Cutler 02 - Secrets of the Morning

me you had piano lessons?" she demanded the first time I sat down to play the piano for her. "Did someone tell you I was tone deaf?"
    "No, Madame, but I did have lessons. I—"
    "Please," she said, cutting me off with a sweep of her hand. "Consider yourself just beginning. Forget everything and anything you were told. Do you understand me?" she demanded, her small, intense eyes pinning me to my desk.
    "Yes, Madame," I said quickly.
    "Good. Now, let us go back to the fundamentals," she said. For the rest of the day she treated me as if I had just been told, "This is a piano."
    Toward the end of the summer though, she paused at the conclusion of a lesson and stared at me for a long moment. My heart began to beat in anticipation of her telling me I should give up the piano. Instead, she brought her shoulders back, nodded, and looked down her nose at me to say something I considered spectacular.
    "You appear to have a natural instinct for music. In time I believe you can become of concert pianist class."
    Then she pivoted on her soft shoes and left me sitting there with my jaw dropped open. Of course, I rushed out to tell Trisha and we celebrated with a double fudge chocolate sundae at George's Luncheonette. We both felt so good about it that we even tried to get Arthur Garwood to come when we saw him walking over the school grounds. He stared at us as if we had asked him to jump off the George Washington Bridge. For a moment when he gazed only at me, I thought he was going to come, but then he shook his head, thanked us, and walked off quickly. All summer long he had kept to himself, but I sensed he wanted to talk to overcome his shyness and talk to me, especially if I were alone.
    Except for Trisha and a few other friends I had made in classes, I had no one else to share my happiness with. I could write Jimmy a letter, but I couldn't call him. I had begun to feel truly like an orphan. Cruel Fate had stolen away my family and left me with a family that didn't want me. It was as if I had no family at all, no past, no present, no future. Other girls my age could rattle on and on about their childhood, their brothers and sisters, grandparents and parents. They could talk about trips their families took together, their wonderful holiday dinners, funny things their little brothers and sisters said and did, but I had to sit with my mouth sewn shut.
    My real mother Laura Sue never came to New York to visit me as she had promised the day I left Cutler's Cove. However one night on the last Monday in August, she called to see how I was doing and to recite her excuses for neglecting me all summer long.
    "I haven't been well," she said, "since the day you left. First, I came down with this horrible summer cold. It nearly became pneumonia and then I developed an allergy that simply puzzled the doctors.
    "Oh yes, I had more than one doctor. Randolph brought in allergy specialists, one after the other, but I couldn't stop my eyes from watering and every once in a while, I broke into these spells of sneezing.
    "You can imagine how it has been. I have hardly been down in the hotel."
    "I'm sorry to hear it, Mother," I said. "Maybe if you came for a visit to New York, you would leave your allergy behind," I suggested.
    "Oh no, the allergy has left me as mysteriously as it came. I'm fine now, except I'm quite run-down and the doctors advise me to continue my bed rest awhile longer. I'm sorry; I so wanted to take you shopping in New York.
    "Are you having a good time? Enjoying the school?" she asked.
    "Yes," I said, wondering whether she really cared. I knew that if I said no or tried to describe problems she would immediately have a fainting spell and jump off the phone so fast my head would spin.
    "Good. Maybe in a month or so, I will be able to travel. In the meantime, I'll see to it that Randolph sends you some money so you can do some shopping with one of your friends, okay?
    "I'd send Randolph, but the hotel's been busier than ever and Grandmother Cutler is depending on him."  
    "I'm sure," I said dryly, "she doesn't depend on anyone but herself."
    "You must not talk like that, Dawn," my mother chastised. "It won't do any of us any good. We must make the best of the situation. Please, don't bring up any controversy, not now, now that I've gotten up enough strength to talk to you."
    "Why does it take so much strength for you to talk to me, Mother? Is it because of the clouds of lies that hover above us?"
    "I have to go now, Dawn. I'm