Midnight Whispers (Cutler 4)

"Right, Aunt Fern," I said, swallowing my tears.

I realized I had run from one horrible trap into another. Every time I broke one of the links in the chain that bound me to the family curse, something mended it. I felt just like someone wearing irons around her neck, hands and feet. I rose to my feet slowly and, mechanically, like some galley slave, made Aunt Fern and her boyfriend their scrambled eggs. I did the best I could to keep my tears from dropping into the food.

"Aren't you eating breakfast?" Aunt Fern asked when I served her and Morton their eggs and fresh cups of coffee.

"I don't have any appetite," I said.

"Well, you'd better eat something anyway," she insisted. "You've got to keep up your strength. There's lots more for you to do. Later on in the evening, you can entertain us on the piano."

"I'd rather not," I said.

"Sure you would," she retorted, enjoying every moment of my discomfort. "It will give you an opportunity to show off again and you know how much you like to show off, princess."

"I don't show off, Aunt Fern."

"Of course you do. You're supposed to after all that expense. My brother spent a fortune for her lessons," she told Morton, who nodded with little interest. "A lot more than he wanted to spend on me," she added hatefully.

"I feel sorry for you, Aunt Fern," I said, shaking my head. "You've got a monster inside you, a green monster eating away at your heart. I feel more sorry for you than I do for myself," I added and started out of the kitchen.

"Don't go too far, princess," she called after me and laughed. "You never know when I might need something done for me," she added and laughed.

Her laughter echoed through the plantation house. It was the kind of laughter that found a welcome home in the dark corners of this old mansion. I was positive it was the sort of evil that had lived so well within its walls.

15

BAD TO THE BONE

ALTHOUGH IT WAS A BRIGHT, SUNNY MORNING WITH only puffs of clouds that appeared to be pasted against the deep blue sky here and there, I was so unhappy I might as well have opened the door and stepped into a gray, overcast day. Even the chirping of the sparrows and robins seemed dull, their music sadly off-key to me. A large, black crow, perched on the back of an old wooden lawn chair, stared at me with what looked like morbid curiosity. It barely moved and resembled a stuffed bird more than a live one. Instead of being greeted by the aroma of freshly-cut grass and the blossoms of wild flowers, I inhaled the musty scent of rotting wood beams in the porch floor. Flies danced in the air around the house as if they were celebrating the discovery of a huge carcass on which they could feed forever.

I sighed, realizing I was tuned into only what would make me uncomfortable and sad; I was in the mood to see only what was ugly and bleak, no matter how wonderful the day really was. I used to think it was the weather that would put me into one state of mind or the other, but now I realized it was far more than that. It was Mommy and Daddy who made the world bright and wonderful for me. Their smiles and happy voices created the sunshine. Beauty without people you loved or people who loved you was incomplete, unappreciated, missed.

And just as loving and gentle people could make your world brighter and happier, so could selfish and cruel people, people with hearts made of granite and veins filled with ice water, make your world dismal and gray. Aunt Fern was like a sooty, dark gray cloud hovering over my head now, threatening to drop a hard, cold rain over me and drench me in even more misery. In my flight from the horror my home had become, I had scooped up my little brother and taken Gavin's helping hand, dragging them both along on what seemed now to be a journey into hell. I had taken refuge in the old plantation, but in doing so, I had only pet witted the curse to enter the lives of two simple, but gentle, people.

I felt like Typhoid Mary, a Jonah. If I boarded a ship, it would sink; if I got on a train or a plane, it would crash. Maybe, if I ever reached Heaven, the angels would lose their melodious voices. I couldn't recall a time in my life when I felt more sorry for myself and the people who loved me. As I stood there filled with these dark thoughts, I considered running down the driveway and disappearing. Without my being here to torment, Aunt Fern would get bored and leave; Gavin could take Jefferson home with him and have a happy life, and Charlotte, Luther and Homer could return to the idyllic, simple world they once had.

I took a few steps forward, my eyes fixed on the broken and chipped driveway. In the strong breeze, the trees and bushes seemed to be beckoning to me. The voice in the wind whispered "Run, Christie, run . . . run." What difference did it make where I went, what turns I made, or where I ended up?

People might miss me for awhile. For awhile Gavin's heart would be heavy, but time would embroider me into the fabric of his memory and he would turn to happier and more hopeful things. Living in a world where fires could steal away two people as wonderful as Mommy and Daddy, where people as evil as Charlotte's sister Emily thrived and lived to a ripe old age, where diseases and poverty coexisted alongside the healthy and the fortunate, striking without rhyme or reason to steal away happiness at any moment, was difficult enough. Why add the leaden weight of a curse, too?

My steps grew bolder, longer, faster. Perhaps I would hide in the bushes and watch to be sure Aunt Fern and Morton left and Gavin soon followed afterward with Jefferson. Then I would feel better about my decision. Yes, I could. . . .

"HEY!" I heard. I stopped and turned to see Gavin walking quickly toward me. His dark eyebrows were raised in confusion. "Where do you think you're going?" he demanded.

"I was just . . . "

"Just what, Christie? This driveway takes you back to the road. You were running off, weren't you?" he asked perceptively. "Fern did something else," he followed before I could utter a reply. "What did she do?" he demanded. "I'll 'go back in there and I'll . . ." He turned toward the house.

"No Gavin, please," I said, seizing his forearm. -Don't do anything. I wasn't running away," I said. He looked at me skeptically. "I was just going to take a walk and I thought this would be the easiest way," I said flatly, hoping that he wouldn't see the pain that was in my eyes. But that was what he saw.

"Christie, I told you I would keep anyone from hurting you, didn't I?" he said.

"I know. I know. Is Jefferson all right?" I asked quickly, hoping to get him off the topic so he would calm down.

"He's in seventh heaven alongside Homer smearing paint over the barn walls. I've been waiting for you all morning. What did she have you do after you brought her coffee?"

"Nothing terrible. I helped her bathe and shampoo her hair and then I made them some breakfast. It will be all right," I promised, even though I wasn't confident. "I'm sure they'll grow bored today and leave."

"Um," he said, nodding, his eyes small. "Maybe."