Cutler 05 - Darkest Hour

house were kept dark and cold and weren't even dusted anymore. A pall fell over what had once been a proud and beautiful Southern home.
    Memories of Mamma's grand barbecues, the elaborate dinner parties, the sound of laughter and music, all dwindled, retreated into the shadows and locked themselves between the covers of photograph albums. The piano fell out of tune, the drapes began to sag with dust and grime, the once beautiful landscape of flowers and bushes succumbed to the invasion of weeds.
    All that remained interesting and beautiful for me was gone, but I had baby Charlotte and I helped Mrs. Clark care for her. Together we watched her develop until she took her first step and uttered her first discernible word. It wasn't Mamma or Papa. It was Lil . . . Lil.
    "How wonderful and proper that your name be the first sensible sound on her lips," Mrs. Clark declared. Of course, she didn't know how wonderful and proper it really was, although I thought at times that she knew more than she pretended to know. How could she look at my face when I held Charlotte or played with her or fed her and not realize that Charlotte was my child and not my sister? And how could she see the way Papa avoided the baby and not think it strange?
    Oh, he did some of the very basic things. He stopped by occasionally to see Charlotte dressed in something pretty or see her take her first steps. He even had a photographer take pictures of his "three" children, but for the most part, he treated Charlotte like some ward he had been assigned.
    A month or so after Mamma's passing, I returned to school. Miss Walker was still the teacher and she was quite surprised at how well I had kept up with my learning. In fact, it wasn't more than a few months before she had me working beside her, teaching the younger children and functioning as her teacher's aide. Emily no longer attended school and was not interested in the things I did there, nor was Papa.
    But all that came to an abrupt end when Charlotte was a little more than two. Papa announced at dinner that he was going to have to let Mrs. Clark go.
    "We can't afford her anymore," he declared. "Lillian, you and Emily and Vera will look after the baby from now on."
    "But what about my schoolwork, Papa? I was thinking of becoming a teacher myself."
    "That will have to stop," he said. "Until things improve."
    But I knew things would never improve. Papa had lost interest in his own business affairs and spent most of his time gambling and drinking. He had aged years in months. Gray strands invaded his hair; his cheeks and chin drooped and there were dark circles and sacks under his eyes.
    Gradually, he began to sell away most of the rich south field. The land he didn't sell he rented out, and remained satisfied with the piddling income that resulted. But he no sooner had some money in his hands than he rushed out to gamble it away at some card game.
    Neither Emily nor I knew just how desperate things were until he returned home late one night after an evening of drinking and card playing and went into the den. Emily and I were both awakened by the sound of a pistol shot reverberating through the house. I felt my blood drain down into my feet. My heart began to pound. I sat up quickly and listened, but heard only deadly silence. I put on my robe and slippers and ran out of my room, meeting Emily in the hallway.
    "What was that?" I asked.
    "It came from downstairs," she said. Then she gave me one dark, foreboding look and we both descended the stairway, Emily carrying a candle because we had taken to keeping the downstairs dark after we had all retired for the evening.
    Flickering light came from the open door. My heart thumping, I walked a few steps behind Emily and entered with her. There we found Papa slumped on the couch, his smoking pistol in hand. He wasn't dead nor was he wounded. He had tried to take his own life, but had lifted the barrel of the pistol from his temple at the last moment and shot the bullet into the far wall.
    "What is it? What happened, Papa?" Emily demanded. "Why are you sitting there with that pistol?"
    "I might as well be dead," he said. "As soon as I get the strength, I'm going to try again," he whined in a voice that sounded so unlike him, I had to look twice.
    "No you won't," Emily snapped. She snatched the pistol from his hand. "Suicide is a sin. Thou shalt not kill."
    He lifted his pathetic eyes at her. I never saw him so weak and defeated.
    "You don't know what I've gone