Box Set: The ArringtonTrilogy (31 page)

I took a long breath and waited for my
dismissal.

“Again! Recite it again!”

My hands twisted behind my back, and I
struggled to find the courage to disobey.

“But Eugenia…”

“AGAIN!” she bellowed.

I swallowed my pride and did as she
ordered.

When I finished for the third time, I waited
on edge, hoping she would allow me to go. Warren was still there,
his eyes glued to me.

“Again, you whore; recite it again!”

This time my words were slow, and my memory
of the chapter became scrambled as I lost my concentration.

“Start over!” she hissed when I made a
mistake. “From the beginning!”

I began to cry from exhaustion and
humiliation.

Eugenia rose from her chair and stood before
me. My hands were covering my face and muffling my sobs. She
snatched my hands away and struck me with the back side of her hand
across my face. Warren gasped.

“Take her to her prison. No food or water
until she can recite the entire chapter without a mistake. Only
then she will eat again!”

I ran all the way back to the attic, not
waiting for Warren, hearing her yell out to me, “He goeth after her
straightaway, as an ox goeth to the slaughter, or as a fool to the
correction of the stocks. Till a dart strike through his liver, as
a bird hasteth to the snare, and knoweth not that it is for his
life. Harken unto me now therefore O ye children, and attend to the
words of my mouth. Let not thine heart decline to her ways, go not
go astray in her paths. For she hath cast down many wounded, yea,
many strong men have been slain by her. Her house is the way to
hell, going down to the chambers of death.”

I fell onto the bed and bawled, thinking for
the first time perhaps I was just like the woman in Proverb Seven,
and it was I who had caused Perry to be slain. I became violently
ill at the thought and continued to have dry heaves for the
remainder of the day and well into the night, and then every
morning thereafter. Whether I was starved or had the good fortune
to win back my simple right to eat, I couldn’t hold down any
food.

I managed to study my days away by the light
of a lone candle, though I was perpetually exhausted. I had no
fresh air to clear out the dust from my lungs and no sunlight to
keep me from withering away. The passages from the Bible I was
required to recite were all similar, wreaking havoc on my soul.

Eugenia gave me my reading assignments,
precisely listed. I was to read them in order during the week,
Sunday through Saturday, over and over, and would be tested every
Sunday night from that point on.

I wanted to scream, pull my hair out, slit my
wrists, just to end the misery, but what would that accomplish? I
told myself it couldn’t be any worse.

I saw little of Mammy, as Eugenia feared she
would show me affection that I certainly didn’t deserve. I hadn’t
seen Hamilton, Hattie, or Jacob Thomas for nearly a month.

The person now assigned to oversee every
aspect of my care was Warren.

“She is testing you,” I said one evening
after he came to take my food away. I felt too ill to eat.

“You haven’t eaten,” he said, looking down at
the untouched food.

“Romans 5:12. Wherefore, as by one man sin
entered into the world, and death by sin; and so death passed upon
all men, for all that have sinned,” I recited, not rising from the
bed or looking at him, for that matter.

Warren held a candle near to my face and
intently gazed down at me.

“You don’t look well. I think this punishment
has gone on long enough. I will have a word with Eugenia.”

I laughed to myself, knowing full well
Eugenia wouldn’t listen to anyone, especially Warren Stone.

“Can I get you anything for the night?” he
asked softly and touched the top of my head. I pulled back and
turned my back toward him.

“I care for you. I can help you through this.
You just need to give me a sign that you can love me,” he
confessed.

“I will never love you,” I said. “Never. You
are nothing to me but my warden.”

* * *

Spring was upon Georgia, and the glory of
that wonderful time of year was only bestowed upon me by chance.
Occasionally, when Eugenia needed to see me, I could get a peek
outside and see the blooming magnolias and smell the lovely scents
of our mansion’s English gardens blowing through the dewy air. I
had lost a great deal of weight and was weak enough for anyone who
cared to really look at me to have some concern. Eugenia had none.
It was only Mammy who came to my room one early evening with the
metal tin for the monthly bath I was allowed.

“You looking sickly,” she said and began
pouring the water into the tub while I undressed.

“Mammy?”

