Box Set: The ArringtonTrilogy (72 page)

When I entered what had been Grandmother and
Grandfather’s room, I passed a mirror behind the door, obviously
accidentally left behind, and saw my own reflection. I looked
nothing like an apparition. I was not a ghost; I was very much
alive and left to fend for myself, alone. I was no longer a
prisoner; I had my freedom and could do as I pleased. I felt much
the same way as the former slaves; the doors of sovereignty were
opened, but without a place to go, it almost held no value. Then I
thought it was up to me to make what I could of the opportunity
handed to me. I would go to Warren’s cabin, and there I would wait
for him until his return.

I changed into a clean, dry dress, glanced
around my prison for what I believed would be the last time, and
then made my exit, not looking back. I believed I remembered the
way. It didn’t seem long ago that I was brought back to Sutton
Hall, bound and gagged, then beaten. I was sure of the direction,
and although my walk seemed a hundred times longer, I finally made
it to Warren’s tiny cabin.

I didn’t expect him to be there and proceeded
up to the small porch. On my walk, I thought about how long he had
been gone and figured he could return any day. I was relieved to
find the door unlocked.

Everything appeared as it had been when I
forcefully taken away. The cabin was untidy; his bed was not made
from the last night he slept there. I went to the bed, sat down,
and thought about how wonderful such a simple thing as a clean bed
was. It still didn’t seem real; I was actually free from the chains
of evil that bound me to Sutton Hall. No longer was there a
grandmother to fear; in fact, I had nothing to fear any longer. I
just needed to wait for Warren, and when he heard what had unfolded
to lead me to him, he would want to take me away to start our life
together. I could almost feel the ocean breezes against my face as
I imagined the days ahead on Cape Cod.

I suspected Warren would make me an honest
woman and marry me. It couldn’t happen soon enough, and I sat on
his bed and locked my eyes on the door, anticipating his return at
any moment.

Day slipped gracefully into night, and though
I found myself sitting in the darkness, I kept my stare, unwavering
as the hours passed, fixed on the door until morning approached.
The bright orange glow of the new day beamed through the small
windows of the cabin, onto my face. I closed my eyes, and they
remained closed until the sun rose high and morning was fully
underway. Still, I was not tired, and had no desire to alter my
commitment. I would sit there, eyes wide open and fixed on the
door, with all the endurance I had left, until Warren came home.
Occasionally, I thought I saw his shadow approach the porch and my
heart would stop, but then I’d realize it was just the shadow of a
branch and I’d be disappointed, take a breath, and resume my
steadfast position.

This went on for as long as I could keep my
eyes open, until my lids grew so heavy that sleep won out and I
lowered my head and drifted off to sleep, only to wake early into
another day, angry with myself. The moment Warren walked through
the door, I wanted to see his expression; I wanted to watch his sea
green eyes light up and hear him call me to him. That fantasy
played over and over again in my mind, so much so that my heart
began to race and I became fidgety and restless. After days of
sitting I finally got up. My empty stomach had been rumbling, and I
decided to go through his cupboards to find something to eat, but
there was nothing. So I went outside to the well, drank as much
water as I could to fill me up, then went back inside, and returned
to my place. Then a wonderful idea came to me. I had noticed a tin
tub out on the porch, and I dragged it into the kitchen. I made a
small fire and proceeded to heat up some water. I would soak
myself, maybe for hours.

As soon as I slipped into the warm bath, I
immediately went into a calm, serene state, leaned my head back,
and virtually melted into the heat, which felt as if it were taking
off the ugly, hideous layers of years spent in the God-awful walls
of the house that Grandmother ruled.

The water was just hot enough to remove the
filth, the blood, the dirt, and the pain—both inside and out. I had
brought a bristled brush in with me and began to scrub every inch
of my body, so much so that when I finally decided I was cleansed,
my body was red and raw. But to me, it was a good ache; it meant I
wouldn’t have to carry the stench of Sutton Hall, and although the
scars on my back from the whipping would always be there, I
couldn’t see them.

