Secrets of the Morning (Cutler 2) - Page 89

"Evil is a disease; it clings to us and to everything associated with us. You brought it with you into this house and I have to make sure it doesn't stay. Now eat and stop asking so many questions."

I looked at Charlotte who sat there smiling dumbly.

"But Charlotte told me today was her birthday and you were having a party for her," I said. "I'll have to have my clothes back if I'm to meet anyone."

Miss Emily threw her head back and laughed the most hideous shrill laugh I had ever heard. Then she gazed at me, her eyes cold and narrow again.

"Didn't I tell you never to listen to anything she says? Every day is her stupid birthday," she added, glaring across the table at Charlotte. "She doesn't even remember the actual day anymore. She has no concept of time. Ask her what year it is or what month. Ask what today is. Tell her, Charlotte," she urged cruelly. "Is today a Monday or a Saturday? What is it?"

"It's not Sunday," she said. "Because we didn't have our service in the chapel," she added, smiling proudly at her accomplishment.

"See," Miss Emily said. "All she can tell you is it isn't Sunday."

I couldn't believe how harsh she was with her sister, but I swallowed my thoughts along with the rest of my terrible oatmeal. At least the bread tasted good and the orange was just an orange. She couldn't do anything to spoil that.

"Now that you have finished your breakfast," Miss Emily said with her elbows on the table, her hands clasped together, "I will tell you some of the rules.

"First, you are never, ever to go to the west wing of the house where Charlotte and I live. That section is off limits to you, do you understand?" She didn't give me a chance to reply.

"In fact, you are restricted to your room, the library, the dining room and the kitchen.

"Second, you are not to bother Luther. You are not to go out to the barns or the pens or the coops and pester him with stupid questions. He doesn't like it and it takes away from his work. Time is the most precious gift we have and it is not to be spent loosely.

"Third, from today on, after I put the clock in your room, you are to come down here at six, after you make your bed of course, and start the fire in the stove. Use only four pieces of wood. Luther keeps the wood in the pantry. After that, you set the table for our breakfast, a bowl for the cereal, one spoon, and a napkin, just as I have done today. On Sunday we each have an egg as well, so you will put out a small dish. I will show you where everything is and where everything goes after you wash it.

"Which brings me to four. Your first chore is to wash and dry all the dishes and polish the silverware every day. I want all the pots and pans scrubbed, even the ones we don't use because they gather dust.

"Five, after the breakfast dishes and silverware, and the pots and the pans are all washed, you will scrub the floor. There is a pail and a brush and soap in the pantry. Begin at the door and work your way to the pantry. Dump the dirty water off the steps in the back and then put back the pail where you found it. I like everything to be in its place.

"Six, every third day, you will take the linen I leave in a pile at the entrance to the west wing and, along with your own, wash it and hang it out to dry. Everything is to be washed by hand in the wash tub on the back porch and then put through the wringer. You will find the tub and the washboard on the porch. Once a week we do clothing and the pile will be in the same place. You will find you have a second gown in the top drawer of your dresser."

"But what about my own things?" I cried.

"I don't know about your own things. I know only about what is and this is what is and what must be done," she said quickly.

"Seven, you are to begin this afternoon with the cleaning of your wing. Since it is now being used because of you, you should be the one responsible for how it looks. I want the hallway floors scrubbed and the walls scrubbed. Use the same pail and brush that you used on the kitchen floor, but remember to put it back in its proper place," she repeated. "I want all the furnishings dusted, as well as all the paintings. Be extra careful when you touch the paintings; some of them go back a hundred years.

"Eight, on Saturdays we will do the windows on the first floor. Since that will take almost all day every Saturday, you will begin immediately after you clean the kitchen following breakfast.

"Dusting and washing furnishings and other things will take place almost every day in the afternoon. I will leave an apple on the table for you for your lunch.

"Do you understand all this?" she demanded.

I understood; I understood that she was turning me into a house slave. With the paltry and meager things I was being given to eat and to wear and with my horrible living conditions, I also understood I was doing far more than earn my keep.

"When will I have time for anything but work?" I asked innocently. Her eyes flared.

"There is nothing else for which time is meant," she declared. "Idle hands make mischief. Besides, the hard work is the best thing for you in your condition. It will make you stronger so when the time comes, you will be able to face your ordeal," she added, making it sound as if she were doing me a favor by turning me into a slave.

"Whenever you do have some idle time, you should fill it with sensible activities. Accordingly, I will permit you to go into our library and choose a volume or two to read. However, you should plan to utilize as much daylight as possible for this so you don't waste your kerosene. I don't want to see you sitting up all night reading some romantic novel and burning the oil," she warned.

"When can she see my needlework?" Charlotte interjected. For a moment Miss Emily glared at her, her thin lips so tight there was a patch of white at each corner.

"What did I tell you last night, Charlotte? Didn't I tell you Eugenia would be too busy to have you follow her around and babble nonsense all day? What did I tell you to do?"

Charlotte turned to me as if she thought I would give her the answer.

"You told me to wash my hair," she said.

Tags: V.C. Andrews Cutler Horror
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