“Yes?” she asked, not turning my way, making
sure she didn’t spill the water from the bucket.

I had been in dire need to talk to Mammy.

“What does it mean when you don’t get the
womanly bleed anymore?”

I hadn’t bled for three months and was
frightened something was terribly wrong with me. I had never not
bled before. Maybe I was as sick as she observed and I feared, and
it wasn’t from lack of fresh air and natural sunlight.

Mammy dropped the bucket, and water spilled
everywhere.

“Mammy, the bucket!”

She came to me and took hold of my shoulders,
unconcerned about the water, then looked me up and down. I was
nearly undressed, only in my chemise.

“Are you saying you ain’t been bleeding for
at least two months?” Mammy appeared full of alarm.

“I haven’t, Mammy. Is there something
terribly wrong?” I asked nervously. Her eyes became wide, her mouth
was agape, and she stood there just shaking her head.

“Mammy, what is it?” I cried.

“You got a baby inside you, Miss Amelia.”

She placed her hand on my abdomen, held it
still for a moment, then took my hand and put it there too.

“Feel that little bump? It very small, but it
gonna grow fast. Oh dear Lord, tell me this ain’t so,” she said and
sat down on the bed in disbelief.

A baby. I was carrying Perry’s baby after
only our one night together.

“You mustn’t tell anyone. Mrs. Arrington will
kill you. I don’t know what we gonna do!”

I wanted to confess it wasn’t Patrick’s child
as she suspected, but I didn’t want anyone, not even Mammy, to know
of my marriage to Perry Montgomery. I wanted that to forever be my
secret, to take to my grave. So I shamefully allowed Mammy to
believe I was carrying Patrick’s baby.

“I will think of something. For now, I will
get to letting out your dresses for the upcoming months. It will
work to hide that baby inside you for a while. But only for a
while.”

Now I was convinced God had no other plans
than to let me suffer through life and suffer a predictable and
horrific death. Then God himself would turn me over to the devil. I
would never get a chance to be reunited with Perry. I remembered
the terrifying ordeal when Mammy delivered Jacob Thomas, how
excruciating childbirth was, and I felt ill at the thought. I
didn’t want all that to happen to me.

I stepped into the tub and sank down into the
water, closing my eyes while Mammy washed my hair. The prospect of
the future was beyond grim for me. I would never get a chance to be
reunited with Perry. But there was nothing to be done about it,
except to turn my faith back to God, ask for his divine
forgiveness, and pray not to be delivered into hell. I wanted to be
reunited with Perry. I had to receive my punishment without protest
and once again ask God to come back into my heart and cleanse my
wild ways. And this time, I vowed never to stray from his love and
protection again.

~ ~ ~

Dreams of heaven and hell plagued me
endlessly, day and night, from the moment Mammy revealed I was with
child. While the sun was up, I was obsessed with my Bible studies,
memorizing each verse that Eugenia assigned and reciting them
without even a small blunder. At night, before bed, as storms
rolled in over Savannah, I knelt down before my bed and prayed. I
prayed so hard my head throbbed and my knees were swollen from
kneeling hours on end on the hardwood floors.

“Dear God,” I began every night. “Please
absolve me of my sins, forgive my vile ways, and find it in your
heart to allow me to repent. Please,” I begged, “don’t send me
straight to hell when I die giving birth to my child. Save me, save
me!”

I was now grateful to be locked away, away
from Eugenia, so she would be less apt to notice my condition when
I would begin to “show” as Mammy called it. She began working on my
dresses one by one and believed I could hide myself for quite some
time.

Warren continued to be my assigned warden,
and though I ignored his presence, he made every effort to get my
attention. Sometimes he silently stood near me when I was reading
the Bible or one of my books, just waiting for me to look up at
him. Occasionally, he would ask me a question.

“
The House of Seven Gables
. What is
that about?”

I didn’t respond.

“Is it interesting?”

He expected me to engage in conversation, but
I had no interest. My eyes remained fixed on my book.

He came around to my side and said, “Eugenia
has agreed to have Hamilton open the shutters. Now you can have
sunlight.”

