Cutler 05 - Darkest Hour

time I was with her, I forgot everyone and everything else. I was overwhelmed by the force that swept over me, reminding me I was touching and kissing a child born of my flesh. So I didn't hear footsteps in the hallway nor realize anyone was watching me.
    "Well, who's this?" I heard someone say, and I looked at the doorway where Papa stood with the tall, tanned stranger. He gazed down at me with dark, impish eyes, a wry smile on his lips. He was slim and wide-shouldered, with long arms and graceful hands, hands that showed no signs of hard work but instead looked as manicured and cared for as a woman's hands. Later, I would discover that any calluses he had were calluses that came from his sailing, which also explained his dark skin.
    "These are my other two daughters," Papa said. "The baby's name is Charlotte and that's Lillian." Papa jerked his eyes toward the ceiling to command me to stand and greet the stranger properly. Reluctantly, I got to my feet, smoothed out my skirt and stepped forward.
    "Hello, there, Lillian. I'm Bill Cutler," he said, extending his smooth fingers. I took his hand and shook it, but he didn't let go of mine immediately. Instead, he widened his smile and drank me in, gazing up from my feet slowly and lingering over my breasts and face.
    "Hello," I said. Gently, but firmly, I pulled my hand from his.
    "You've got the baby-sitting duty, do you?" he asked. I looked at Papa, who remained stiff, his eyes fixed on me as he tugged nervously on his mustache.
    "I share the responsibility with our housekeeper Vera and my sister Emily," I replied quickly, but before I could turn away, he spoke again.
    "I bet the baby likes being with you the most," he said.
    "I like being with her."
    "That's it; that's it. And an infant senses that. I've seen it with some of the families who come to my hotel. I've got a very fine place on the ocean," he bragged.
    "That's nice," I said with as much disinterest as I could muster. But he wasn't deterred. He remained as steadfast as a tree. I lifted Charlotte into my arms. She stared with interest at Bill Cutler, but his attention was fixed firmly on me.
    "I bet your father never takes you girls on a motor trip to the beach, does he?"
    "We don't have time for pleasure trips," Papa said quickly.
    "No, I guess you don't, losing the way you do at cards," Bill Cutler said. Papa's face reddened. His nostrils twitched and his lips tightened, but he kept the explosion of indignation buried inside him. "Of course, that's a shame for you and your sisters, Lillian," Bill Cutler said, turning back to me. "Young women should be able to go to the beach, especially pretty young women," he added, his eyes twinkling with mischief.
    "Papa's right," I said. "We have a lot to do around here since the farm has gone into a deep depression," I said. "We haven't been able to afford the upkeep and we have to make do with what we have."
    Papa's eyes widened, but I thought I would do my share to make The Meadows seem more like a burden than a blessing.
    "It seems that every day something else breaks down or something else goes wrong. Right, Papa?"
    "What?" He cleared his throat. "Yes."
    "Well, it appears you have a very bright young lady in your family, Jed," he said with a grin. "You've kept her quite a secret . . . quite a secret. What do you say you lend her to me for a little while?"
    "What?" I asked quickly. He laughed.
    "To show me around," he explained. "I bet you will give me a better and more informative tour than Jed here will. Jed?"
    "She's got to watch the baby," Papa said.
    "Oh come on now, Jed. You can spell her for an hour or so. It would make me a lot happier," he added, fixing his dark eyes on Papa this time. Papa looked uncomfortable. He hated being in this fix, being squeezed and pressured and controlled, but he could only nod.
    "All right. Lillian, you take Mr. Cutler around. Show him what he wants to see. I'll send Vera in here to watch Charlotte," Papa said. Fuming, he left to fetch Vera.
    "My father knows more about the plantation than I do," I complained, and set the baby in her playpen.
    "Maybe. Maybe not. I ain't a fool. Anyone can see he's not been as attentive to his place as he should have been." He stepped closer to me, so close I felt his breath on the back of my neck. "You do a lot around here, I bet, don't you?"
    "I do my chores," I said, reaching down to give the baby one of her toys. I didn't want to look at Bill Cutler. I was uncomfortable under such male