I took a long, deep breath, and after I was
dressed and my hair had naturally dried into long, silky waves that
cascaded over my shoulders and down my back, I walked out to the
porch and fell into the rocker. The day was mild, and for the first
time in what seemed like forever, I watched as the birds flew from
tree to tree and squirrels gathered nuts and seeds to bury for a
feast at a later time. The pale blue skies were filled with white
puffy clouds, and I smiled, thinking of Momma and Daddy. They were
up there, somewhere, looking down on me. I suspected they were
finally happy, since they had been reunited in Heaven. I believed
Momma had her sanity back, and Daddy was young again. All seemed
well; my life was falling back into place, and I had finally taken
the first of a few steps that would return me north. It was only a
matter of time before I could visit the Daltons and wander the
island, remembering my younger days, which truly were the very best
days of my life. The sooner Warren returned, the sooner I could get
out of Georgia, leaving my tragic memories behind with the empty
house that sat on the once-magnificent plantation.

After days and nights of waiting for Warren,
my heart sinking with each passing minute, I decided to go find
him. Savannah was only fifteen miles away, and I was sure I could
walk there in less than a day. I gathered myself and gingerly
headed up the dirt road towards the capital. I was grateful the day
was cool and most of the oppressive summer days were behind us. My
shoes barely fit; I was a full size larger than Momma had been, and
they had holes in them, which allowed pebbles to get in. I
occasionally had to stop alongside the road and clean them out. By
the fifth time I had done this, I heard a wagon coming in the
distance and scurried under some brush so I wouldn’t be detected. I
was still leery of strangers; always in the back of my mind, I
feared Grandmother had changed her mind, returned to the
plantation, and would come for me.

As it drew closer, I realized it was an
elderly man aboard a large, lumbering mud wagon. He hadn’t spotted
me, and I took the opportunity to jump on the back, hide under the
cover, and hitch a ride into Savannah. The ride was horribly bumpy,
and knocked me about, but I endured and jumped out, undetected, as
soon as I heard the horse’s hooves hit the cobblestone city
streets. My plan was to go to the railway station, steal into one
of the box cars, and make my way to Massachusetts.

Savannah was much more confusing than I
remembered. There were streets going in every direction and houses
upon houses. I heard the whistle of the train and followed the
sound through the bustling streets. People strolled along, finely
dressed, and as I passed, they would stare, point, whisper, and
giggle. At first, I didn’t understand what they were laughing about
or why they mocked me. Then I managed to make out what they were
saying.

“Would y’all look at that dress she is
wearin’? That girl looks like she is still waiting on Jefferson
Davis to rescue us,” a woman snickered.

Among the locals I was out of place, a figure
straight out of the war—all because of my clothes. A man even
approached and stopped me in my tracks to taunt me.

“Y’all look ready for some debutante ball,”
he teased. He was with a few other men, whose eyes scanned me up
and down and whose lips, under their bushy moustaches, revealed
lustful smiles.

“I’m going to the station,” I said
nervously.

“Do y’all realize we did, in fact, lose the
war?”

“Please, let me be. This is the only dress I
have,” I cried.

They all doubled over with laughter.

“Hey, she ain’t no southern bell. She talks
like a Yankee!” one man exclaimed.

They had stopped me in the middle of the busy
street and circled me as carriages and buggies whizzed dangerously
by. When I heard the steam whistle blow again, I tried to nudge my
way out, but the man before me grabbed me and pulled me into him.
His breath smelled like the stuff Daddy used to drink. His teeth
were yellow and covered in bits of chewing tobacco. I had never
seen such a hideous face before.

“Y’all is one of the prettiest little ladies
I have ever seen walkin’ these here streets,” he said, then to my
astonishment, he reached out and grabbed me.

I gasped and smacked his hand away, on the
verge of tears. They continued to laugh as I pushed my way through
and ran ahead, darting around horse-drawn wagons and carriages,
hearing their laughter until I made it around a corner and up
another unfamiliar street.

