Box Set: The ArringtonTrilogy (63 page)

During my isolation I spent every hour that I
could trying to remain asleep. There was no reason to rise when the
sun came up; one day was no different from the next, until finally
the door unlocked, and Grandmother declared that I was now allowed
to eat. I was so sick from lack of nourishment that I could barely
rise when she came in to leave the plate on the floor. She didn’t
stay, but she had Hamilton come in and remove my chamber pot. He
tried hard not to look at me. He was a very large older man with
salt and pepper hair. His face was wrinkled and very worn. And just
as I thought he was turning to go, he picked up my plate and kindly
laid it beside me on the bed. Then he hurried out before
Grandmother saw that he had helped me in any way. He was frightened
of her—that I could see.

On my plate were two pieces of a kind of corn
bread. That was all. I was fortunate to have a glass of milk, also
left on the floor. I was able to keep down the food in my stomach,
and by the time I drank the milk, I felt somewhat better. With some
energy returned, I was able to get up and go over to the wardrobe.
I was curious to see what it held, if anything other than a
half-dozen beautiful dresses. I moved them aside, and to my
delight, I found a rag doll, a candle, some matches, several books,
a slate, and one small piece of chalk. It didn’t take me long to
open one of the books and begin to read The House of the Seven
Gables.

The book immediately drew me in, and I found
myself passing the hours, my mind completely captivated by the
story. The chilling tale reminded me all too well of the gypsy I
met years before and Momma’s fear of witches. This, after all, was
Momma’s book. Was that what instilled her fears? Was there even
more to the story that correlated with Momma’s life than I could
have ever even imagined? Was Sutton Hall anything like The House of
the Seven Gables? Would Sutton Hall reveal ghosts and witches and
family curses? The thought frightened me. I hoped never to find
out; I planned to be long gone before the ghosts of Sutton Hall had
any chance to reveal themselves. Daddy would come to bring me back
with him. He would realize he had to live without Momma, but he
certainly didn’t have to live without me. Daddy would soon need me
by his side and return me to the only place I would ever feel safe.
The lighthouse.

It didn’t matter where the lighthouse was—on
a remote and isolated stretch of land far out in the Atlantic
Ocean, or with any luck, back on Jasper Island. I had taken my
world, my life, for granted. Maybe I should have appreciated Momma
more and understood Daddy’s loss. Perhaps I could have been more
understanding with Heath and given Ayden more attention. If I had
the chance to do it all over again, I would in a second. I wished
and wished each night that I lay alone in the eerie old mansion,
that the day would come that I would have the opportunity to see
them all again.

I read book after book, and a week at Sutton
Hall passed. Grandmother sent my meager food up only once a day,
and I lost weight rapidly. If she noticed, she didn’t say. Every
time she entered the room to deliver the plate, I begged for my
freedom, pleaded with her to telegram Daddy and have him come and
get me. She ignored my cries; she refused to look at me.

“Why am I here if you hate me?” I asked one
hot afternoon in the stuffy room. She was there to retrieve the
plate and then leave. When she didn’t answer, I stood and demanded
she let me out of the room. “You can’t keep me locked in here
forever!”

Even Momma, who was completely out of her
mind, managed to find a way out, even if that meant she had to be
sent to an asylum.

Grandmother’s eyes narrowed and she took
several steps towards the bed.

“Oh, can’t I?” she hissed. “I learned
something from your mother, and that is that all girls, when they
start to come into flower, should be locked away. If I had only
known better, I wouldn’t have the burden of you today.”

I didn’t know what she meant. She saw my
bewilderment.

“Amelia was a beautiful girl; every man
desired her. I warned her. But she was wild and full of sin; she
didn’t heed my warning, and it wasn’t long before she was with
child from a most unholy union.” Her face twisted in disgust, and
she looked at me, shooting daggers with her stone-cold eyes.

That child was me, but I wasn’t unholy. I was
as pure as their marriage, as wholesome as their love.

“Without a doubt, you are the exact image of
your mother—inside and out,” she said. She made an about-face and
slammed the door behind her. I didn’t believe what Grandmother said
had an ounce of truth. Momma was wholesome; she only had eyes for
Daddy. Indeed, she was beautiful, much more beautiful than her own
mother. Maybe that’s why Grandmother hated Momma and made up
terrible lies about her—because she was jealous. I was fortunate to
be just like Momma; there was no reason for me ever to take
Grandmother’s words as an insult. The next time she came to the
room to deliver my meal, I would tell her so.

Hours passed slowly, and even though I spent
most of my time reading, which helped take my mind off my dreadful
imprisonment, I wanted more than anything to be free. It was
difficult to concentrate on anything but that. Between reading and
sleeping, I devised plans to escape. I thought of climbing out the
window, but it was high up, and I was afraid of falling and
breaking all my bones. I could tackle Grandmother, knock her down,
and run out of the room. But there was Hamilton, who would be there
to catch me and bring me back. My options were limited, my boredom
was excruciating, my life dismal. There was a chance I could go
mad, just like Momma. There was nothing else to do but lose all
sense of reality in such circumstances.

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. The rebuilding of Georgie has been
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 dining 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.