Cutler 01 - Dawn

Clara Sue's quick salvo.
    "Wonderful," my father said. "I'll speak to Mother. Maybe we'll have you play for the guests."
    "Oh, I couldn't."
    "Sure you could. What do you think, Laura Sue?" he called.
    "It was beautiful. Dawn!" she cried. I got up. Philip was beaming, his eyes dancing with happiness. I returned to my mother's bedroom, and she surprised me by holding her arms out. I approached her and let her embrace me. She kissed me softly on the cheek, and when I pulled back, I saw tears in her eyes, but there was something in the way she gazed at me that made me tremble and hesitate. I sensed she saw something else in me, something I did not know existed. She was looking at me, but not exactly at me.
    I questioned her with my eyes, searching her face for understanding. Now that I was this close to her, I saw how tiny her eyelashes were, how diminutive were her facial features, features I had inherited. Her eyes were dazzling, I thought, unable to take my gaze from the soft blue that twinkled with mystery as well as jeweled beauty. I spotted some faint freckles under them, just where mine were. Her skin was so translucent, I could see the tiny blue veins at the corners of her eyes, mapped out along her temples.
    How delightfully sweet she smiled—her hair filled with the fragrance of jasmine. And how silky and soft her cheek had felt against mine. No wonder my father loved her so, I thought. Despite her nervous condition, she maintained a healthy, vibrant appearance, and she was as precious and lovely as any woman could be.
    "That was so beautiful," she repeated. "You must come up often and play for me. Will you?"
    I nodded and then glanced at Clara Sue. Her face was red and swollen with envy, her eyes burning, her mouth firm, her lips so taut they caused little patches of whiteness to appear in the corners. She clenched her fingers into puffy little balls in her lap and continued to glare at me.
    "I've got to see Grandmother," she said, standing up quickly.
    "Oh, already?" Mother cried mournfully. "You've just returned from school, and we haven't had time to gossip like we do. I so enjoy hearing about your friends at school and their families."
    "I don't gossip," Clara Sue snapped unexpectedly, swinging her eyes at me and then back to Mother quickly.
    "Well, I just meant—"
    "Grandmother says we're very busy now, and we don't have time to lollygag around."
    "Oh, how I hate those expressions," Mother said, grimacing. "Randolph?" she appealed.
    "I'm sure Grandmother didn't mean for you to hurry right back. She knows you're up here visiting with us."
    "I promised," Clara Sue insisted. Father sighed and then shrugged slightly at Mother. She took a deep breath and fell back against the pillow as if she had heard a death sentence. Why did she take everything so tragically? Had her condition begun when I had been stolen away? I felt sorry for her and terribly saddened, for it made Daddy and Mommy's action seem that much more terrible.
    "I'm tired anyway," Mother suddenly said. "I think I'll retire for the evening."
    "Very good, honey," Father said. Philip stepped forward.
    "I can show you around a bit now," he told me. Clara Sue turned on us sharply, her eyes blazing.
    "She's been here for days; you don't have to show her around," she complained.
    "She's been working constantly and hasn't had time to really look over the hotel. Right, Dad?"
    "Oh, yes, yes. We've all been so busy. Anyway, I'm making plans for our family outing—dinner at the Seafood House in Virginia Beach next week. If your mother feels up to it, that is," he added quickly.
    "I'm working Tuesday night," Clara Sue interjected.
    "Well, I'll speak to the boss and see if I can't get your schedule adjusted," Father said, smiling, but Clara Sue didn't return his smile.
    "Grandmother hates when we do that. She wants the hotel to run like a clock," Clara Sue insisted, her hands on her hips. Whenever she nagged or whined, she scrunched up her nose, widening her nostrils and making herself look like a little hog.
    "We'll see," Father said, still not showing any fluster. I couldn't imagine why not. Clara Sue needed discipline if anyone ever did, I thought.
    "I've got to go," Clara Sue repeated and stormed out.
    "Oh, how I hate the summer season," Mother said. "It makes everyone so tense. I wish I could go to sleep and wake up in September." She actually had two small tears shining in the corners of her eyes.
    "Now, now, dear," Father said, going to her side.