Cutler 01 - Dawn

nervously. There was an enormous diamond ring on her hand, the stone so large it looked awkward and out of place on her slim, short finger.
    I took a deep breath, too. The room was permeated with the scent of the jonquils, for there were vases of them on the end tables and one on the table in the far corner.
    "Why is she in a chambermaid's uniform?" my mother asked my father.
    "Oh, you know Mother. She wanted her to get used to the hotel life immediately," he replied. She grimaced and shook her head.
    "Eugenia," she finally said in a whisper, directing herself to me. "Is it really you?" I shook my head, and she looked confused. She turned quickly to my father. A worried frown drew his eyebrows together.
    "I must tell you, Laura Sue, that Eugenia has known only Dawn as her name, and she is a little uncomfortable being called anything else," he explained. A puzzled expression flashed through her face and creased her brow. She battered her eyelashes and pursed her lips.
    "Oh? But Grandmother Cutler named you," she said to me, as if that meant it had been written in stone and could never be changed or challenged.
    "I don't care," I said. Suddenly she looked frightened, and when she looked to my father this time, it was to ask for help.
    "They named her Dawn? Just Dawn?"
    "However, Laura Sue," my father said, "Dawn and I did just agree she would give Eugenia a chance."
    "I never said I agreed," I said quickly.
    "Oh, this will be so difficult," my mother said, shaking her head. Her hand hovered near her throat; her eyes darkened. Something frightening burgeoned in my heart just from watching her reactions. Momma had been deathly ill, but never looked as weak and helpless as my real mother did.
    "Whenever anyone calls her Eugenia, she won't know they're calling her. You can't call yourself Dawn now," she said to me. "What would people think?" she moaned.
    "But it's my name!" I cried. She looked as if she would cry herself.
    "I know what we will do," she said suddenly, clapping her hands together. "Whenever we introduce you to anyone who is important, we will introduce you as Eugenia Grace Cutler. Around here, in the family's quarters, we will call you Dawn, if you like. Doesn't that sound sensible, Randolph? Won't Mother think so?"
    "We'll see," he replied, not sounding happy. But my mother put on a pained expression, and he relaxed and smiled. "I'll speak to her."
    "Why can't you just tell her that's what you want?" I asked my mother. At this point I was more curious than angry. She shook her head and brought her hand to her breast.
    "I . . . can't stand arguments," she said. "Must there be arguments, Randolph?"
    "Don't concern yourself with this, Laura Sue. I'm sure Dawn and I and Mother will work it all out."
    "Good." She took a deep breath. "Good," she repeated. "That's settled," she said.
    What was settled? I glanced at my father. He smiled at me as if to say let it be. My mother was smiling again, looking like a little girl who had been promised something wonderful like a new dress or a day at the circus.
    "Come closer, Dawn," she said. "Let me get a real good look at you. Come, sit by the bed." She indicated a chair I should bring up with me. I did so quickly and sat down. "You are a pretty girl," she said, "with beautiful hair and beautiful eyes." She reached out to stroke my hair, and I saw her long, perfect pink fingernails. "Are you happy to be here, to be home?"
    "No," I said quickly, perhaps too quickly, for she blinked and brought herself up as if I had slapped her. "I'm not used to it," I explained, "and I miss the only people I ever knew as my family."
    "Of course," she said. "You poor, poor thing. How horrible this all must be for you." She smiled, a very pretty smile, I thought, and when I looked up at my father, I saw how much he adored her. "I knew you only for a few hours, held you in my arms for only a little while. My nurse, Mrs. Dalton, knew you longer than I did," she whined. She turned her sad eyes toward my father, and he nodded sadly.
    "Whenever I am able to see you, you must spend as much time with me as you can, telling me all about yourself, where you have been, and what you have done. Did they treat you well?" she asked, grimacing as if preparing to hear the worst things: stories about being locked in closets or starved and beaten.
    "Yes," I said firmly.
    "But they were so poor!" she exclaimed.
    "Being poor didn't matter. They loved me and I loved them," I declared. I couldn't help it. I