Cutler 02 - Secrets of the Morning

Her sister had her brainwashed. "Emily's not an angel, you know. Not everything she does and says is right and good. She's unnecessarily mean, especially to you," I continued. "She speaks to you like you were some sort of lower animal and she keeps you locked up here, just as she's keeping me."
    "Oh, no," she said. "Emily's only trying to help me. I'm the devil’s spawn and I've spawned the devil's child," she recited in a way that made me understand she had been forced to repeat it and repeat it until it was almost second nature for her to say it.
    "That's a horrible lie. Wait, what do you mean, you've spawned the devil's child? What child?" I asked.
    "I'm not supposed to talk about it," she said, backing up a step.
    "She won't know," I coaxed. "I won't tell her. Can't we share a secret?"
    She considered and then stepped toward me again.
    "I made this for the baby," she confessed, holding up the needlework, "because sometimes, the baby comes back."
    "Comes back? Comes back from where?"
    "From hell," she said, "where it was sent to live because that's where it belongs."
    "No one belongs in hell, Charlotte."
    "The devil does," she replied quickly, nodding.
    "Maybe just him . . . and Miss Emily," I mumbled. "Tell me about the baby," I asked, raising my head. "Was there a real baby?" She stared at me without replying. "Charlotte," I said, reaching under the bed to pull out the baby's rattle she had left for me one day. "Whose was this? Where did you get it?"
    The wind made a loose shutter clack and the sound of it reverberated down the hall. Charlotte closed her eyes quickly and then stepped back, a shivering thought filling her eyes with terror.
    "I have to return to my room," she said. "Emily will be angry if she knows I'm here bothering you."
    "You're not bothering me. Don't go," I begged. The shutter clacked again. She turned quickly and walked out. "Charlotte!" I called, but she didn't return.
    Charlotte was the only one here to talk to and Miss Emily had her terrified of doing so. I might as well be in some jail, I thought. I couldn't have a warden more cruel than Miss Emily and why? Because I had fallen in love too quickly and had been too trusting. My sin was believing in someone, I thought. Well, I would defy her; I would write my letter to Trisha and get it mailed even if I had to mail it myself.
    I rose from my bed with new determination, hid the baby's rattle again and went back down to the kitchen where I sat and rewrote my letter to Trisha. Only this time, I told her all the ugly details. My tears splattered on the page as I wrote as quickly as I could.
     
    Dear Trisha,
    I've been trying to get in touch with you for months, but Grandmother Cutler's horrible sister Emily has kept me from doing so. There is no phone here so I cannot call and letters have to be taken miles to a place called Upland Station. Emily has also forbidden having my things sent here. She took my clothing the day I arrived and put it through some purification process that involved boiling and burying it and I haven't seen it or my purse since. I'm forced to wear an ugly sack gown and nothing else, not even underwear! At night I sleep with a hot water bottle to keep warm in a cold, dark, windowless room. I have a kerosene lamp for light, but I'm only given a small bit of kerosene that must last a whole week so I don't burn it as much as I'd like to for fear I'll be left in the dark for days and days.
    All I do is work in the house, cleaning and polishing and dusting. I don't even have time to read, and if I did, I would be too exhausted anyway. I've grown bigger and bigger and my back has been bothering me more and more, but Miss Emily doesn't care. I think she enjoys seeing me in pain; she thinks the more I suffer, the more I will be remorseful.
    I couldn't give you this exact address when I left New York because I didn't know it. I need you to do me a favor. I am enclosing Daddy Longchamp's address. He's the only person I can turn to now since Jimmy is still in Europe, I think, and anyway, has no idea where I am. Please contact Daddy Longchamp and tell him how desperate I am. I must get out of here. Miss Emily is a religious fanatic and her sister is mentally simple and helpless like me.
    You don't know how much I miss you and our wonderful talks. I realize now more than ever how much of a friend you were to me and how much I love you. I miss the school, too, and most of all, I miss singing and music. There is no music in this