Cutler 05 - Darkest Hour

one ear and out the other so fast, I hear myself echo in that room."
    "Brandy! Does Papa know?"
    "I suspect so," Louella said. "But all he did was order Henry to bring up another case of it." She wagged her head in disgust. "It ain't coming to no good," she said. "It ain't coming to no good."
    What Louella told me put a panic in me. Life at The Meadows was sad without Eugenia, but life at The Meadows without Mamma would be unbearable, for I would have only Papa and Emily as family. I hurried off to see Mamma and found her sitting at her vanity table. She was dressed in one of her silk nightgowns and matching robes, the burgundy ones, and she was brushing her hair, but moving so slowly that each stroke took as long as five or six normally would. For a moment I stood in the doorway, gazing in at her, watching her sit so still, her eyes fixed on her reflection, but clearly not seeing herself.
    "Mamma," I cried, hurrying to sit beside her as I had done so many times before. "Do you want me to do that for you?"
    At first, I thought she hadn't heard me, but then she sighed deeply and turned to me. When she did so, I smelled the brandy on her breath and my heart sank.
    "Hello, Violet," she said, then smiled. "You look so pretty tonight, but then again, you always look pretty."
    "Violet? I'm not Violet, Mamma. I'm Lillian." She looked at me, but I was sure she didn't hear me.
    And then she turned and gazed at herself in the mirror again.
    "You want me to tell you what to do about Aaron, don't you? You want me to tell you if you should do more than hold his hand. Mother tells you nothing. Well," she said, turning back to me, her smile wide, her eyes bright, but with a strange sort of light in them, "I know you've already done more than hold hands, haven't you? I can tell, Violet, so there's no sense in denying it.
    "Don't protest," she said, putting her fingers on my lips. "I won't give away your secrets. What are sisters for if not to keep each other's secrets locked securely in each other's hearts? The truth is," Mamma said, gazing at herself in the mirror again, "I'm jealous. You have someone who loves you, truly loves you; you have someone who doesn't want to marry you only for your name and your place in society. You have someone who doesn't see marriage as just another business dealing. You have someone who sets your heart singing.
    "Oh Violet, I would change places with you in an instant, if I could."
    She spun around to me again.
    "Don't look at me like that. I'm not telling you anything you don't already know. I hate my marriage; I've hated it from the very beginning. Those wails you heard coming from my room the night before my wedding were wails of agony. Mother was so upset because Father was furious. She was afraid I would embarrass them. Did you know it was more important for me to please them by marrying Jed Booth than it was to please myself? I feel . . . I feel like someone who was sacrificed for Southern honor. Yes I do," she said firmly.
    "Don't look so shocked, Violet. You should pity me. Pity me because I will never taste the lips of a man who loves me as much as Aaron loves you. Pity me because my body will never sing in my husband's embrace the way your body will sing in your husband's. I will live half a life until I die, for that is what marriage to a man you don't love and who doesn't love you means . . . being half alive," she said, and turned back to the mirror.
    Her arm came up, and slowly, with that same mechanical movement, she began to stroke her hair again.
    "Mamma," I said, touching her shoulder. She didn't hear me; she was lost in her own thoughts, reliving some moment she had spent with my real mother years and years ago.
    Suddenly, she began to hum one of her tunes. She sat there for awhile and then she sighed deeply, her bosom rising and falling as though a shawl of lead had been laid upon her shoulders.
    "I'm so tired tonight, Violet. We'll talk in the morning." She kissed me on the cheek. "Good night, dear sister. Sweet dreams. I know your dreams will be sweeter than mine, but that's all right. You deserve it; you deserve everything wonderful and good."
    "Mamma," I said in a cracked voice when she stood up. My breath caught and held as I choked back my tears. She went to her bed and slowly took off her robe. I watched her get in under the blanket and then I went to her and caressed her hair. Her eyes were closed.
    "Good night, Mamma," I said. She looked like she was already asleep. I