Dawn (16 page)

"Worthless," she continued. "I knew it the day I set eyes on him, but my husband had a soft spot for lost souls and hired him and his ragtag wife," she said with disgust.

"Momma wasn't a ragtag wife!" I snapped back.

She didn't reply. She stared at me again, delving into the depths of my eyes as if to drink up my essence. I was beginning to get very upset with the way she glared at me, studying me as if she were searching for something in my face, looking me over with very interested gimlet eyes.

"You don't have the nicest manners," she finally replied. She had a habit of nodding after saying anything she thought was absolutely true. "Weren't you ever taught to respect your elders?"

"I respect people who respect me," I said.

"You have to earn respect. And I must say you have not yet earned it. I can see you will have to be retrained, redeveloped; in a word, brought up properly," she proclaimed with a power and an arrogance that made my head spin. As small-framed as she was, she had the strongest gaze I had ever seen a woman have, much sterner and stronger than even Mrs. Turnbell's frightening green look. These eyes were piercing, cold, so sharp they could cut and draw blood.

"Did the Longchamps ever tell you anything about this hotel or this family?" she demanded.

"No, nothing," I replied. The tears in my eyes burned, but I wouldn't let her see how painful they were or how horrible she was making me feel. "Maybe this is all a mistake," I added, even though I harbored little hope after seeing Daddy at the police station. I sensed if it were somehow a mistake, she would be able to correct it. She looked like she had the power to rearrange time.

"No, no mistake," she said, sounding almost as sad about it as I was. "I'm told you're a good student in school despite the life you've been leading. Is that so?"

"Yes."

She sat forward, resting her hands on the top of the desk. She had long thin fingers. A gold watch with a large face dangled loosely on her tiny wrist. It, too, looked like something a man would wear.

"Since the school year is just about over, we won't bother to send you back to Emerson Peabody. It's all been somewhat embarrassing for us anyway, and I don't think it would do either Philip or Clara Sue any good if you returned under these conditions. We have time to decide what to do about your schooling. The season has begun and there is much to do here," she said. I glanced at the door, wondering where my real father and mother were and why they were leaving all these decisions up to her.

I had always dreamt about meeting my grandparents, but my real grandmother didn't fit any of my visions. This wasn't the kind of grandmother who made cookies and comforted me when life was hard. This wasn't the soft and lovable grandmother of my dreams, the grandmother I had imagined would teach me things about life and love and cherish me as much as she did her own daughter, love me even more.

"You will have to learn all about the hotel, from the ground up," my grandmother lectured. "No one is permitted to be lazy here. Hard work makes good character, and I'm sure you need hard work. I have already spoken to my house manager about you, and we have let one of our chambermaids go to provide a position for you."

"Chambermaid?" That's what Momma had done here, I thought. Why did my grandmother want me to do the same thing?

"You're not a long-lost princess, you know," she said curtly. "You're to become part of this family again, even though you were part of it only for a short while, and to do so properly you will have to learn all about our business and our way of life. Each one of us works here, and you will be no exception. I expect you're a lazy thing," she continued, "considering—"

"I am not lazy. I can work just as hard as you can or anyone can," I declared.

"We'll see," she said. She nodded slightly, staring at me intently again. "I've already discussed your living arrangements with Mrs. Boston. She is in charge of our quarters. She will be here momentarily to show you your room. I will expect you to keep it neat and tidy. Just because we have a servant looking after our rooms doesn't mean we can be sloppy and disorganized."

"I've never been sloppy, and I've always helped Momma clean and organize our apartments," I said.

"Momma? Oh . . . yes . . . well, let that be the rule and not the exception." She paused, almost smiling, I thought, because of the way she lifted the corners of her mouth.

"Where are my father and mother?" I asked.

"Your mother," she said, making the word sound obscene, "is having another one of her emotional breakdowns . . . conveniently," Grandmother Cutler said. "Your father will see you shortly. He's very busy, very busy." She sighed deeply and shook her head. "This situation is not easy for any of us. And it has all occurred at the wrong time," she said, making me feel as if I were to blame for Daddy having been recognized and the police finding me. "We are right in the middle of the start of a new season. Don't expect anyone to have time to cater to you. Do your work, keep your room clean, and listen and learn. Do you have any questions?" she asked, but before I could respond, there was a knock on the door.

"Come in," she called and the door was opened by a pleasant-looking black woman. She had her hair pinned up neatly and tied in a bun. She wore a white cotton chambermaid's uniform with white stockings and black shoes. She was a small woman, barely my height.

"Oh, Mrs. Boston. This is . . ." My grandmother paused and looked at me as if I had just come in. "Yes," she said, listening to a voice only she could hear, "what about your name? It's a silly name. We'll have to call you by your real name, of course . . . Eugenia. Anyway, you were named after one of my sisters who had passed away from smallpox when she was no older than you are."

"My name is not silly, and I don't want to change it!" I cried. Her eyes shifted quickly from me to Mrs. Boston and then back to me.

"Members of the Cutler family do not have nicknames," she replied firmly. "They have names that distinguish them, names that bring them respect."

"I thought respect was something that had to be earned," I whiplashed. She pulled herself back as if I had slapped her.

"You will be called Eugenia as long as you live here," she declared firmly. Her voice was cold and uncaring, as if I were without ears to hear.

"Show
Eugenia,"
my grandmother said, "her room, Mrs. Boston. And"—she gazed at me quickly, a look of disgust on her face—"take her the back way."

