Box Set: The ArringtonTrilogy (76 page)

“No, ma’am. My name is Lillian.”

She shadowed her eyes with her hand and
extended her neck so she could get a better look at me, and when
she did, she brought her hands to her chest and gasped so loud I
could hear it from where I stood.

“It’s like looking back fifteen years!” she
exclaimed. “Come over to me.”

I did as she asked, and when we were face to
face, she did look as though she had seen a ghost.

“You’re Amelia’s child,” she announced, her
eyes big and filled with amazement.

“I am. And you—you are Hattie!”

Hattie threw her arms around me and began to
cry with joy. “Oh, my goodness,” she repeated, over and over.
“You’re the spitting image of your mother, with the exception of
your sunny hair.” Her eyes went dark, her brow creased with
distress, and for a moment, her thoughts went far into the past,
then she asked, “Your momma?”

“She’s dead.”

Hattie shook her head in pity then reached
out to console me with the touch of her hand.

“She spoke of you in her last years. Her mind
was clouded with days of yesteryear, of childhood memories. She was
so fond of you, Hattie,” I said, holding back my tears.

“Your momma and I were like sisters. We grew
up here, on the plantation, before and during the war. We had a
kinship that lasted in our hearts for all time.”

“And Jacob-Thomas?”

“My brother—my half-brother,” she sighed.

“Why are you here, Hattie?” I asked.

She looked at me, and in her eyes I saw the
past and present collide.

“I came to look for my momma, and to leave
this here where it belonged, just in case your momma ever came
back,” she said, reaching into her skirt and pulling out a small
book.

“Abigail is gone. I think she went to find
you.”

Hattie nodded, then handed me the book.

I gently opened the worn front cover of what
appeared to be a journal, scanned the pages inside, and noticed a
photograph. She pulled it out and gazed at it before handing it to
me. Hattie was giving me all of the secrets that Grandmother
thought she had buried before she abandoned Sutton Hall. Hattie was
the key I needed after all, not the brass one I found in the
wardrobe.

Hattie gave me the photograph and held her
breath, waiting and watching my mind scramble to understand. My
heart pounded so hard in my chest that I swore it shook the ground
beneath us. My hands trembled, and the world stopped spinning for
the few seconds that I stared at the family in the photograph and
read what was written on the bottom. “The Arrington’s—Thomas,
Eugenia, Amelia, and Patrick-Garrett.” Though my eyes blurred with
tears, I could without any doubt, identify my parents—Amelia
and…Patrick.

“Hattie, what does this mean?” I cried. “Dear
God, what does this mean?”

I lost my breath and fell to the ground,
clutching the photograph as my mind screamed out in anguish and
terror. My mother and father were brother and sister! I was the
child of the devil; I was everything Grandmother claimed me to
be.

Hattie came and put her warm hands on my
shoulders, then said, “There’s more.”

“What more could there be? How many more
secrets have been hidden? How many more lies have the Arrington’s
made?” I moaned.

Hattie lifted me and made me look at her. She
took the handkerchief and wiped my face, then said, “He was her
half-brother.”

“Half-brother?” I repeated.

“And he isn’t your father.”

“Then who? If Daddy wasn’t my father, and
only my half-uncle, then who is my real father, Hattie?”

Her nostrils flared, her peaceful, composed
face filled with fury and bitterness. She saw my desperation to
know the truth; she was aware that the truth, not lies or
deception, would set me free. She struggled to find a way to tell
me so I wouldn’t break down and shatter into a hundred pieces.

“Your father took your momma without her
consent, and out of that came your creation,” she said, her voice
forceful and laced with animosity. “Your momma told me when she
knew the baby was growing inside her. I thought—we all thought—it
was Patrick’s. They had become secret lovers, but were caught by
Mrs. Arrington.”

“Then how do you know I’m not the consequence
of the love affair between my momma and her half-brother?”

Hattie sucked in a breath of air, then slowly
exhaled, about to let out the tragic and appalling secret.

