Cutler 02 - Secrets of the Morning

hanging over a robust fire built in a circle of rocks. The water in the cauldron bubbled, but I could clearly make out my clothing. I dropped the pail and rushed down the squeaky wooden steps. My clothing looked like it had been cooking ever since she had taken it from me the night before. I searched about desperately for something to use to pluck out my garments, but with the steam rising out of the large black pot and the fire burning briskly, there was no way for me to get close enough to rescue any of it.
    "What are you doing back here?" Miss Emily demanded from the back door.
    "What have you done to my things?" I screamed back. "You're ruining everything."
    "I told you," she said, her arms crossed tightly over her stomach, "I'm purifying it. Now get back to your chores," she snapped.
    "I want my things!" I cried.
    "It's not for you to make demands on me," she snapped. "When and if they are purified, they will be returned. Now get back to work," she said and pivoted to go back into the house. I stared after her and then looked helplessly at my clothes. My purse wasn't even visible.
    What a mean thing to do, I thought. I returned to the porch and got the pail of dirty water. Then I threw it over the fire. The dampened embers smoldered and hissed and sent steam everywhere. I stepped back and waited. The water continued to bubble. It would be a while before it cooled down, I thought, but as soon as it had, I would pluck out my things.
    I went back to the kitchen floor and scrubbed the rest of it. I knew I had been working for hours in the kitchen because when I stepped out again, the sun was nearly directly above. I dumped the dirty water and turned to get my boiled things.
    But the cauldron was gone! All that was left were the smoldering embers of the dying fire. I hurried down the steps and looked everywhere for signs of it, but all I saw was Luther coming around the far corner of the barn carrying a shovel over his shoulder as if he were a soldier carrying a rifle. I called to him, but he went into the barn and pulled the door closed firmly behind him.
    Furious now, I went back inside and charged through the kitchen and the dining room, but I saw or heard no one.
    "Miss Emily!" I called at the foot of the stairway. I listened. She didn't reply. I called again and then peered into the library which was just across the hall.
    The drapes over the tall windows were open so I could see the shelves of books, the large desk and wooden file cabinets, a long table and chairs. There were paintings on the walls, one over the rear of the desk. It was a portrait of Emily, Charlotte, and Grandmother Cutler's father. I saw clear resemblances in the eyes and forehead. He stared down with the same arrogant air, his shoulders firm and his head high and slightly tilted in a condescending manner. He looked violently angry to me. I embraced myself and backed out of the doorway and right into the silently waiting Miss Emily. I jumped and cried out before I realized it was she.
    "What are you doing? Why are you shouting? You should be starting on your wing of the house, not wandering about like this," she admonished.
    "What did you do with my clothes?" I demanded. "That pot is gone."
    "Do I have to keep repeating myself? I told you it was all being purified. Now, it has been taken to the second step."
    "Second step? What does that mean?"
    "It has been buried," she replied coolly.
    "Buried!" So that was why Luther was carrying a shovel, I thought. "You buried my things? Where? Why? This is insane!"
    "How dare you?" she snapped, her shoulders rising. Despite her slim torso, she looked formidable, as vicious as a buzzard. I had to step back. "You stand there critical of me," she said, lifting her long arm and pointing her witchlike crooked finger in my face. "You dare to reprimand and reproach me. You who stand in such disgrace with your stomach loudly announcing your sin. Don't you know that only he without sin can cast the first stone?"
    "I'm not saying I'm pure and good," I cried through my emerging tears, "but that doesn't mean you have a right to torment me."
    "Torment you?" She looked like she was going to break into laughter. "It is you who are tormenting me and the other members of the family. I have been willing to help you through this iniquitous time. I have opened my home to you and have assured my sister I will provide for your needs and you accuse me of tormenting you."
    "You're not providing for my needs," I bawled. "I want