Box Set: The ArringtonTrilogy (23 page)

I turned to go into my room. I couldn’t have
him see me so distraught over him. Patrick was going to be jealous
and needy in time.

From that moment on, I would seek out all the
mysteries of the past and have Patrick for myself, even if I became
the image of my own mother in the flesh, the burning flesh that
kept men both enamored and frightened at the same time.

~ ~ ~

In the days that followed, I was consumed
with thoughts of Patrick and the sporadic revelations of the mother
I never knew. I sat motionless for hours on end, trying to figure
things out, hoping to have it make sense. What was Patrick’s
relationship with her? Why did his mind go back in time so often to
be with her again? I wondered. She wasn’t his mother. But maybe she
replaced his mother in many ways. That must have been why he adored
her so. It wasn’t only for her beauty, but because she nurtured him
when he needed so much attention. From the hurt he wore on his
sleeve for me to see, I concluded that he needed me. Patrick needed
me to fill the wounded place in his heart left by Charlotte, even
if it wasn’t her fault.

It was then that I decided I would transform
myself into the woman in the portrait in my brooch, for Patrick’s
sake and for the hopes and dreams I couldn’t set aside. I carefully
studied her image in detail, memorizing every delicate feature, so
I could duplicate her look exactly. I styled my hair several times,
locking myself away in my room until it was flawless. I managed the
undertaking alone and fashioned smaller curls along the top of my
head, with the longer locks behind my ears. Not only did I become
the exact image of my mother, I became her soul, her heart, her
being. I was no longer Amelia. I didn’t want to be myself anymore.
I wanted and needed to be her. And as I stared at myself in the
mirror for hours on end, I truly believed I had become Charlotte
.

It was not only the stunned expression on
Daddy’s face, but how Patrick’s face flushed when he laid eyes on
me when we gathered in the parlor for Sunday piano recitals, as was
our custom.

Warren was there as well, and they all
huddled around the piano. If I believed Warren was infatuated with
me before, now he was unmistakably in love. And who wouldn’t be? I
thought to myself. My mother was the most beautiful women ever. But
Warren was easy prey, and he wasn’t the man I sought to capture and
make mine.

I couldn’t contain my contented smirk, though
I tried hard to mask it as I belted out my favorite hymns. I didn’t
feel Eugenia’s heated glare or notice when Daddy’s shock melted
into a glazed, blank stare. I did, however, see out of the corner
of my eye that Patrick appeared fascinated, a delighted smile
etched onto his handsome face.

“What is this, a costume party?” Eugenia
raged. “Go upstairs now and fix yourself, this instant! Take off
that face paint and pull down your hair. This is despicable!”

I purposely ignored her and began another
hymn.

“Now, Mrs. Arrington, let her sing. Her voice
is magical,” Warren said, not prying his eyes from me.

Eugenia rushed over and slammed down the lid
to the piano, almost crushing my fingers. Fortunately, my quick
reflexes saved my delicate hands from being mutilated for life.

Instead of reacting like the little girl I
used to be, I rose up with dignified grace and calmly turned to
face my loyal audience and took a bow. I was now an actress,
playing a part, believing I was a character who was adored, not
only for her musical talents, but for her timeless beauty. No one,
not even Eugenia, would break my role or my steadfast, crazy
obsession with making Patrick fall in love with me.

“I would like to thank you all once again for
attending my performance,” I announced formally. “I shall retire
for the evening. Goodnight, Father.” I pecked him on the cheek.
“Warren.” I acknowledged him with a pretty smile. I made my exit
without saying a word to Patrick, though his stare never left me.
Even as I fell into my bed and closed my eyes, his stare remained
with me.

Keeping distant from Patrick while we were
milling about the mansion was difficult. Daddy assigned daily
chores to all, including me. I wanted to follow Patrick about as he
took on one task around the plantation after another. All hours of
the day he, Warren, and Hamilton worked the fields, tended to the
little remaining livestock, and continued to help us survive.

I was to stay with Mammy and help with all
kitchen duties. Hattie was well enough only to tend to Jacob
Thomas, and Mammy revealed that Eugenia had ordered them to stay
away from the big house. I hadn’t seen Hattie for days on end. She
hadn’t even been introduced to Patrick.

