Dawn (15 page)

"It isn't fair," I muttered. "This isn't fair." Officer Carter heard me.

"Imagine how your real parents must have felt when they discovered you were missing—that their employees had taken you and run off? Think that was fair?"

I stared at her and shook my head. "It's a mistake," I muttered.

How could my daddy and mommy have done such a terrible thing to someone? Daddy . . . steal me from another family? Not care about that mother's sorrow and that father's pain?

And Momma with all her stories and memories of us growing up . . . Momma working so hard so that we would have enough . . . Momma getting sicker and thinner, but not caring about herself as long as Jimmy and I and Fern had clothes to wear and food to eat. Momma knew sorrow and tragedy from her own life. How could she hurt some other Momma?

"There's no mistake, Dawn," Officer Carter said dryly. Then she repeated, "Dawn," and shook her head. "I wonder what they'll do about that?"

"What?" My heart started to pound again. It was thumping like a drum in a marching band, the throb pulsating all through my body.

"Your name. That's not your real name. They stole you after you had been brought home and you had already been named."

"What's my name?" I asked. I felt like an amnesiac slowly regaining her memory, returning from a world where everyone's face was blank, just eyes, a nose, and a mouth, like faces etched on white paper.

Officer Carter opened her notebook and turned a few pages.

"Eugenia," she replied after a moment. "Maybe you're better off being Dawn," she added dryly and started to close her notebook again.

"Eugenia? Eugenia what?"

"Oh, how stupid of me to not give you all of it." She opened her notebook again. "Eugenia Grace Cutler," she declared.

My thumping heart stopped.

"Cutler? You didn't say Cutler?"

"Yes, I did. You're the daughter of Randolph Boyse Cutler and Laura Sue Cutler. Actually, honey, you're going to be pretty well off. Your parents own a famous resort, the Cutler's Cove Hotel."

"Oh, no!" I cried. It couldn't be! It just couldn't be!

"Don't be so upset. You could be a lot worse off."

"You don't understand," I said, thinking of Philip. "I can't be a Cutler. I can't!"

"Oh, yes, you can and yes, you are. It's about as confirmed as it could be."

I couldn't speak. I sat back, feeling as if I had been punched in the stomach. Philip was my brother. Those resemblances between us that I had thought were wonderful, that I had thought had been planted by destiny to bring us together as boyfriend and girlfriend instead were brother and sister resemblances.

And Clara Sue . . . horrible Clara Sue . . . was my sister! Fate was forcing me to trade Jimmy and Fern for Philip and Clara Sue.

So much of what had been a mystery to me in the past was now falling in place. No wonder Momma and Daddy never wanted to return to their families. They knew they were being hunted as criminals and must have expected the police would search for them there. And now I understood why Momma cried out to me from her hospital bed after I told her Philip was taking me to the concert. I could see why she said, "You must never think badly of us. We love you. Always remember that."

It was all true. My stubborn insistence that it was not would have to be put aside. I would have to face it, even though I could not understand it. Would I ever?

I sat back and closed my eyes again. I was so tired. The crying, the pain, the agony of leaving Jimmy and Fern and Daddy behind, Momma's death, and now this news weighed down on me. I felt drained, listless, a shell of myself. My body had been turned into smoke, and I was caught in a breeze that was carrying me wherever it wanted.

Jimmy's face and Fern's face fell away, peeling off like leaves blown from tree limbs. I could barely see them anymore.

The patrol car rushed on, carrying us toward my new family and my new life.

The trip seemed to take forever. By the time we arrived in Virginia Beach, the cloudy night sky had cleared a little bit. Stars peeked out through every available opening, but I took no comfort in their twinkling. Suddenly they seemed more like frozen tears, tiny drops of ice melting very slowly out of a black and dismal sky.

For most of the ride the police officers had talked to each other and rarely said anything to me. They barely looked at me. Never had I felt so alone and lost. I dozed on and off, but I welcomed sleep because it was a short escape from the horror of what was happening. Every time I woke, I held on to some hope for an instant, hope this had all been a dream. But the dreary sound of the car tires, the dark night washing past the windows, and the quiet conversation of the police officers brought home the terrible reality time after time.