“Amelia found a wounded Confederate in the
woods; he was on the verge of death when she brought him back to
Sutton Hall, where my momma tended his wounds. He stayed in the big
house for months until he became well. Patrick had come to Savannah
just before he began his service in the Confederate Navy. Amelia
had never met him before. He was from your granddaddy’s first
marriage. Your momma instantly fell for Patrick and spent every
waking moment making him jealous by flirting with the handsome
officer. She took it too far. He was captivated with her, and she
became irresistible. He took her down in the woods, not far from
here, under the weeping willow by the river and—”

I interrupted her. I didn’t want to hear the
details—it was all too frighteningly familiar. “What was his name,
Hattie?” I asked, choking out my words. I trembled with fear and
stood frozen, as if waiting for the cannon to fire.

“Colonel Warren Stone was his name.”

Memories of my days on the river, sitting
under the willow tree with Warren came flooding back. That’s where
he took Momma’s innocence; that’s where my life was created, out of
lust, desire, and rage. It’s where Warren allowed me to fall in
love with him, to win me over, the worst part…

I slammed my eyes shut and gasped for air as
I leaned my head back and let the hot sun bake my face, then I
opened my mouth and screamed at the top of my lungs, “Dear God, my
own father!”

Hattie brought me into her embrace and hushed
me while I wept onto her shoulder. I managed to sob out my story,
revealing what Warren had done to me.

“Not again,” Hattie gasped.

I clung to her as if I were about to fall off
the edge of the earth. While Hattie comforted me with soft words of
compassion, a man came through the weeds and called for Hattie. “We
must get going,” he said.

Hattie released me and introduced the tall,
well groomed man as her husband. He tipped his hat and said to
Hattie, “We have a long trip ahead of us.”

She turned to me, cupped my face in her soft
hands, and said, “Read the book. They are your momma’s words; she
gave it to me to keep safe the night she stole away with Patrick. I
have kept it with me all these years. Now it’s yours, Lillian.”

“Thank you,” I sobbed, and we hugged one last
time.

“You take care,” Hattie said, kissing my wet
cheek. I watched her walk away, her arm tucked in her husband’s,
and disappear into the light of day.

I zealously searched the surrounding
buildings. I found some lamp oil, a near-empty box of matches, and
piles of rags from one of the slave cabins and carried them into
the grand foyer of the mansion. My mind riddled with the madness of
it all, I soaked the rags in oil, and without an ounce of
hesitation, threw a lit match to them. I watched from the doorway
as the flames grew higher and higher, climbing up the walls and
creeping over the huge plaster ceilings. Black smoke quickly filled
the rooms, and I moved outside, choking and hacking, my skin
burning from the intense heat of the fire that engulfed all of
Sutton Hall. I stayed back for a while and watched in awe as the
intense yellow and orange flames poured from every window and
finally made its way to the roof. I stayed back near a tall oak
that dripped Spanish moss down over Grandfather’s grave and stared
for hours, watching Sutton Hall burn to the ground.

When the great walls of the house that
embraced pure evil were a pile of ash, I had one more piece of
business to finish, one more bridge to burn, one last piece of the
tragic past that had to be destroyed.

Warren ran into the cabin where I stood like
a statue, arms crossed over my chest, my expression cold as
stone.

“Sutton Hall! Have you seen the smoke? It
burnt to the ground; all that remains are the chimney stacks. It’s
all gone!”

Warren’s eyes blazed, and I wasn’t sure if it
was from terror or delight. When I didn’t respond, shooting daggers
at him across the small cabin with my stare, the fine hairs on the
back of his neck stood straight up. I wasn’t sure exactly what I
wanted to say, though I knew whatever I did manage to get out would
forever destroy his heart; there would be nothing left of it when I
was done.

“I sent Sutton Hall back to the fiery hell
from which it was built,” I said, my tone laced with venom.

“You set the mansion on fire? Why?”

I took several steps forward and watched his
rosy lips turned pale and begin to quiver. “I needed to send the
demons that filled every corner of that house back to hell. You
know what hell is, right, Mr. Stone?”

“Lillian, what is this all about?” he asked,
swallowing hard.

I stepped up to him, no longer afraid of the
sinful, dirty deeds he had done to me, to Momma. I was in control
now, and he knew it.