“She ain’t never gonna forgive any of us,”
Mammy mumbled unhappily, snapping the ends of the green beans and
placing them in the boiling water over the stove. “Don’t she see
things are changed? That we all need one another? That we ain’t no
different now?”

I was preoccupied with peering out the window
that overlooked the icehouse. Patrick was in there. I’d watched him
go in.

Mammy turned to see if I was listening to
her. Frustrated with me and everything else, she turned my head and
made me look at her.

“What all this on your face? And your hair,
what you done to it? Don’t look normal.”

“You don’t think I look pretty?” I
pouted.

“It ain’t what I meant. ’Course you look
pretty. Just meaning it ain’t appropriate is all. You look years
older, too dressed up and like a full-grown woman.”

“I am practically a grown woman, Mammy. Grown
enough for Warren to want to court me,” I declared.

“That man has feelings for you?” Mammy wasn’t
pleased. “Don’t you go messing with him.”

I moved away from the window when Patrick
strode toward the door of the kitchen carrying a huge block of ice.
I grabbed hold of the carrots and began peeling and then sat down
at the table and ignored him.

We were preparing a simple vegetable stew for
supper. Supplies were meager and all we could use for meals was
what was left on the farm.

“Supper does smell good. I’m starving,”
Patrick said as his nose lingered over the simmering pot.

Mammy gruffly nudged him back. “Don’t be
hovering over my stove. Get back to what you were doing.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied and winked at me,
though I continued to pay no mind to him.

Then Warren arrived with a few logs of split
wood and stacked it neatly by the hearth. I jumped up, and as soon
as he wiped the dirt off his gloves onto his trousers, I handed him
a carrot. “You must be starving, Warren,” I said with a big smile,
still avoiding Patrick’s vulnerable gaze.

“Why, thank you,” he replied and took a bite.
“I’ll be finished in about an hour. Would you keep me company while
I split the remainder of the wood? You don’t mind, do you, Miss
Abigail?”

“I need Amelia here in the kitchen with me,
and if she ain’t here preparing supper for all you folks, then I
need her to be cleaning. These chores ain’t gonna get done by
themselves!”

I nudged Mammy on the arm and whispered,
“Can’t I just go for a little while?”

“You stay here and help me finish, then you
can go,” Mammy relented. “But not till after you make the beds you
somehow forgot to do.”

“Thank you, Mammy,” I said and kissed her
cheek and then spun around.

Warren was patiently waiting for Mammy’s
approval, while Patrick had already left. He predictably avoided
the banter, always ill at ease when there was any commotion.

I hurried through the rest of the food
preparations and ran upstairs to check my hair. Then I rushed
around making the beds, one room after another, just to finish in
time to be with Warren.

Eugenia and Daddy had gone to Atlanta for a
few days to see a doctor before Daddy went back to reunite with his
regiment. Daddy hadn’t been pleased with the idea and had fought
Eugenia over going. I listened in when they were in his office. I
had been polishing the silverware in the dining room when the
argument began. Ever since Daddy came home, they had been arguing
over one thing or another - Mammy, the war, Daddy’s scheduled
departure in only a week, and his wound, which he tried to convince
Eugenia was trivial. “I have seen the doctor, Eugenia. I was
treated, and it will heal, in time!”

“You need to see another doctor. We will go
to Atlanta and have him examine you. And if he tells me you are
well enough to go back to battle, then so be it,” she said,
fighting back her tears.

Daddy was annoyed and sat unyielding behind
his desk with his arms folded over his chest.

“It is because I love you, Thomas. Don’t you
understand?” she cried when he refused to look at her.

“Is it love, or control?” he fired.

“What do you mean?” she gasped. “I don’t
control you, Thomas!”

Daddy laughed disdainfully, stood up, and
hobbled over to her. “Why did you force them to be married if not
to control me?”

Eugenia shivered and turned away. Daddy then
grabbed hold of her and insisted she answer him. “Admit to me it
was you who forced them into marriage . . . that you threatened to
sell Abigail off if she didn’t!”