I couldn't help but be curious about the new world I had been literally dragged into, but they were going so fast, buildings and people whizzed by before I could absorb what I had seen. In moments we were on a highway and away from the busier areas. I knew the ocean was just out there in the darkness somewhere, so I studied the scenery until the land gave way to a vast mirrored sea of dark blue. In the distance I could see the tiny lights of fishing boats and even pleasure ships. Shortly after that the coastline of Virginia Beach itself was announced by a road sign and in moments, we were driving through the seaside resort with its neon lights, its restaurants, motels and hotels.

Soon I caught sight of a large road sign that indicated we were about to enter Cutler's Cove. It wasn't much of a village, just a long street with all sorts of small stores and restaurants. I couldn't see much because we passed through it so quickly, but what I did see looked quaint and cozy.

"According to our directions, it's just up here," Officer Dickens said.

I thought about Philip, who was still back at school, and wondered if he had been told any of this yet. Perhaps his parents had phoned him. How had he taken the news? Surely he was just as confused by the lightning revelations.

"Looks real nice for a new start," the policeman next to me said, finally acknowledging what we were doing and why we were in the car heading for the Cutler's Cove Hotel.

"That's for sure," Officer Carter said.

"There it is," Officer Dickens announced, and I sat forward.

The coastline curved inward at this point, and I saw that there was a beautiful length of sandy white beach that sparkled as if it had been combed clean. Even the waves that came up came up softly, tenderly, as if the ocean were afraid of doing any damage. As we passed the entrance to the beach, I spotted a sign that read,

RESERVED FOR CUTLER COVE HOTEL GUESTS ONLY. Then the patrol car turned right up a long drive, and I saw the hotel ahead, sitting on a little rise, the manicured grounds gently rolling down before it.

It was an enormous three-story Wedgwood blue mansion with milk-white shutters and a large wrap-around porch. Most of the rooms were lit up, and there were Japanese lanterns along the top of the porch and above the spiraling stairway built out of bleached wood. The foundation was made from polished stone. Bathed in the ground lights, it sparkled as if it had been built out of pearls. Guests were meandering about the beautiful grounds upon which there were two small gazebos; wooden and stone benches and tables; fountains, some shaped like large fish, some simple saucers with spouts in the middle; and gardens full of beautiful flowers capturing almost all the colors of the rainbow. The walkways were bordered with short hedges and lit by well-spaced foot-lights.

"Somewhat better than what you've been used to, huh?" Officer Carter said. I just glared at her. How could she be so callous? I didn't answer her; I turned away and gazed out the window as the patrol car wound its way around the circular drive.

"Keep going," Officer Carter said. "Round back. That's where we were told to go."

Round back? I thought. Where were my new parents, my real parents? Why hadn't they rushed to Richmond to claim me instead of having policemen bring me as if I were a criminal? Weren't they excited about meeting me? Perhaps they were as nervous about it as I was. I wondered if Philip had told them things about me. Had Clara Sue? She would get them to hate me for sure.

The patrol car stopped, but my heart wouldn't stop pounding, thumping against my chest as if there were a tiny little drummer inside me beating his drumsticks against my bones. I could barely breathe, and I couldn't stop trembling. Oh, Momma, I thought, if you hadn't gotten sick and been taken to the hospital, I wouldn't be here now. Why was fate so cruel? This can't be happening; you and Daddy just couldn't have been baby kidnappers. There has to be another explanation, one my true parents might know and be willing to tell me. Please let it be so, I prayed.

As soon as we stopped, Officer Dickens got out quickly and opened the door for us.

"After I get them to sign this," Officer Carter said, indicating papers on her clipboard, "I'll come right out."

Sign this? I thought, looking at the document. I was being treated as if I were something delivered and actually taken to the delivery entrance.

I stood there, staring at the back entrance of the hotel. All it was was a small door with a screen door. There were four wooden steps leading up to it. Officer Carter started toward the door, but I didn't follow. I stood there holding my suitcase.

"Come along," she commanded. She saw my hesitation and put her hands on her hips. "This is your home, your real family. Let's go," she snapped and reached out to take my hand.

"Good luck, Dawn," Officer Dickens called.

