Cutler 05 - Darkest Hour

stay long, Tottie," I warned.
    "Why you locked yourself up in there, Miss Lillian? It ain't what your papa and Emily says, is it? You don't want it this way, do you?"
    "It can't be helped, Tottie. Please don't ask any more questions. I'm all right."
    Tottie was silent a moment. I thought she might have tiptoed away, but then she spoke again.
    "Your papa's telling folks your mother's pregnant. Vera says she don't look or act pregnant. Is she, Miss Lillian?"
    I bit down on my lip. I wanted to tell Tottie the truth, but I was afraid, not for myself as much as I was for her. There was no telling what Papa would do if she told anyone about me. Anyway, I was ashamed of what had happened and didn't want it known.
    "Yes, Tottie," I said quickly. "It's true."
    "Then why you want to stay in your room under lock and key, Miss Lillian?"
    "I don't want to talk about it, Tottie. Please, go back downstairs. I don't want you getting into trouble," I said, choking back my tears.
    "It doesn't matter, Miss Lillian. I really come to say good-bye. I'm leaving just as I said I would. I'm going north to Boston to live with my grandmother."
    "Oh Tottie, I'll miss you," I cried. "I'll miss you very much."
    "I'd like to give you a hug good-bye, Miss Lillian.
    Won't you open this door and say good-bye to me?"
    "I . . . can't, Tottie," I said. I was crying now.
    "Can't or won't, Miss Lillian?"
    "Good-bye, Tottie," I said. "Good luck."
    "Good-bye, Miss Lillian. You and Vera and Charles and their little boy Luther are the only people I cared to say good-bye to. And your mother, of course. Truth is, I'm saying good riddance to this unhappy place. I know you ain't happy in there, Miss Lillian. If there's anything I can do for you before I leave . . . anything."
    "No, Tottie," I said, my voice cracking. "Thank you."
    "Good-bye," she repeated, and walked away.
    I cried so much I thought I would have no appetite for dinner, but my body surprised me. When Emily appeared with my tray, I took one look at the food and realized I was very hungry. This increased appetite continued well into my fourth and fifth months.
    With my increased hunger came a revitalized energy. My short walks to see Mamma were far from enough exercise, and when I did see Mamma, I couldn't go anywhere with her, especially by the time I was in my sixth month. By then, Mamma was in bed most of the time anyway, her face sallow, her eyes dull. Emily and Papa had told Mamma that she was pregnant, that the doctor had examined her and said so. She was just confused and bewildered enough to accept the diagnosis, and, from what I understood her to say, she even told Vera she was pregnant. Of course, I didn't expect Vera to believe it, but I did expect she would be discreet about it and mind her own business.
    By this time, Mamma was having more and more stomach pain and taking more and more of the painkiller. Papa had been true to his word about that. There were dozens of bottles in Mamma's room, some empty, some half empty, all lined up on the dresser and night table.
    Whenever I visited her now, Mamma lay there in bed, moaning softly, her eyes barely open, barely realizing I was even there. Sometimes, she made an attempt to look good and put on some makeup, but by the time I got to her, her makeup was usually smeared and even so, she was pale beneath the rouge and lipstick. Her large eyes would stare up at me bleakly and she would only vaguely listen to whatever I was saying.
    Emily wouldn't admit it, but Mamma had lost a great deal of weight. Her arms were so thin, I could see the elbow bone clearly and her cheeks had sunken something terrible. When I touched her shoulder, she felt like she was made of bird bones. I could see from the food left on her plate that she was hardly eating. I tried feeding her, but she just shook her head.
    "I'm not hungry," she whined. "My stomach's acting up again. I've got to give it a rest, Violet."
    Most of the time now, she called me Violet. I stopped trying to correct her even though I knew that behind me Emily smirked and shook her head.
    "Mamma's very, very sick," I told Emily one afternoon at the beginning of my seventh month of pregnancy. "You've got to get Papa to send for the doctor. She must go to a hospital. She's wasting away, too."
    Emily ignored me and continued to walk down the corridor, jangling her damnable ring of jailer keys.
    "Don't you care about her?" I cried. I stopped in the hallway and Emily was forced to turn around. "She's your