of a virgin," he said. "You look a little too wise, too calm."

"I never said I was a virgin," I replied. His mouth fell open and his eyes widened.

"What?"

"You never said you were a virgin either, did you?" I asked pointedly.

"Now look here. Your daddy told me—"

"Told you what?" I asked, very interested.

"Told me . . . told me . . ." He stuttered. "That you never had any beaux, that you were . . . untouched. We made a deal. We . . ."