Officer Carter tugged me, and I followed her to the door. Suddenly it was opened and a nearly bald-headed, tall man, with skin so pale he could be an undertaker, stood looking out at us. He was dressed in a dark blue sport jacket, matching tie, white shirt, and slacks. He stood at least six feet tall. As we drew closer, I saw he had bushy eyebrows, a long mouth with thin lips, and a nose that was an eagle's beak. Could this be my real father? He looked nothing like me.

"Please come right this way," he said, stepping back. "Mrs. Cutler is awaiting you in her office. My name is Collins. I'm the maître d'," he added. He looked at me with curious dark brown eyes, but he did not smile. He gestured ahead with his long arm and long, slightly brown fingers, moving so gracefully and quietly it was as if he moved in slow motion.

Officer Carter nodded and headed down the short, narrow entryway that brought us to what was obviously the rear of the kitchen where the storage rooms were. Some doors were opened, and I saw cartons of canned goods and boxes of grocery items. Collins pointed to the left when we reached the end of the corridor.

Why were they sneaking me in? I wondered. We turned a corner and moved down another long hallway.

"I hope we get there before I have to retire from the police force," Officer Carter quipped.

"Just right down here," Collins replied.

Finally he stopped at a door and knocked softly. "Come in, I heard a firm female voice say. Collins opened the door and peered inside.

"They've arrived," he announced.

"Show them in," the woman said. Was it my mother?

Collins stepped back so we could enter. Officer Carter walked in first, and I followed slowly. We were in an office. I looked around. There was a pleasant lilac scent, but I saw no flowers. The room had an austere and simple look. The floor had hardwood slats that were probably the original floor. There was a tightly woven dark blue oval rug in front of the aqua chintz settee, which was at right angles to the large, dark oak desk on which everything was neatly arranged. Presently, the only light in the room came from a small lamp on the desk. It cast an eerie yellowish glow over the face of the elderly woman who gazed at us.

Even though she was seated, I could see that she was a tall, stately looking woman with steel-blue hair cut and styled in soft waves that curled under her ears and just at the base of her neck. Pear-shaped diamond earrings dangled from each lobe. She wore a matching pear-shaped diamond necklace set in gold. Although she was thin and probably didn't weigh more than one hundred and fifteen pounds, she looked so stern and secure, she seemed much larger. Her shoulders were pulled back in the bright blue cotton jacket she wore over her white frilly collar blouse.

"I'm Officer Carter and this is Dawn," Officer Carter said quickly.

"What has to be done?" the elderly woman, who I thought must be my real grandmother, demanded. "I need this signed."

"Let me see it," my grandmother said and put on her pearl-framed glasses. She read the document quickly and then signed it.

"Thank you," Officer Carter said. "Well." She looked at me. "I'll be on my way. Good luck," she muttered and left the office.

Without speaking to me, my grandmother rose and came around her desk. I saw she wore an ankle-length matching blue skirt and eggshell-white leather shoes designed for someone who had to do a great deal of walking. They looked more like men's shoes. The only imperfection in her appearance, if it could be called that, was a slight roll in her nylon stocking on her right foot.

She turned on a pole lamp in the corner, so that there was more light, and then with her stone-cold gray eyes she stood staring at me for a long moment. I searched her face for evidence of myself and thought my grandmother's mouth was firmer and longer than mine and her eyes didn't show a trace of blue.

Her complexion was almost as smooth and as perfect as a marble statue's. There was just a tiny brown age spot on the top of her right cheek. She wore a touch of rose-red lipstick and just a brush of rouge on her cheeks. Not a strand of her hair was out of place.

Now that there was more light in the room, I gazed about and saw the walls were paneled in rich wood. There was a small bookcase behind and to the right of the desk. But above the rear wall was a large portrait of who I thought had to be my real grandfather.

"You have your mother's face," she declared. Queenly stiff, she moved behind her impressively wide desk. "Childlike," she added, disdainfully, I thought. There was just the slightest lift in the corner of her mouth when she ended her sentences. "Sit down," she snapped. After I had done so, she crossed her arms over her small bosom and leaned back in her chair, but kept her posture so straight I thought her back was a sheet of cold steel.

"I understand your parents have been drifters all these years and your father never settled on a solid job anywhere," she declared harshly. I was surprised she had called them my parents, and had referred to Daddy as my father.