Box Set: The ArringtonTrilogy (67 page)

Abigail frowned.

I demonstrated how to say, “Hello” in sign
language, then “goodbye.” Then I proceeded to show them the
alphabet, using my hands to make the letters. They were
stunned.

Hamilton came over and used gestures to tell
Abigail to have me teach him more.

I got off the bed and took his hand, then
maneuvered his fingers to spell Hamilton.

“That’s amazing!” Abigail cried.

“I can teach you, if you really want to
learn.”

“Sure thing, Miss Lillian.”

Hamilton was all smiles; I had never seen him
smile before. And I was smiling inside, when I truly thought I
never would again.

“Now, do you want to come out?”

I wasn’t certain. I hadn’t been out of the
room for weeks. I was safe there and didn’t feel ready.

“Maybe next time,” I said, and lay back down.
As exciting as teaching Hamilton a few signs was, I was drained and
exhausted from using what little energy I had managed to store.

“Okay, then, Miss Lillian—next time,” Abigail
said.

They departed and didn’t lock the door behind
them. They were on my side, and to my own surprise, I actually felt
an ever-so-slight glimmer of hope.

The first time I ventured out of the room, on
the day Grandmother took a day trip into Savannah, I was like a
terrified animal coming out of its cage. I walked slowly,
encouraged by Abigail. The house seemed larger and more ominous
than I had remembered when they brought me in after taking me from
Warren Stone’s cabin three months before. Abigail had snuck me
extra food during my confinement, so I had the energy to walk the
long halls and creep down the grand staircase of Sutton Hall. I
followed her like a lost puppy, and as we stepped outside, the
intense sunlight made me shield my eyes and step back into the
shadows of the old house.

“Come now, Miss Lillian.”

Abigail took hold of my hand and brought me
into the sunlight. It was warm, and although the air was heavy and
oppressive, I was happy to finally be outside. The bonnet that
covered my short, ugly hair gave me the confidence to move on and
look around, to take in the place around me. The sweet fragrance of
the mature magnolia trees were more distinct than any I had ever
encountered before. The colors—the green leaves of the live oak
trees, the pastel blue sky—were more vibrant than I remembered. But
Sutton Hall loomed in front, menacing and threatening, and looking
up at the ominous mansion made me shiver, especially when my eyes
fell upon the only room with sealed shutters.

Abigail was anxious for me to see her
quarters. We proceeded behind the mansion, past the the small ice
house until we came upon a small row of shacks, the prior slave
quarters. Now it was a simple home for Hamilton and Abigail. She
stepped upon the front porch of the first drab building, then
turned to me and said, “Well, this here is mine and
Hamilton’s.”

It was sparse and meager, just as was my own.
They had a small mattress on the floor to share, a rocking chair,
and an old, broken table with two chairs. In the corner was a
cradle. I supposed she had had a child, or children, that must have
been grown and long gone. When she saw me gazing at it, she took my
hand and led me back outside, into the woods near the river, to an
overgrown area under a group of pine trees.

“Over here,” she said, stopping at a small
stone. It was a headstone.

As I looked around, I saw dozens of them, all
under fallen branches and layers of pine needles. Abigail had me
look closely at the headstone, and as my eyes narrowed onto the
letters, I gasped and stepped back. It bore the name
“Jacob-Thomas.”

“That there was my baby boy,” she said
somberly.

Jacob-Thomas, the name Momma repeated over
and over after she went mad. The grave held the boy that Momma was
so fond of and wanted to remember for always.

“I must get back to make the supper. You get
back before dark.”

Abigail knew I wouldn’t try and run; I
wouldn’t risk my own life, as well as hers. For certain, if
Grandmother discovered I was let out, Abigail and Hamilton would be
beaten. I wouldn’t put them in jeopardy, and after all, there was
nowhere and no one to run to.

