Cutler 02 - Secrets of the Morning

after every one of her babies were born. Emily remembers what she told her to do to make it."
    "Probably full of vinegar," I muttered and took it from her. But when I tasted it, it didn't taste bitter. It tasted like there was honey in it. From my life with Momma Longchamp, I knew that some of the old remedies, herbal concoctions and the like, were often better than so-called modern medicines. I emptied the glass in two gulps.
    "Have you seen the baby?" I asked Charlotte. She nodded. "She's beautiful, isn't she?"
    "Emily said she was too small," Charlotte replied.
    "She'll get bigger. I'll nurse her and she'll be healthy and beautiful before long. I didn't want to give birth prematurely," I said, remembering it all now, "but Emily was so horrid to me. I thought she was going to attack me, so I ran and I fell. At least now it's all over and my baby and I will soon be out of here.
    "Charlotte," I continued, reaching up to take her hand so she would come closer, "I saw the nursery and I know you were telling me the truth. You did have a baby, a real baby once."
    "His ears were pointed," she recited quickly as if she had been hypnotized to repeat it every time there was a reference to her child.
    "No, Charlotte. I'm sure they were not. Emily said you were just pregnant one day, but women don't just wake up and find themselves pregnant. There's always a father. Why didn't you ever tell her who the father was and make her stop saying those terrible things?"
    She started to pull her hand from mine, but I held on.
    "Don't go, Charlotte. Tell me. You're not as stupid as your sister says you are. You were ashamed, weren't you? So you kept it a secret. Why were you ashamed? Was he someone Miss Emily wouldn't have approved of? Did you think you loved him like I loved my Michael?"
    Her eyes widened with interest, but I saw from the look in them that love wasn't involved.
    "You can tell me, Charlotte. I won't tell Miss Emily. You know I won't. You and I are closer and friendlier. I want to help you and be your friend just as much as you've been mine. You let her think you didn't know how you were pregnant; you let her create that horrible fantasy with the devil, didn't you?"
    She didn't reply; she looked down.
    "You know how women get pregnant, don't you, Charlotte? You know what they must do with men, even though I'm sure no one's ever bothered to tell you. It's a subject I'm positive has always been forbidden in this house, especially as long as Miss Emily's ruled it. But you know, right?"
    "The wiggles," she said quickly.
    "The wiggles? I don't understand, Charlotte. What are the wiggles? How does that make you pregnant?"
    "After he did the wiggles on me," she said, "the baby started to grow in my stomach."
    "After he did the wiggles? Who, Charlotte? Who did the wiggles on you?"
    "It was in the barn," she said. "He showed me how the pigs did the wiggles and then he did it."
    "The barn? It wasn't Luther, was it? It was Luther," I concluded from the expression on her face. "And I believe Miss Emily knew that all the time. Of course," I realized. "And she's been punishing him for it all these years, weighing on his conscience. That's why he takes all her abuse and lives and works like a slave.
    "Oh, Charlotte," I said, reaching out for her. "I'm sorry what happened to you was made into such a nightmare. But tell me, what happened to the baby?"
    We heard Miss Emily's footsteps in the hail and Charlotte jerked her hand from mine quickly.
    "I'll make you a nice needlework picture to hang in the nursery," she said quickly and took the empty glass. Then she started out just as Miss Emily turned into the doorway. Miss Emily seized her arm to stop her.
    "Did she drink it all?" she demanded and Charlotte nodded and showed her the glass. "Good. Go rinse it in the sink," she ordered and then looked in at me.
    "How is the baby?" I asked.
    "The baby was too small," she said quickly. "I want you to sleep so you will be ready to leave in the morning. Arrangements are being made." She started to turn away.
    "What do you mean?" I said, propping myself up on my elbows. "What do you mean the baby was too small?"
    "When babies are born too small, they're not meant to be born," she replied nonchalantly and started away again.
    "What's happened to her? Where is she?" I shouted. I swung my legs off the bed, but my head began spinning so much I had to drop myself back to the pillow and keep my eyes closed. I felt a warmth in my stomach and a gurgling.