Cutler 05 - Darkest Hour

house already; he won't stomach two."
    Louella pulled one of my dresses out of the closet and got me up. When I went downstairs, I saw that Mamma had been crying. Papa's face was red and he was tugging on the ends of his mustache, something he always did when he was irritated.
    "That's better," he said when I sat down. "Now let's begin."
    After Emily's reading, which seemed interminable this time, we ate in silence. Mamma was obviously not in the mood to chatter about her friends and their lives. The only sounds came from Papa's chomping on his meat and the click of silverware and china. Suddenly, Papa stopped chewing and turned to me as if he had just remembered something. He pointed his long right forefinger at me and said, "You see that you get up and go to school tomorrow, Lillian. Understand? I don't want another child in this house being waited on hand and foot. Especially one who's healthy and strong and got nothing more than a woman's regular problem. Hear?"
    Swallowing first, I started to speak, faltered, tried to pull my eyes from the strong look of his, and finally just nodded and meekly replied, "Yes, Papa."
    "It's enough the way people talk about this family as it is, one daughter sick from day one until now . . ." He looked at Mamma. "If we had a son . . ."
    Mamma started to sniffle.
    "Cut that out at the table," Papa snapped. He started to eat and then decided to rattle on instead. "Every good Southern family has a son to carry on its name, its heritage. All but the Booths, that is. When I go, so goes my family name and all it stands for," he complained. "Every time I walk into my office and look up at my granddaddy, I feel ashamed."
    Tears filled Mamma's eyes, but she managed to hold them back. At this moment I felt more sorry for her than I did for myself. It wasn't her fault she had given birth to only girls. From what I had read and learned about human reproduction, Papa bore some of the responsibility. But what hurt even more was the idea that girls weren't good enough. We were second-class children, consolation prizes.
    "I'm willin' to try again, Jed," Mamma moaned. My eyes widened with surprise. Even Emily looked more animated. Mamma, have another baby, at her age? Papa just grunted and began eating again.
    After dinner I went to see Eugenia. I had to tell her what Papa had said and what Mamma had said, but I met Louella in the hallway returning with Eugenia's dinner tray. Everything on it looked untouched.
    "She fell asleep trying to eat," Louella said, shaking her head. "Poor thing."
    I hurried to Eugenia's room and found she was in a deep sleep, her eyelids pasted shut, her chest wheezing as it lifted and fell under the blanket. She looked so pale and gaunt, it put a chill in my heart. I waited at her side, hoping she might awaken, but she didn't move; her eyelids didn't even flutter so I retreated sadly to my room.
    That night I tried to do things with my hair to make it look decent. I put pins in. I tried a silk bow. I brushed and brushed the sides and back, but nothing seemed to help. Ends stuck up and out. It simply looked horrible. I dreaded going to school, but when I heard Papa's boots click down the corridor in the morning, I jumped out of bed and got myself ready. Emily was all smiles. I never saw her look so con-tented. We started out together, but I let her get ahead of me, so that when we joined up with the Thompson twins and Niles, the twins and she were a good ten yards or so in front of me and Niles.
    He smiled the moment he saw me. I felt so weak and light I was sure a strong wind could blow me away. I held firmly to the brim of my bonnet and plodded down the road avoiding his gaze.
    "Good morning," he said. "I'm glad you're up and about today. I missed you. I'm sorry about what happened."
    "Oh Niles, it's been dreadful, absolutely horrible. Papa made me go to school. Otherwise, I'd bury myself under my blankets again and stay there until next Christmas," I said.
    "You can't do that. Everything will be all right," he assured me.
    "No it won't," I insisted. "I look terrible. Wait until you set eyes on me with my bonnet off. You won't be able to look at me without laughing," I told him.
    "Lillian, you could never look terrible to me," he replied, "and I would never laugh at you." He shifted his eyes away quickly, a crimson wave moving up his neck and over his face after his confession. His words warmed my heart and gave me the strength to continue. But not his words, not any