Cutler 01 - Dawn

Sue and Philip and photos of the hotel in its various stages of growth as Cutler's Cove became more and more prosperous.
    A look army watch showed me that it was six o'clock. Dinner would be in half an hour and I was a mess! A mirror across the room provided a reflection of my dusty self. I'd have to hurry to get myself ready. Gathering up the folders the photos had been in, I prepared to put them back in the trunk I had opened. As I was about to replace the folders, I noticed a folder I had missed in the bottom of the trunk. Although I knew I was cutting things close timewise, I couldn't resist taking a peek. Putting aside the other folders, scooped up the one I had missed. After pouring out the contents, I was stunned.
    There were newspaper clippings . . . newspaper clippings of my kidnapping!
    Forgetting about having to be ready for dinner, I pored over the clippings. Each account was exactly the same, telling no more and no less than what was already known. Photos of Daddy and Momma, along with my real mother and father, accompanied the articles. I looked into their young faces, searching for answers, trying to understand how they all felt.
    Reading about myself . . . about my kidnapping . . . was strange. A part of me still hadn't wanted to believe that Momma and Daddy had done such a terrible thing. Yet in my hands, in black and white newsprint, I held the proof. There was no longer any denying what had happened.
    "So there you are! Just what do you think you're doing up here?" a steely whisper demanded.
    There was no mistaking that voice. Startled, I fell to the floor, the newspaper clippings scattering from my hand. I turned around and my blood chilled as I stared up into the angry wrath of Grandmother Cutler.
    "I asked you a question," she hissed. "What are you doing up here?"
    "I was just looking," I managed to answer.
    "Looking? Only looking? Don't you mean snooping! How dare you rummage through things that don't belong to you." She gave an indignant snort. "I shouldn't be surprised. You were raised by a thief and kidnapper."
    "Don't you say such things about Momma and Daddy," I said, instantly coming to their defense.
    Grandmother Cutler ignored me. "Look at this mess!"
    Mess? What mess? The trunks were only open . . . their contents as neatly arranged as when I had found them. All that needed to be done was a closing of the trunk lids.
    I felt like contradicting her, but one look at her face made me change my mind. Her face was turning red; she was barely controlling herself.
    "I'm sorry," I said, nervously playing with the pearls I had chosen to wear around my neck that morning. When I had woken up this morning, I had suddenly missed Momma more than I ever had. Putting on the pearls had made me feel better. I knew I had broken my promise to myself, but I had been unable to help it. Besides, I'd kept the pearls hidden under my blouse. Momma would have liked seeing me wear them.
    Grandmother Cutler's eyes suddenly bulged. "Where did you get those?"
    Shocked, I looked up at her, shivering as she drew closer. "Get what?" I didn't know what she was talking about.
    "Those pearls," she hissed.
    Puzzled, I looked at the pearls. "These? I've always had them. They belonged to my family."
    "Liar! You stole them, didn't you? You found those pearls in one of the trunks."
    "I did not!" I hotly answered. How dare she accuse me of stealing. "These pearls belonged to my momma. My daddy gave them to me to wear on the night of the concert." I gave Grandmother Cutler a defiant look, despite the fact that I was quivering inside. She wasn't going to scare me. "These pearls are mine."
    "I don't believe you. You've never worn them before. If they're so special," she sneered, "then why is this the first time I'm seeing them around your neck?"
    I was about to answer when Grandmother Cutler raced forward. With lightning speed she reached for the pearls, ripping them from my neck. Momma's beautiful pearls, each one individually knotted, didn't scatter or break. But they were still gone. She held them up in one hand, triumphantly tightening a fist. "They're mine now."
    "No!" I protested, jumping to my feet and grabbing for her fist. "Give them back!" I couldn't lose Momma's pearls. I couldn't! They were all I had left of her after Grandmother Cutler had hatefully torn up her photo. "I'm telling you the truth. I swear I am."
    Grandmother Cutler gave me a vicious shove, pushing me to the floor. I landed on the dusty attic floor with