“I despise you. Just looking at you sickens
me. I know what kind of sadistic man you are; I know what you did.
I know all about it!” I screeched. My high-pitched voice made his
ears ring, and he winced in pain.

“Please understand. I am not the man you
hate. I love you, and I know—I know I hurt you,” he began, eyes
welling with tears as he scrambled for excuses. But I had no
sympathy for the man that had violated everything that was
sacred.

“You more than hurt me. How dare you have me
fall in love with you? How dare you make me believe in you or
convince me you were my friend, when all this time you—” I stopped
myself, remembering the night he forced himself inside of me.
Warren tried to embrace me.

“Get away. Don’t you ever touch me again,” I
commanded. “I know your secrets. I know who you really are!”

Warren was stunned, my words were like a
slap, and I watched all the blood drain from his face.

“I know you’re my father,” I choked out. I
stood defiant and refused to look away as defeat claimed him. All
the lies, all the deception was now out in the open. However, I
wasn’t going to succumb to the sins of my father; I would rise
above it and turn my back on the man who had almost taken my
soul.

Warren begged, pleaded, and asked for mercy.
“I love you more than life itself. Just the way I loved Amelia.
Don’t you see that, Lillian?”

“You love me the way you loved my mother?” I
spat in disgust.

“No, I love you more than I loved her. You
make my world alive; you fill my heart and every part of my being.
I have been in love with you since the moment my eyes fell on you,
you are even more captivating and breathless than your mother. I
tried to fight off my love; I know what you are to me. I just can’t
help it. Please, Lillian; stay with me. Marry me. No one will
know.”

His pleas for an immoral and unholy union
sent my mind spinning in astonishment. Warren fell to one knee and
extended his arm and said, “Please, be my wife.”

“You are completely insane.” My words came
out as a hysterical laugh. “All of you, every one of you—from my
momma to the man who told me to call him Daddy since the day I was
born—are crazy!”

“We can live just as Amelia and Patrick did.
No one will ever know,” he continued, and it was apparent he
believed and accepted the madness. There was no way to make him see
how absurd his suggestion was, and I had heard enough.

Warren ran and jumped in front of me as I
hurried down the road towards Savannah. I wouldn’t spend another
night in the cabin. I would wait all night at the train station for
Richard and his wife to arrive.

“You can’t leave like this,” he cried,
walking briskly beside me.

“Yes, I can,” I replied, not looking at
him.

Then he seized me and made me stop. “I can’t
lose you the way I lost Amelia. This can’t happen to me again.”

“Let go of me!” I insisted, snatching my arm
away.

Warren’s face turned deep red, full of rage.
“She came to me; she undressed and made me lust after her, just as
you did,” he spat. “I’m a man. I’m only human!”

“So this is my fault?” I cried.

Warren pulled me into his embrace and placed
a long, wet kiss on my lips. I struggled to free myself and pounded
against his chest. When he pulled back, he smiled—a disturbing,
sinister smile that made me shiver.

“You are just like her. You wanted to be
violated,” he whispered into my ear, then placed his hands around
my neck and began to squeeze. “I need you. You will stay. Do you
understand?”

I tried to pry his fingers off my neck, but
they wouldn’t budge. I was choking and believed he would kill me if
I didn’t agree. I nodded, agreed to stay, to be captured again,
just to stay alive.

“That’s a good girl,” he mumbled, taking hold
of my hand. “Now, let’s go.”

I walked with him a only few yards before I
saw a wagon flying up the road. In an instant, without thinking, I
yanked my hand away and pushed Warren with all my might right into
the path of the horses. He let out one long scream, and was
trampled. The driver stopped but wasn’t able to catch sight of me
before I disappeared into the woods.

_______________

Dawn arrived to a sun-drenched sky with
gentle and fragrant southern hospitality. The day was like no other
I had ever experienced. Though tragedy always seemed to loom over
my world like a perpetually dark cloud, on this day, I saw only
clear skies, smooth sailing, and an uninhibited future. The chains
that bound me, figuratively and literally, were lifted, and all I
kept in my mind were visions of home—the lighthouse, the sea, and
the people I loved to greet me.