Cutler 05 - Darkest Hour

tell Eugenia," I said. "She's waiting to hear."
    "You'll tell her later, Lillian. First get dry and warm. Go on," Mamma insisted.
    I lowered my head and walked up the stairs slowly.
    When I turned down the landing, I heard a door squeak open and saw Emily peer out of her room. "Cotton's dead," I told her. "She's been drowned." Slowly, Emily's face folded into a cold smile. My heart began to pound.
    "Did you do it?" I demanded.
    "You did it," she accused.
    "Me? I would never . . ."
    "I told you, you're a Jonah. Everything you touch will die or suffer. Keep your hands off our beautiful flowers, don't touch our animals, and stay out of the tobacco fields so Papa doesn't go bust like some other plantation owners have. Lock yourself in your room," she advised.
    "Shut up," I snapped back, too full of pain and sorrow to be afraid of her furious eyes anymore. "You killed Cotton. You horrid, horrid person."
    She smiled again and slowly retreated into her room, closing the door quickly.
    I felt sick to my stomach. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw poor Cotton bobbing under the surface of the pond, her mouth open, her eyes clamped shut by Death. When I got into my bathroom, I started to throw up. My stomach ached so much I had to bend over and wait for the pain to pass. I saw how scratched up my legs were from my running through the brush between the house and the pond, and only then did I feel any pain. Slowly, I took of my wet things and ran my bath.
    Afterward, when I was dry and dressed again, I went back downstairs to tell Eugenia the horrid news, my feet leaden as I walked toward her doorway; but the moment I opened the door, I realized she knew.
    "I saw Henry," she moaned through her tears, "carrying Cotton."
    I went to her and we clung to each other, desperate for the comfort we hoped we could bring to each other. I didn't want to tell her that I believed Emily had done it, but she seemed to know that there wasn't another soul living or working on this plantation that had the cruelness in his or her heart to do such a terrible thing.
    We lay together on her bed, our arms around each other, both staring out the window at the heavy rain and the dark gray sky. Eugenia wasn't my real sister, but she was my sister in perhaps a truer sense of the word, for we were both children of tragedy, too young to understand a world in which beautiful and innocent creatures were harmed and destroyed.
    Fragile Eugenia fell asleep in my arms mourning the loss of something precious and beautiful in our lives, and for the first time, I was really afraid; not afraid of Emily, not afraid of Henry's ghosts, not afraid of storms or accidents, but afraid of the deep sorrow and pain I knew I was destined to feel when Eugenia was taken from me, too. I clung to her as long as I could and then I slipped away to go to dinner.
     
    Mamma didn't want to talk about Cotton at dinner, but she had to explain to Papa why I looked so distraught and just picked at my food listlessly. He listened and then he swallowed what he was eating quickly and slapped his palm down on the table so hard the dishes jumped. Even Emily looked terrified.
    "I won't have it," he said. "I won't have sorrow over some dumb animal brought to my dinner table upsetting everyone. The cat's dead and gone; there's nothing more to be done or said. The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away."
    "I'm sure Henry will find you and Eugenia another kitten," Mamma added, smiling.
    "Not like Cotton," I replied, choking back my tears. "She was special and now she's dead," I whined. Emily's lips twisted into a sneer.
    "Georgia," Papa said in a tone of reprimand.
    "Let's talk about pleasant things, honey," Mamma said quickly. She beamed a broad smile my way.
    "How did you do in school today?" she asked.
    I took a deep breath and wiped my cheeks dry.
    "I got an 'Excellent' for my writing," I replied proudly.
    "Why that's wonderful," Mamma said, clapping her hands together. "Isn't that splendid?" She looked at Emily, who pretended more interest in her food. "Why don't you run and get it to show the Captain, honey," she asked.
    I looked at Papa. He didn't seem to be listening to a word or have any interest. His jaw worked up and down, his teeth grinding the meat in his mouth, his eyes empty. When I didn't move, though, he stopped chewing and gazed at me. I got up quickly and ran out to the entryway where I had left my things on the table, but when I looked for my paper, it wasn't there. I was sure I had