Secrets of the Morning (Cutler 2)

"Oh Lord, give me strength," Miss Emily said. "That was last week, Charlotte. Last week." She spun around on me. "Do you see the burden I've been left to bear? My rich and fancy sister doesn't have any of this to contend with, does she? She has never once suggested Charlotte come visit her. Oh, no. Instead, she sends me you . . . another burden."

"I'm not your burden," I said defiantly. "Nor am I hers."

Miss Emily stared. Then she placed her hands flatly on the table and pushed herself into a standing position, rising slowly into her full height.

"I don't expect you to be grateful. Your sort rarely is, but I do expect you to fulfill your responsibilities while you are here under my roof and in my care. Is that understood?" she demanded. I looked away. "Is it?" she insisted.

"Yes," I said after taking a deep breath. "It's understood."

"Good. Begin your chores," she commanded. "Charlotte, get upstairs and clean your room."

"But it's my birthday," Charlotte protested.

"Then clean it so it will look nice for all your guests," Miss Emily said, a small, tight smile on her face. That seemed to please Charlotte. She rose and started out. At the doorway, she turned back to me.

"Thank you for the nice present," she said and left.

"Idiot," Miss Emily mumbled. Then she followed her out and left me with my work.

There wasn't even any hot water in the kitchen. Everything had to be washed in cold and it was very cold water, water from a deep well. My fingers grew so numb I had to shake them out periodically and rub them with a dish towel. Miss Emily had set out the polish for the silverware and had laid out the pieces on the counter. They were old and stained. Polishing them was something she obviously hadn't done often, but now that she had me to abuse, she decided to do so. It took me nearly an hour to get

half of it looking decent.

Suddenly the back door was thrown open and Luther came in carrying an armful of fire wood. He barely acknowledged me with his eyes.

"Good morning," I said as he turned into the pantry, but he didn't reply. I heard him piling the wood and went to the door of the pantry. "Luther."

He paused and looked over his shoulder at me, his face almost a mirror of Miss Emily's—that same cold glint in his eyes.

"What do you want?" he asked.

"I was wondering if you were going to Upland Station any time today. I have to make a phone call. I have to see about my things."

He grunted and turned back to the wood without replying. I stood in the doorway waiting. Finally, he completed piling the wood neatly and stood up.

"I ain't goin' to no Upland Station today," he said gruffly.

"Will you be going tomorrow?" I pursued.

"Can't say. It ain't tomorrow," he replied and started out so quickly, I just knew if I didn't step back, he would walk right over me. I made up my mind that as soon as I got my clothes back, I would walk to Upland Station. Where were my clothes anyway? I wondered.

I completed the polishing of the silverware and washed and scrubbed the pots and pans. After everything was put in its place, I went into the pantry and got the pail, brush and soap. I had to get down on my hands and knees to scrub the floor, but this wasn't the first time I had done that. It was just that now, with my expanded stomach, it was harder to bend over and scrub. My lower back began to ache rather quickly and I had to continually sit up and rub it.

Washing the floor, just like polishing the silverware, was clearly something Miss Emily did not have done regularly. The floor was grimy and caked with dirt. I had to stop about midway and go out to empty the blackened pail of water. The moment I opened the door, the chill of the brisk December day came rushing over me making my teeth chatter, for the wintery wind had no trouble piercing the flimsy material of my hospital-like gown and I wore nothing underneath, nor had I any socks. I hurried down the rear of the small back porch to dump the dirty water over the side and that was when I saw it.

Down right, just behind the building, was a cauldron hanging over a robust fire built in a circle of rocks. The water in the cauldron bubbled, but I could clearly make out my clothing. I dropped the pail and rushed down the squeaky wooden steps. My clothing looked like it had been cooking ever since she had taken it from me the night before. I searched about desperately for something to use to pluck out my garments, but with the steam rising out of the large black pot and the fire burning briskly, there was no way for me to get close enough to rescue any of it.

"What are you doing back here?" Miss Emily demanded from the back door.

"What have you done to my things?" I screamed back. "You're ruining everything."

"I told you," she said, her arms crossed tightly over her stomach, "I'm purifying it. Now get back to your chores," she snapped.

"I want my things!" I cried.

"It's not for you to make demands on me," she snapped. "When and if they are purified, they will be returned. Now get back to work," she said and pivoted to go back into the house. I stared after her and then looked helplessly at my clothes. My purse wasn't even visible.

What a mean thing to do, I thought. I returned to the porch and got the pail of dirty water. Then I threw it over the fire. The dampened embers smoldered and hissed and sent steam everywhere. I stepped back and waited. The water continued to bubble. It would be a while before it cooled down, I thought, but as soon as it had, I would pluck out my things.