Cutler 05 - Darkest Hour

opened to a second-story landing that provided a wide view of the countryside across the way. Down-stairs there was a large parlor with well-preserved colonial furnishings and scenic oil paintings above the fieldstone fireplace and on the walls in the hallway and large dining room as well.
    The Dobbs, the owners, were an elderly couple who Bill had obviously gotten to know on his way to The Meadows when he planned out our itinerary. They knew he would be returning with his new bride. Mr. Dobbs was a tall, lean man with two patches of gray, steel-wool-like hair on the sides of his shiny bald head which was peppered with dark age spots. He had small light-brown eyes, and a long, narrow nose that dipped over his thin mouth. Because of his height and thinness, as well as his facial features, he reminded me of a scarecrow. He had large hands with long fingers and continually washed his palms against each other nervously as he spoke. His wife, also tall, but much stouter with shoulders like a lumber jack and a heavy hard-looking bosom, stood aside, nodding after everything her husband said.
    "We hope you'll be cozy and warm and have a most delightful stay with us," Mr. Dobbs said. "And Marion here is going to make you two the best breakfast, ain't you, Marion?"
    "I make a good breakfast every day," she said firmly, and then smiled. "But tomorrow's will be extra special, seeing the occasion and all."
    "And I expect you two will be hungry," Mr. Dobbs added, winking and smiling at Bill, who pulled his shoulders up and smiled back.
    "I expect we will," he replied.
    "Everything's ready just as you wanted it to be," Mr. Dobbs said. "You want me to show you around again?"
    "No need," Bill said. "First, I'll show my new bride the room and then I'll come back and get some of our things."
    "Oh, want me to help you with that?" Mr. Dobbs asked.
    "No need," Bill said. "I got plenty of energy tonight," he added. He took my hand and headed toward the stairway.
    "Well now, sleep tight and don't let the bedbugs bite," Mr. Dobbs called after us.
    "We ain't got no bedbugs, Horace Dobbs," his wife snapped. "And never have."
    "Just kidding, Mother. Just kidding," he mumbled, and hurried away.
    "Congratulations," Mrs. Dobbs called to us before following her husband. Bill nodded and continued to lead me up the stairs.
    The room was pleasant. It had a brass bed with ornate designs on the poles and headboard, a wide mattress covered with a flowery pattern quilt and two enormous matching pillows. The windows were done in bright blue-and-white cotton curtains. The hard-wood floor looked as though it had been polished and polished to bring out its natural sheen. There was a soft-looking, cream wool rug under the bed. Both night tables had brass oil lamps.
    "The scene of the seduction," Bill announced gleefully. "How do you like it?"
    "It's very nice," I had to admit. Why take my unhappiness out on the Dobbses, I thought, or this cozy little house.
    "I got an eye for these things," he bragged. "It's the hotel owner's blood at work. I was driving along, thinking about our first night and as soon as I set eyes on this place, I stepped down on the brakes and made the arrangements. I don't usually put myself out to please a woman, you know."
    "According to the minister, I'm not just any woman to you anymore. He did mention the words husband and wife," I said dryly. Bill laughed and showed me where the bathroom was located in the hallway.
    "I'll go down and bring up your bag and my own while you make yourself comfortable," he said, nodding toward the bed, "and ready." He ran the tip of his tongue from one side of his mouth to the other and then turned and rushed downstairs.
    I sat down on the bed and folded my hands on my lap. My heart was beginning to thump in anticipation. In moments I would have to surrender myself to a man I hardly knew. He would learn the most intimate details of my body. I had been telling myself all along that I could get through this by closing my eyes and pretending Bill Cutler was Niles, but now that I was here and it was only moments before it would begin, I realized it would be impossible to shut out the reality and replace it with a dream. Bill Cutler was not the sort of man who would be denied.
    I looked down and saw my fingers were trembling. My knees wanted to knock together; my eyes wanted to pour out their tears. The little girl in me wanted to plead for mercy, to cry for Mommy. What was I going to do? Should I beg my new