I made my way down to the river and sat
watching the herons and pelicans walk along the marsh area. The
scenery was so different from Jasper Island. I missed the enormous
whalers out on the sea, I missed the seagulls hovering above the
beach, and I longed to hear the waves crashing against the rocks of
the island. I craved the smell of salt air and the cool ocean
breezes. I pulled my legs up against my chest, closed my eyes, and
envisioned the tall lighthouse again. I could almost see Daddy up
there in my mind; cleaning the Fresnel lens and oiling and winding
the clockworks. I pictured Heath and Ayden and baby Elizabeth. I
imagined they had acquired a healthy summer glow, unlike the
sickly, pale, prisoner’s white that covered my face like a veil. It
saddened me to think of them, to imagine all I was missing, and to
see how much had been taken from me.

Afterwards, I realized, as I lay on the warm
ground and began to cry, that I was more fortunate than Abigail.
After all, Heath, Ayden, and Elizabeth were alive; I hadn’t lost
them for good. Someday, when life turned good for me, there would
be a day when the door to my prison would be permanently unlocked
and I could leave the place where the devil lived and return to
Jasper Island. With any luck, I would get there before Edward and
Opal moved away to take Elizabeth to the school for the deaf. But
if indeed they were gone, I would stay on as lighthouse keeper,
just as Daddy said I could someday.

It felt good to have a plan; it gave me
something to hold on to and think about in my most wearisome times.
I knew better days were ahead of me, though my life had turned into
a cruel joke, and I no longer believed there was a God. Maybe
Grandmother was correct; maybe I was full of sin and it was all
because I didn’t want to believe God could leave me so desolate and
wretched. From everything Momma had taught me, as far back as I
could remember, we were all God’s children, and if we prayed hard
enough and were good servants to him, all of our prayers would be
answered. None of mine had ever been answered. I had been good; I
lived according to the Ten Commandments. Was it because I loved
Heath and longed for Warren to desire me that God, if he indeed
existed, had turned his back on me and believed I was the devil’s
spawn? I wasn’t sure, and there was no one, no minister to guide me
through my troubles and doubts about God and myself.

With a weary heart, as the day spilled into
another sweltering evening, I returned to the mansion. I was just
turning the corner when Abigail ran over, her hands flailing over
her head in a panic.

“Miss Lillian, hurry,” she said, out of
breath, taking my hand and pulling me through a back door into the
mansion to a dark, mysterious stairway.

“Abigail, what is it?”

“Mrs. Arrington. She’s come home early. You
need to get back to your room.”

We ran up the narrow stairway and threw open
a door to the second floor. We hurried down the hall and got to my
room just before we heard voices down below.

“Who is here?” I asked as she began to close
the door.

“She brought back Mr. Arrington.”

“My grandfather?” I asked, shocked. I thought
he was dead.

“He’s been sick in the hospital. He’s home
now, and I have to be tending to him.” Abigail scurried off, and I
ran to the door and put my ear up against it to hear what was going
on. However, the mahogany door was thick, and I couldn’t hear a
sound. All the months I had been locked away, I had no idea my
grandfather was alive and returning to Sutton Hall.

As I sat back on the bed, I thought about
what he might look like and if he was anything at all like
Grandmother. Maybe he was a kind old man, and once he found out I
was kept locked away, he would demand my freedom. With rekindled
hope, I got up, went to the armoire, and took out the brush and
mirror Abigail had given me. I pulled off my bonnet, and with the
mirror in one hand and the brush in the other, tried to fix my hair
so that when Grandfather came up to see me, I would look my best.
My hair had grown back to the top of my shoulders, but the ends
were dull and uneven. I did the best I could; I brushed one hundred
strokes, then sat up and waited for the door to be unlocked. I kept
my eyes on the door knob, waiting to see any sign of movement. But
as the hours passed, and light no longer seeped through the cracks
of the shutters, I fell onto the bed and sighed heavily. The room
was dark; the one candle I had was burnt down to the wick. The only
time considerable light came into the room was when someone walked
along the corridor carrying a lamp. On that night, no one came, not
even to bring me supper.

When I woke the next day, there was a plate
on the floor with my one hard boiled egg and a glass of water. I
went to rise from bed to retrieve the plate, when I doubled over in
pain from a stomach cramp, and felt wetness trickle down my leg. I
lifted my dress to see my legs covered in blood. I couldn’t see
where it all was coming from, and I began to panic. I went to the
door and peeked through the keyhole, then yelled for help.