My eyes flew open in disbelief, and I stepped
further into the shadows, wanting to hear more.

“Is that what she told you?” Eugenia barked.
“If so, it’s a lie. She and Hamilton fell in love and asked for my
permission to be married. I readily agreed. Why wouldn’t? And yes,
I was pleased. Why wouldn’t I be? Then you couldn’t go sleep with
her again.”

To my happiness, Daddy hadn’t been ignoring
Mammy all this time. He still cared for her!

Daddy released his hold and pushed Eugenia
back, surrendering to his wife once again with great reluctance,
and said. “I will go. And just so you are aware, I will not forgive
you.”

After a long pause, Eugenia replied wearily
and with hardly a breath left, “And I will not forgive you.”

I entered their rooms to tidy up and found
them in disarray. Not only was the bed unmade, but the drawers to
their dresser were left carelessly open and the clothes had been
thrown on the floor. Framed family photographs had also toppled
onto the floor. I bent down to pick them up. Two had broken glass:
the wedding photograph of Eugenia and Daddy, and the other of
Violet and Beatrice. The photograph of me, the only one Daddy kept
displayed in his room, was missing.

From up above, I heard the creak of footsteps
in the attic. I hadn’t ventured up to the crammed attic in a long
time. It was a childhood place where Hattie and I had often
escaped. In the beginning, Hattie and I were scared of the spooky
attic and rarely stayed more than a few minutes. As we grew older,
we ventured further in and began to explore its contents. Scattered
throughout were many trunks containing old clothing of another
time, and in fun we played dress-up, just the way the actors did in
popular theater productions. Hattie normally played the part of the
man and wore the frock coats and top hats, and I adorned myself
with the once lovely, now moth-eaten gowns, and joyously danced
around with old torn parasols.

“Why Miss Arrington, don’t you look ever so
lovely today,” Hattie said in a deep voice, pretending to be a
man.

I enthusiastically placed my arm through
hers, and we proceeded to glide down the long, narrow,
cobweb-infested pathway, dodging the thick beams as we headed
toward the other side of the enormous attic. The air was thick and
sunlight filtered through the dusty window panes, faintly revealing
dancing dust particles, which tickled our throats and caused us to
cough every so often.

“It’s such a fine day for a walk, Mr.…Mr.…” I
stopped and turned to Hattie, perplexed, then said in between
giggles, “Pardon me, sir, but I don’t quite remember your
name.”

“I am Lord Brighton of England,” she said
with a thick English drawl, mimicking Daddy’s voice.

“Oh, please do forgive me, Lord Brighton,” I
snickered. “I should have realized instantly who you are. I have
been so dim-witted.”

“Yes, you have, young lady. Now go back to
where you came from, you wench.”

“But Lord Brighton,” I cried with great
exaggeration, “I don’t know where I came from. I’m an orphan. I
have no mother, and my father abandoned me years ago. Can you not
find it in your heart to take me in, poor wayward soul that I am,
and care for me?”

Hattie turned her back to me dejectedly, and
I fell to my knees, begging and pleading. “Please don’t turn your
back on me. For if you do, I will be lost, alone, and afraid.
Please!”

With great reluctance, Hattie, playing the
part assiduously, reached for my hand and lifted me up, and said,
“Since you have no mother, I shall take you under my wing and care
for you.”

The reality of the words, though not
intentional, stung like a slap to my face. I did my best to hide my
pain, and we played on, though I couldn’t help but think how I
missed having a mother. I somehow did always feel like a wayward
soul.

~ ~ ~

My mind drifted back to reality, and I made
my way from the bedrooms down the hall to the door of the
attic.

Curious to see who was lurking about, I
wandered up the dark stairway to the attic, which was as vast as
the enormous mansion itself.

Outside, the day was heavily overcast and
allowed just enough natural light for me to see where I was going.
Not much had moved since years ago when Hattie and I were last up
there, and I was able to navigate my way around without bumping
into anything.

Once my eyes adjusted to the dimness, I moved
further into the attic. From the far side, I saw the figure of a
man, and when he stepped before the small window of the dormer, I
recognized Patrick.