Cutler 05 - Darkest Hour

his saber glinting in the sunlight, Papa sat booming orders to the servants and especially to Henry, who often entered only a few inches past the doorway and stood waiting, hat in hand. Everyone was afraid to disturb him when he was in his office. Even Mamma would moan, "Oh dear, oh dear, I have to go tell the Captain," as if she had to walk through fire or over a bed of coals. As a child I was terrified of going in the office when he was there. I wouldn't so much as cross in front of the doorway if I could avoid it.
    And when he was gone and I could go in there to look at his books and things, it was as if I had entered some sacred room, that part of a church where precious religious icons were stored. I would tiptoe over the floor and pull out the books as softly and as quietly as I could, always gazing at the desk to be sure Papa hadn't suddenly materialized out of thin air. As I grew older, my confidence grew and I didn't look upon the office with as much trepidation, but I never stopped being afraid of crossing Papa and making him angry.
    And so when he entered my room, his face brooding, his eyes dark, I felt my heart stop and then begin to pound. He straightened up, his hands behind his back and fixed his gaze on me for a long moment without speaking. His eyes seemed to sizzle as they blazed down at me. I twisted my fingers around each other and waited anxiously.
    "Stand up," he suddenly commanded.
    "What, Papa?" Panic seized me in a tight grip and for a moment I couldn't move.
    "Stand up," he repeated. "I want to take a good look at you, a new look at you," he said, nodding. "Yes. Stand up."
    I did so, straightening my skirt.
    "Doesn't that teacher teach you about good posture?" he snapped. "Don't she make you walk around with a book on your head?"
    "No, Papa."
    "Humph," he said, and approached me. He gripped my shoulders between his strong fingers and thumb and pressed so hard, it hurt. "Pull your shoulders back, Lillian, or you'll end up walking and looking like Emily," he added, which surprised me. He never criticized her in my presence before. "Yes, that's better," he said. His eyes scanned me critically, his gaze centering on my budding bosom. He nodded.
    "You have grown a few years' worth overnight," he remarked. "I've been so busy lately, I haven't had time to pay attention to what's going on right beneath my feet." He pulled himself into a straight position again. "Your Mamma's told you about the birds and the bees, I assume?"
    "Birds and the bees, Papa?" I thought a moment and shook my head. He cleared his throat.
    "Well, I don't mean the birds and the bees exactly, Lillian. That's just an expression. I mean about what goes on between a man and a woman. You're apparently a woman already; you should know something."
    "She told me how babies are made," I said.
    "Uh-huh. And that's it?"
    "She told me about some women in her books and . . ."
    "Oh, her damn books!" he cried. He pointed his thick right forefinger at me. "That will get you into trouble faster than anything else," he warned.
    "What will, Papa?"
    "Those stupid stories." He straightened up again. "Emily's come in to see me about your behavior," he said. "And no wonder, if you've been reading your mother's books."
    "I didn't do anything bad, Papa. Honest, I . . ." He put up his hand.
    "I want the truth and I want it fast. Did you come running out of the forest like Emily says?"
    "Yes, Papa."
    "Did the Thompson boy come running out after you a moment later, huffing and puffing like some dogs after a bitch in heat?"
    "He wasn't running after me, exactly, Papa. We . . ."
    "Were you buttoning your blouse when you came out of the forest?" he demanded.
    "Buttoning my blouse? Oh no, Papa. Emily's lying if she said that," I protested.
    "Unbutton your blouse," he ordered.
    "What, Papa?"
    "You heard me, unbutton your blouse. Go on."
    I did so quickly. He stepped closer and looked down at me, his gaze falling on the tops of my breasts. When he was this close to me, I couldn't help but smell his bourbon and mint. It was stronger than ever.
    "Did you let this boy put his hand in there?" he asked, nodding toward my exposed bosom. For a moment, I couldn't respond. I blushed so fast and so hard, I thought I would faint at his feet. It was as if Papa had somehow been able to eavesdrop on my fantasies.
    "No, Papa."
    "Close your eyes," he ordered. I did so. A moment later, I felt his fingers on my chest. They were so hot to the touch, I thought they would burn my