Cutler 05 - Darkest Hour

strokes.
    Cotton had grown quickly into a muscular, sleek cat with eyes that shimmered like diamonds. Henry favored her more than any of the animals on the plantation and frequently fed her a raw egg, which he said was the reason why her coat was always so rich and shiny.
    "She's already the most feared hunter of the bunch," he told me. "Why, I seen her chase a mouse's shadow until she found the mouse."
    When Eugenia and I sat in her window seat and talked for hours after school or I read to her, we would both stop to take note of Cotton's comings and goings, but it wasn't her hunting prowess that made her stand out for us. It was the way she would promenade over the grounds of the plantation, moving with an air of arrogance that seemed to say, "I know I'm the most beautiful cat here and you all better remember." Eugenia and I would laugh, and Cotton, who surely heard us, would pause and throw a gaze our way before ambling on to check one of her haunts.
    Instead of a collar, we fastened one of Eugenia's pink hair ribbons around Cotton's neck. At first she tried to scratch it off, but in time, she grew used to it and kept it as clean as she kept her fur. It got so our conversations with Mamma and Papa, Louella and the other house servants, as well as with Emily, were always filled with Cotton stories.
    After school one gray and stormy day, I came running up the driveway afraid that I wouldn't beat out the downpour that was hovering in the shoulders of the bruised and angry-looking clouds above. I even outran Emily, who walked with her eyes half closed, her mouth sewn so tightly shut it made her thin lips white in the corners. I knew that something I had done or something that had happened that day at school had annoyed and angered her. I thought it might have been the fuss Miss Walker had made over how well I had completed my writing lesson. Whatever was bothering her made her lean frame swell so that her shoulders were hoisted, making her look like a large crow. I wanted to avoid her and her sharp tongue that would spit words designed to cut into my heart.
    The gravel flew out from beneath my feet as I dashed up the remaining one hundred or so yards to the front door. Still gasping, I charged into the house, eager to show Eugenia my first written sentences with the word "Excellent" scribbled in bright red ink at the top of the page. I had it clasped in my little fist, waving it in the air like the flag of the Confederacy snapping in the wind of battle against the Yankees depicted in some of our paintings. My feet slapped down on the corridor floor as I jogged my way to Eugenia's room and burst in excitedly.
    But I took one look at her and my joy quickly subsided, the air rushing out of my lungs as quickly as the air escaped from a punctured balloon. Eugenia had obviously been crying; her face was still streaked with fresh tears rippling down her cheeks and dripping from her chin.
    "What's wrong, Eugenia? Why are you crying?" I asked, grimacing in anticipation of her sad reply. "Does something hurt?"
    "No." She ground away the tears with fists no bigger than the fists of some of my dolls. "It's Cotton," she said. "She's disappeared."
    "Disappeared? No," I said, shaking my head. "Uh-huh, she has. She didn't come to my window all day and I asked Henry to find her," Eugenia explained in a shaky voice.
    "So?"
    "He can't; he's looked everywhere, too," she said, holding her arms up. "Cotton's run away."
    "Cotton wouldn't run away," I said confidently. "Henry says she must have."
    "He's mistaken," I said. "I'll go look for her myself and I'll bring her to your window."
    "Promise?"
    "Cross my heart," I said, and spun around to charge out of the house as quickly as I had charged in.
    Mamma, who was in her reading room, called, "Is that you, Lillian?"
    "I'll be right back, Mamma," I said, and put my notebook and my writing paper with "Excellent" on it on a small table in the entryway before going out to find Henry. I saw Emily walking slowly toward the house, her head stiff, her eyes open wider.
    "Henry can't find Cotton," I called to her. She smirked and continued toward the house. I ran around to the barn and found Henry milking one of our cows. We had just enough milk cows, chickens and pigs to take care of our own needs, and it was mainly Henry's job to look after them. He raised his head as I came running in.
    "Where's Cotton?" I asked, gasping for breath.
    "Don't know. Most peculiar thing. Female cats don't usually go