Cutler 01 - Dawn

an "oomph," my bottom aching with soreness.
    "Don't you ever raise a hand to me again! Do you understand?"
    Glaring at her defiantly, I refused to answer. My silence only infuriated her further.
    "Do you understand?" she repeated, snatching up a handful of my hair and twisting it painfully. "When I ask you a question, I expect an answer."
    Tears sprang to my eyes, desperate to be free, but I wouldn't release them. I wouldn't give Grandmother Cutler the satisfaction. I wouldn't!
    "Yes," I said, gritting my teeth. "I understand."
    Amazingly, my answer returned her to some semblance of normalcy. She let go of my hair, and I rubbed my aching head. "Good," she purred. "Good." She gave a look at the open trunks. "Fix this place as you found it." She swept up the fallen newspaper clippings. "These will be burned," she stated, sending me a glare I had already become familiar with.
    "You know I'm telling the truth," I told her. "You know those pearls belonged to Sally Jean Longchamp."
    "I know nothing of the sort. All I know," she spat out, "is that I haven't seen these pearls since the day you disappeared."
    "What are you saying?" I gasped.
    She gave me a smug look. "What do you think I'm saying?"
    "Those pearls belonged to my momma!" I cried out. "They did! I won't believe what you're insinuating. I won't!"
    "I've always believed in the truth, Eugenia. Sally Jean and Ormand Longchamp stole these pearls. There's no escaping that fact, just like there's no escaping the fact that they stole you."
    What she was saying couldn't be true. It couldn't! How could I bear this final stain against Momma and Daddy's memory? It was just too much to bear!
    With her final words Grandmother Cutler left, taking away my last connection to my past. I waited for my tears to fall, but they didn't. That was because I had realized something. It didn't matter what had come with me from my former life. I had my memories and my memories of life with Daddy and Momma, Jimmy and Fern, were something that Grandmother Cutler could never take away.
     
    The following morning I threw myself into my work, trying desperately not to think about what was soon to come or what had happened the previous day. I didn't linger around the other chambermaids and staff at lunch, either. Most of them were still very incensed about my taking Agatha's job. If I tried to speak or act friendly, one of them brought up Agatha and asked if anyone had heard anything about her. A few times I felt like standing up and shouting at them: "I didn't fire her! I didn't ask to be made a chambermaid! I didn't even ask to be brought back here! You're all so cruel and heartless. Why can't you see that?"
    The words were tickling the tip of my tongue, but I was afraid to scream them, for I knew the moment I did, I would be even more isolated than I was now. Not even Sissy would speak to me, and my grandmother would have another reason to chastise me and make me feel lower than an insect. Not that I could feel much lower being stuffed away in some cubbyhole of a room in a distant part of the hotel as if I were a disgrace and an embarrassment my grandmother wanted hidden and forgotten.
    I was beginning to feel like someone caught in limbo—not really accepted as a Cutler yet, and not accepted by the staff. My only real companion was my own shadow. Loneliness draped itself over me like a shroud. I felt invisible.
    I was spending my break after lunch in my room alone when there was a knock on my door and Mrs. Boston appeared, her arms laden with a pile of clothing and a bag of shoes and sneakers.
    "Little Mrs. Cutler asked me to bring this down to you," she said as she entered my bedroom.
    "What is it?"
    "I just finished getting Miss Clara Sue's room in order. That girl's the worst when it comes to being neat and organized. You would think a young lady from a good family like this would take a little more pride in her things and her living quarters, but that girl . . ." She shook her head and dropped everything at the foot of my bed.
    "This here is everything Clara Sue don't use no more. Some of it is from a year or so back, so even though she's a mite bigger than you everywhere, this stuff might fit.
    "Some of it she never even wore. That's how spoiled she is. Why, just look here," she added, reaching into the pile. She lifted a blouse up. "See, this still has the tag on it."
    It did look brand-new. I began to sift through the things. It would certainly not be the first time I had worn used