“Please, someone; I’m bleeding!” I screamed.
“Abigail? Someone!”

Before long, a key was shoved into the lock
and I stepped back. It was Grandmother.

“What is going on? Why are you screaming?”
she demanded. I was filled with so much terror that I couldn’t
speak. In the dimness of the room I stood, so frightened of her I
couldn’t move. She stepped in and saw the blood then she stormed
inside and slammed the door.

“Don’t you see what this is?” she said in a
tone that made me tremble. When I didn’t answer, she lifted my
dress and pointed, then said, “You are bleeding from the place
where babies come. Now, for certain, if any man touches you or
kisses you, you will grow a baby inside your stomach and when it is
ready to be born, you will lay on the bed in anguish and die before
it comes out.”

Just the thought of what she said made me
sick, and I ran to the chamber pot with dry heaves.

“Abigail will bring up rags for you so you
don’t stain the floors,” she spat, then took her lamp and left. I
was confused and terrified; I didn’t understand what she meant. She
didn’t explain why I was bleeding, when or if it would ever stop,
or what it had to do with having babies. I only knew that a man,
with even the slightest touch, could put a baby in me. Daddy had
touched Momma, and she never had a baby after me. I fell to the
floor and bawled, afraid and perplexed, and wanting more than
anything not to have the burden of shame that womanhood put upon
me.

Abigail found me on the hard floor, lifted
me, and handed me the rags to put between my legs to keep the blood
soaked up. “It’s gonna be fine. Only few days, and it will pass,”
she said as I sat up, then she hurried out as Grandmother hollered
for her return.

I used the rags to stop the mess then pulled
myself onto the bed. I wasn’t able to eat and could only lie still
and moan over the terrible cramps that plagued my stomach area. The
pain lasted and I used rags for five days. I realized in the weeks
ahead that it would happen again, every month. I didn’t understand
why, but it was just another burden, one of the many dreadful
things that became commonplace while I was at Sutton Hall.

My days and nights were endless, with no
light or meaning or prospect of a better day. Grandfather never
once came to see me; he didn’t appear at my door to save me and
hand me my freedom. He was obviously as evil as Grandmother and
wanted me locked away from the world. I wondered how two such vile
people could have created or even known Momma. She was kind and
sweet and didn’t have a mean bone in her body. She wasn’t dark and
unsightly like Grandmother. In fact, she resembled her not at all.
When I first arrived at Sutton Hall, I was ready to put the pieces
of my family’s history together, thinking that somehow, the walls
of the ominous mansion would speak to me and reveal all the secrets
and tales of years past. I would find out why Momma had run away,
how she met Daddy, and why Grandmother felt driven to take me in,
only to keep me locked away forever.

Then, as the summer melted into fall, then
winter, I finally surrendered in defeat to my horrifying destiny,
and made a discovery so unexpected and urgent it altered everything
about my existence and gave me a small piece of my life back—only
to be shattered all over again.

_______________

A wicked hurricane blew through the eastern
coast line and gave me the gift of light. The brutal winds blew off
one of the shutters, allowing sunlight to fill my once-dark room. I
could now look out the windows and gaze down below to see the
comings and goings of Sutton Hall. Although I still had no fresh
air because the window was sealed shut, I had enough sunlight to
brighten even my worst days. I could see into the armoire once
again and pull out the books that I had put back inside the day
before I ran away.

After taking out the dresses and placing
them, one by one, on the bed to get a better look inside the
armoire and see if I had missed any books, I noticed something
brassy sticking out of the corner, partially hidden by a book. I
reached all the way in and pulled out the book to reveal a key. At
first, I presumed it was a key to the wardrobe, but when I tried to
put it in the key hole, it wouldn’t fit. It wasn’t nearly the right
size. Slowly, I turned to the bedroom door. My hands shaking, in
slow motion, I placed it in the keyhole, and to my elation, it fit!
I quickly snatched it back out and placed it in my pocket so it
wouldn’t be discovered. I had a way out, but I feared the same
thing would happen—I would run, be found, and be mercilessly
beaten. I didn’t want to go through that again. Undecided about
what to do, I put the key back in the armoire.