I stopped and leaned against the brick wall
of a general store to catch my breath and calm myself. I was
trembling and caught up in my fright. People went in and out, but
only gave me strange glances. I wasn’t going to stay but one more
minute, when I was again approached by a man, though he was much
more dignified and well dressed.

“Young lady, are you lost?” he asked.

“No, sir. I’m on my way to the train station.
I’m meeting someone,” I said.

I sensed he was there out of kindness, not to
take advantage of me as the other men had.

“Let me take you. There is my carriage,” he
said, pointing. It was a fancy carriage. He noticed my uncertainty
and hesitation. “Please, allow me to introduce myself. My name is
Richard Parker.” He had a northern accent. “I’m a commercial
illustrator.”

I didn’t know what a commercial illustrator
was.

“I draw images of people for books and
magazines,” explained Richard.

“Oh. And you live here?”

He smiled, and with his extended finger,
pointed to his place. “I rent a small apartment a block over.”

I noticed a gold wedding band on his left
finger, which put me at ease, and I agreed to his offer to take me
to the station.

“Thank you, Mr. Parker,” I said, as he
assisted me into the carriage, instructing his driver where to
go.

“I couldn’t help but notice you,” Richard
said. He was a dapper man, just like the men in the photograph I
took from the attic. Richard was tall and slender; his hair was
thick, dark brown with unmistakable red highlights, and his eyes
were a deep copper color.

“I know,” I said, and shifted my eyes to the
floor of the carriage. “The dress. It’s the only one I have.”

He gave a light chuckle and patted me on the
knee, then said, “It has nothing to do with your dress. I noticed
your timeless beauty.” My eyes lifted, and I stared at him. He was
amused by my gullibility and innocence. “You don’t even realize how
stunning you are, do you?”

“Well, my momma was a beautiful woman, and I
was told I look like her,” I replied.

“Then there you have it.” He gave me a long
gaze, then said, “I don’t know your name.”

“Lillian.”

“Lillian what?”

“Just Lillian.”

“I see,” Richard said, nodding in
understanding.

The carriage approached the station, and I
thanked him warmly as the driver came around to assist me out.
Richard leaned out of the window and said, “If you ever want to be
famous, allow me to draw your image, and the world and its riches
will be yours.”

_______________

I stayed by the station, aimlessly wandering
about, waiting until the last train was to leave. I planned to jump
aboard under the cover of darkness. All day long, people paid very
little attention to me; they were all too busy getting to where
they needed to go. One conductor did ask me who I was waiting for
and glared at me with skepticism when I told him my daddy was
arriving on the last train. After that, I stayed hidden behind the
station and was grateful when night finally ended the long,
drawn-out day.

I prepared to leave, to execute my plan to
find Warren, and I was about to make my way to the box cars, when
out of the corner of my eye, under the glow of the lamppost, his
platinum blond hair caught my attention. My heart skipped a beat
when I realized it was Warren! He had returned, and I had seen him
before I made a worthless and likely dangerous journey up
north.

I immediately called to him and he spun
around, then our eyes locked.

“Lillian!” He at once dropped his luggage,
opened his arms wide enough for me to fall into, and hugged me
tight.

“What are you doing here?” he said into my
ear.

“Oh, Warren, if you only knew,” I groaned,
and before I had a chance to prepare, I was bawling onto his
shoulder.

“What is it? What happened to you?” he asked,
pulling back so he could better look at me. I could barely contain
my sobs; my chest heaved in and out so hard I could barely catch my
breath. The conductor came over to see what was wrong.

“Nothing, sir. We are fine. She’s just a
little upset. We’ll be on our way.” He led me off the platform and
to the stables, where his horse had been boarded. Once there, he
sat me down on a bale of hay then hushed me and caressed my hair as
I leaned into his chest. I had broken down and collapsed onto the
man who swore he would save me. I had kept that moment bottled up
for weeks on end, and he was taken aback; he couldn’t make sense of
my jumbled words.

“Slow down,; take a deep breath and tell me
why you were at the train station.”