I placed the book onto my lap. He thought I
would thank him. Instead I grew angry. “I don’t want the shutters
opened,” I said sharply. “Tell Hamilton to leave them shut.”

Warren was perplexed. “Amelia, why? Let me
try and fix all this for you. I am getting somewhere with Eugenia.
She is beginning to like me, to trust me. I want to help you.”

He fell to his knees. I looked away, focusing
on the drab walls of the attic instead of on him. “I am sorry for
bringing you back to Sutton Hall. I should have taken you away with
me. I see now what a mistake it was. I am pained with all Eugenia
has put you through, how she’s made you suffer. You’re not a wicked
girl. I don’t care anymore about your relationship with Patrick. I
don’t. You believe me, don’t you?”

Still I declined to respond. Warren was
insistent on making me listen. He tried to hold my hands, but I
kept them stiff, my whole body tensed.

“I love you. I want to marry you. I can make
you happy. Just give me time. And give yourself time to love me,”
he implored. “Since the moment you found me dying in the woods, I
knew I would love no one else, ever!”

There wasn’t an ounce of any good feelings in
me for Warren Stone. I could never think of him without hate
coursing through my veins. It didn’t matter that his eyes were
tear-filled with yearning and love, that his hands trembled at the
thought that I might reject his proposal. I contained my anger,
revealing only hateful cynicism.

“I will not marry you. I never loved you; I
barely liked you,” I shouted and finally turned to him. “I used
you. Now go away and leave me alone.”

I watched his face turn beet red and his eyes
stop shining. He rose uncomfortably.

“I will instruct Hamilton to leave the
shutters in place,” he said, “and will honor your loathing for me
by leaving you alone.”

I remained undaunted by his affliction. I
took up my book and began to read contentedly where I had left off,
just as he turned the key to the door, locking me in once
again.

That evening, Warren delivered me to Eugenia
on the last hour of the day for my recital. I began my evening
prayers just after Warren left my plate of soup and biscuits.
Normally he would try to converse with me, though now he knew
better. “I will come get your plate in an hour, if that is all
right with you, Miss Arrington?” he said formally.

I began my nightly rituals. First, I sat with
the light of only one candle. I sipped on my soup, as I was now
able to hold down some food. I was no longer incessantly sick. The
biscuits were tasty, and I savored them. I always loved Mammy’s
flaky, buttery biscuits. She had taught me how to make them years
ago. I used to spend hours with Mammy in the kitchen learning her
recipes. My favorite was apple pie, in the cooler months. Using
fresh apples picked from our own orchard, I would peel and she
would slice them. Mammy mixed cinnamon, sugar, a pinch of salt and
bicarbonate of soda with the apples. It took some time before I was
able to succeed in making the light, flaky pie crust. When Mammy
noticed my frustration every time it didn’t come out right, she
would place her hands on top of my small ones and together we would
take the rolling pin and ease it over the crust. “Takes patience,
Miss Amelia, and just the right amount of pressure with the pin,”
she instructed. “Not too hard or the crust is too thin. Not hard
enough and the crust turns out thick and doughy.”

I listened carefully and allowed her to guide
my hands, creating the perfect crust for the apple pie we served
long ago.

After I polished off my soup, I became
suddenly very tired and lightheaded. I made my way over to the bed
and nearly fell over when I knelt down to pray. I clung to the side
of the mattress, fighting the weighty sleep that suddenly overtook
me. I tried to begin my prayers, but I couldn’t keep to my
thoughts. If I’d wanted to open my lids, I couldn’t have. Beneath
me, the room felt as if it were spinning, so I climbed onto the
bed, hoping it would stop. As I lay still, I began to drift off,
sinking into a strange sleeping spell.

I began to have distorted visions while I
fought the fatigue. When I was able to fleetingly open my eyes, I
watched in confusion the mad flicker of the candle and eerie
shadows. Then thought I saw Warren climbing into bed with me. I
must have been having terrible delusions from a sudden fever, I
tried to tell myself. Warren slowly undressing me couldn’t have
been real. I tried fighting the dream; I tried to scream, only I
was mute from weakness. The hot kisses and distorted whispers of
love were vague, and I began to crazily imagine it was Patrick who
came to me.