Cutler 01 - Dawn

said.
    "Philip?" Just pronouncing his name brought tears to my eyes. It took me back to the world I had been ripped from, a world that had begun to be friendly and wonderful before Momma's death, a world full of stars and hope and kisses that carried promises of love.
    "He told me about your beautiful singing voice. I can't wait to hear you sing," he said.
    I couldn't see myself ever singing again, for my singing came from my heart, and my heart had been shattered into so many pieces, it would never be strong again and certainly it would never be filled with music.
    "I'm glad to see you're such a pretty girl, too. Something else Philip warned me about. Your mother's going to be pleased," he said and looked at his watch as if he had a train to catch.
    "Naturally, this has all been something of an emotional shock for her, so I'll have to take you to see her tomorrow sometime. She's under some medication, in her doctor's care, and he advises us to go slowly. You can imagine what it was like for her to learn that the baby she had lost fifteen years ago had been found, but I'm sure she's as excited about finally seeing you as I have been," he added quickly.
    "Where is she now?" I asked, thinking she might be in a hospital. Even though I hated being here, I couldn't help but be curious about her and what she looked like.
    "In her room, resting."
    She was in her room? I thought. Why wasn't she excited about seeing me? How could she put it off?
    "In a day or so, when I get some free time, I would like to spend some of it with you and let you tell me what your life has been like up until now, okay?"
    I looked down so he wouldn't see the way my eyes had filled with tears.
    "I imagine all this must have come as a terrible shock, but in time we'll make it all up to you," he said. Make it up to me? How could anyone do that?
    "I want to find out what happened to my baby sister and my brother," I heard myself say before I even realized I was going to say the words. He pressed his lips in and shook his head.
    "That's out of our hands. They're not really your brother and sister, so we don't have any right to demand information about them. I'm afraid you will have to forget them."
    "I'll never forget them! Never!" I cried. "And I don't want to be here. I don't, I don't . . ." I started to sob. I couldn't help it. The tears overflowed my lids and my shoulders shook.
    "There, there. Everything will be fine," he said, touching my shoulder tentatively and then pulling back as if he had done something forbidden.
    This man, my real father, was suave and handsome, but he was still a stranger. There was a wall between us, a thick wall, not only built out of time and distance, but built out of two entirely different ways of life. I felt like a visitor in a foreign land with no one to trust and no -one to help me understand the strange new customs and ways.
    I took a deep breath and fumbled through my purse for a tissue.
    "Here," he said, obviously anxious to do something. He handed me his soft silk handkerchief. I wiped my eyes quickly.
    "Mother has told me about your first meeting and how she intends to take a special interest in you. With all she has to do around here, you should be flattered," he added. "When Mother takes personal interest in someone, he or she usually succeeds."
    He paused, maybe to hear me say how grateful I was, but I wasn't and I wouldn't lie.
    "My mother was the first to learn about you, but she's usually the first to learn about anything around here," he continued. Perhaps he's as nervous as I am, I thought, and has to keep talking. He shook his head and widened his smile. "She never thought she would have to pay out the reward money and, like the rest of us, had given up all hope long ago."
    "Well," he said, looking at his watch again. "I've got to return to the dining room. Mother and I visit with the guests at dinner. Most of our guests are regulars who return year after year. Mother knows them all by name. She has a wonderful memory for faces and names. I can't keep up with her."
    Whenever he spoke about his mother, his face brightened. Was this the same elderly woman who had greeted me with eyes of ice and words of fire?
    There was a knock on the door, and Mrs. Boston appeared.
    "Oh," she said, "I didn't know you was here, Mr. Cutler."
    "That's all right, Mrs. Boston. I was just leaving."
    "I come to see if Eugenia wanted something to eat yet."
    "Eugenia? Oh, right. I had forgotten your real name for a moment,"