"That's because you don't really know me well enough. In time . . ." He put his hands on my shoulders and I started to pull away, but his fingers tightened so that he held me firmly in place.
"Let me go," I demanded.
"Such fire in those eyes," he said. "I've got to put it out or you'll burn up," he added and brought his lips to mine so quickly, I barely had time to bring my head back. I struggled against him, but he wrapped his arms around me and kissed me harder. The moment he pulled back, I wiped his kiss off my lips with the back of my hand.
"I knew you would be exciting. You're like an unbridled wild horse, but after you're broken, I bet you'll gallop like few others," he declared, his eyes traveling quickly from my flushed face down to my breasts.
"Get out of my room! Get out!" I cried, pointing to the door. He held his hands up.
"All right, all right. Don't get yourself upset. It was just a friendly kiss. You didn't dislike it, did you?"
"I hated every second of it," I spit out.
He laughed. "I'm sure you'll dream about it tonight."
"In nightmares," I retorted. That brought a bigger roar from him.
"Lillian, I really do like you. The truth is, it's the only reason I'm still amusing myself with this run-down, pathetic excuse for Southern glory. That and beating your father at cards again and again," he added. Then he turned and left me gasping with indignation and fury, my heart pounding.
I refused to look at him that night at dinner and answered every question he asked with a simple yes or no. Papa didn't appear to notice or care about my feelings toward Bill Cutler, and Emily assumed I was seeing him the way she saw him. Once in a while, under the table, he touched me with the toe of his boot or his fingers and I had to ignore it or pretend it wasn't happening. I saw how he was amused by my discomfort. I was happy when the meal ended and I was able to go back up to my room and escape from his teasing and tormenting.
A little more than an hour later, I heard Papa's footsteps in the hallway. I was sitting up in my bed reading and looked up when he opened my bedroom door. He stood there for a moment just looking in at me. Ever since the birth of Charlotte, he had avoided coming into my room. I knew that he was embarrassed to do so. In fact, he was rarely, if ever, alone in a room with me anymore.
"Reading again, eh?" he said. "I swear you read even more than Georgia did. Of course, you read better things," he added. His tone of voice, the way he looked away when he spoke, and his tentativeness made me curious. I put my book aside and waited. He looked distracted for a moment.
"We should fix this room up again," he said. "Maybe have it painted or something. Bring the curtains back . . . but . . . maybe it would be foolish to waste the time and money." He stopped and gazed at me. "You're no longer a little girl, Lillian. You're a young lady and anyway," he said, clea
ring his throat, "you need to move on with your life."
"Move on, Papa?"
"When a girl reaches your age, it's expected. Except a girl like Emily, of course. Emily's different. Emily has another sort of destiny, another purpose. She's not like other girls her age; she never was. I always knew that and accepted it, but you, you're . . ."
I saw how he struggled for the words to describe the difference between Emily and me.
"Normal?" I offered.
"Yeah, that's it. You're a regular young Southern lady. Now then," he said, straightening up with his hands behind his back and pacing in front of my bed, "when I accepted you into our house and family some seventeen years ago, I accepted the responsibilities of a father and as your father, I have to see to your future," he proclaimed. "When a young lady reaches your age in our society, it's time for her to think about marriage."
"Marriage?"
"That's right, marriage," he said firmly. "You can't expect to lollygag around here until you're an old maid, can you? Reading, doing needlework, spending all your time at that one-room school."
"But I haven't met anyone I want to marry yet, Papa," I cried. I wanted to add, "Ever since Niles died, I have given up on the thought of love and romance," but I kept quiet.
"That's just it, Lillian. You haven't and you won't. Not the way things are now. At least you won't meet anyone proper, anyone who can provide well for you. Your mother . . . that is . . . Georgia, would have wanted me to find you an acceptable young man, a man of some stature and accomplishment. She'd be right proud of that."
"Find me a man?"
"That's how things are done," he declared, his face reddening with his struggle to get what he wanted to say said. "This nonsense about romance and love is what's ruining the South, ruining Southern family life. A young girl doesn't know what's good for her and what's not. She needs to depend on much older, wiser minds. It worked well in the past and it will work well now."
"What are you saying, Papa? You want to find my husband for me?" I asked, astounded. He had shown no interest in it before, nor had he mentioned it. A kind of paralyzing numbness gripped me as I began to anticipate the thing he was about to say.
"Of course," he replied. "And I have. You'll marry Bill Cutler in two weeks. We don't need to have any sort of elaborate wedding ceremony. It's a waste of money and energy anyhow," he added.
"Bill Cutler! That horrid man!" I cried.
"He's a fine gentleman with a good family background and wealth. His beach property will be worth quite a bit of money in time and . . ."