Cutler 05 - Darkest Hour

Emily and only Emily will be your contact with the outside world. She will bring you your food and see to your needs, bodily and spiritually."
    He stepped closer, expecting me to object, but my tongue stayed glued to the roof of my mouth.
    "I don't want to hear any complaints, no whining and crying, no pounding on the door, no screaming from the windows, hear? If you do, I'll have you taken up to the attic and chained to the wall until it's time for the baby to be born. I mean it," he said with firmness behind his threat. "Understand?"
    "But what about Mamma," I asked. "I want to see her every day and she will want to see me."
    Papa knitted his dark, thick brows together and thought a moment. He looked at Emily before he decided and turned back to me.
    "Once a day, when Emily says it's all right, she will come to fetch you and take you to Georgia's room. You will stay a half hour and then return to your room. When Emily tells you time's up, you listen, otherwise . . . she won't come to take you anymore," he declared, a hard edge to his voice.
    "Am I not to go out and get some sunlight on my face and breathe fresh air?" I asked. Even a weed needs some sunlight and fresh air, I thought, but dared not say it, or Emily was sure to reply that a weed does not sin.
    "No, damn it," he retorted, his face red. "Don't you understand what we're trying to do here? We're trying to save the family's good name? If someone sees you with your stomach swollen, there'll be talk and chatter and before you know it, everyone in the county will know our disgrace. Just sit over by your window there and that will be enough sunlight and air, hear?"
    "What about Vera and Tottie?" I asked softly. "Can't I see them?"
    "No," he said firmly.
    "They'll wonder why not," I muttered, daring his scorn.
    "I'll take care of them. Don't you concern yourself about it." He pointed his thick right forefinger at me. "You obey your sister; you listen to her commands and you do what I've just told you to do and when this is over, you can be one of us again." He hesitated, softening a bit. "You can even return to school. But," he added quickly, "only if you prove yourself worthy.
    "Just so you won't go daft," he said, "I'll bring you some of my book work to do from time to time, and you can have books to read and do that needlework you do. I'll look in on you whenever I get a chance," he concluded and turned to leave. Emily lingered in the doorway.
    "I'll bring you some breakfast now," she said in her most arrogant, haughty voice and followed Papa out. I heard Emily insert a key in the door and turn it until the lock snapped shut.
    But as soon as their footsteps trailed off and they were gone, I started to laugh. I couldn't help it. I realized that suddenly Emily was going to be my servant. She would be bringing me my meals, marching up and down the stairs with my tray as if I were someone to be pampered. Of course, she didn't see it that way; she saw herself as my jailer, my master.
    Perhaps I wasn't really laughing; perhaps it was my way of crying, for I was out of tears, drained of sobs. I could fill a river with my sorrow and I was barely fourteen years old. Even laughter was painful. It wrenched at my heart and made my ribs ache. I sucked in my breath to get control of myself and went to the window.
    How pretty the world outside looked now that it was forbidden. The forest was a landscape of autumn colors with ribbons of orange and shades of brown and yellow painted through it. The uncultivated fields were studded with tiny pines and brown and gray underbrush. Small puffs of clouds never looked as white nor the sky as blue, and the birds . . . the birds were everywhere demonstrating their freedom, their love of flight. It was tormenting to see them in the distance and not hear their songs.
    I sighed and retreated from the window. Because my room was being turned into a prison cell, it seemed smaller. The walls looked thicker, the corners darker. Even the ceiling appeared to lower itself toward me. I feared it would close in on me a little every day until I was crushed in my solitude. I closed my eyes and tried not to think about it. Soon after, Emily brought up my breakfast. She placed the tray on my night table and stood back with her shoulders hoisted, her eyes narrow, her lips pursed. Her pasty pallor sickened me. Being confined within these four wails, I feared I would soon have the same ashen complexion.
    "I'm not hungry," I declared after looking at