"Yes, ma'am." Mrs. Boston looked to me.

"My name fits me," I said, unable to hold back my tears now and recalling how many times Daddy had told me about my birth, "because I was born at the break of day." Surely that couldn't have been a lie, too, not the story about the birds and the music and my singing.

My grandmother smiled so coldly it sent a chill up my spine.

"You were born in the middle of the night."

"No," I protested. "That's not true."

"Believe me," she said. "I know what is true and what is not true about you." She leaned forward, her eyes appearing long and catlike. "For your whole life you've lived in a world of lies and fantasy. I told you," she continued, "we don't have time to cater to you and pretend. We're in the middle of the season. Now, pull yourself together immediately. Members of the family do not show their emotions or their problems to the guests. As far as the guests are concerned, everything is always wonderful here. I don't want you going out and through the lobby crying hysterically, Eugenia.

"I have to return to the dining room," my grandmother said, rising. She came around her desk and paused before Mrs. Boston. "After you show her to her room, take her to the kitchen and get her something to eat. She can eat with the kitchen staff," she said. "Then take her to Mr. Stanley so he can find her a chambermaid's uniform. I'd like her to begin work tomorrow."

She turned back to me, pulling her shoulders back and holding her head so high, it was as if she were looking down at me from a great height. Despite my desire to do so, I couldn't look away. Her eyes pulled and held mine fixed in her glare.

"You are to get up at seven A.M. promptly, Eugenia, and go to the kitchen for your breakfast. Then report directly to Mr. Stanley, our house manager, and he will assign you your duties. Is that all clear?" she asked. I didn't respond. She turned to Mrs. Boston. "See that she remembers all this," she added and walked out.

Although the door clicked softly closed, it sounded like a gunshot to me.

Welcome to your real family and real home, Dawn, I told myself.

9

"Grab your suitcase and follow me, Eugenia," Mrs. Boston commanded in a tone of voice my grandmother had been using.

"My name is Dawn," I declared firmly.

"If Mrs. Cutler wants you called Eugenia, that's what you'll be called here. Cutler's Cove is her kingdom and she's the queen. Don't expect nobody to go against her wishes, not even your daddy," Mrs. Boston added and then widened her eyes and leaned toward me to whisper, "And especially not your mother."

I turned away and quickly wiped the tears from my eyes. What sort of people were my real parents? How could they be so afraid of my grandmother? Why weren't they dying of curiosity about me and making it their business to see me right away?

Mrs. Boston led me out the rear door and down the dimly lit corridor that ran behind the kitchen.

"Where are we going now?" I asked. I was tired of being dragged around like some stray dog.

"The family lives in the old section of the hotel," Mrs. Boston explained as we walked.

When we paused at the end of the corridor, I was able to see the hotel lobby. It was lit by four large chandeliers and had a light blue carpet and pearl-white papered walls with a blue pattern. Behind the reception counter were two middle-aged women greeting guests. All were quite well dressed, the men in suits and jackets, the women in pretty dresses and bedecked with jewels. Once they entered the lobby, they milled about in small groups chatting.

I caught sight of my grandmother standing by the dining room entrance. She glanced our way once, her eyes like ice, but as soon as some guests approached, her face brightened and softened. One woman held on to her hand as they spoke. They kissed each other, and then my grandmother followed all the guests toward the dining room, throwing a gaze like a snowball back at us before disappearing into the dining room herself.

"Let's move along . . . quickly," Mrs. Boston said urgently, stung by my grandmother's sharp, cold look. We turned down a long corridor and finally reached what was clearly the older section of the hotel.

We passed a sitting room that had a fieldstone fireplace and warm-looking antique furniture—soft cushion chairs in hand-carved wood frames, a dark pine rocking chair, a thick cushioned couch with pinewood end tables and a thick, eggshell-white rug. I saw that there were many paintings on the walls, and there were pictures and knickknacks on the mantel above the fireplace. I thought I glimpsed a picture of Philip standing beside the woman who must be our mother, but I couldn't pause long enough to see her clearly. Mrs. Boston was practically trotting.

"Most of the bedrooms are on the second floor, but there is one bedroom downstairs off the small kitchen. Mrs. Cutler told me that one's to be yours," she said.

"What was it, a servant's bedroom?" I asked. Mrs. Boston didn't respond. "After I earn respect, I will be able to sleep upstairs," I grumbled. I don't know if Mrs. Boston heard me or not. If she had, she didn't acknowledge it.

We went through the small kitchen and then passed through a short hallway to my bedroom on the right. The door was opened. Mrs. Boston turned on the light as we entered.

It was a very small room with a single bed against the wall on the left. The bed had a simple light-brown headboard. At the foot of the bed was a slightly stained cream-colored oval rug. There was a single-drawer night table beside the bed with a lamp on it. To the right was a dresser and a closet, and directly ahead of us was the room's only window. Right now I couldn't tell what the window looked out on, for it was dark and there were no lights at this side of the hotel grounds. The window had no curtains, just a pale yellow shade.

"Do you want to put your things away now, or would you rather go to the kitchen and get something to eat?" she asked. I placed my little suitcase on the bed and looked around sadly.

There were many times we had moved into an apartment so small that Jimmy and I didn't have much more room than this to share, but somehow, because I was with a loving family, because I was with people who cared about me and about whom I cared, the size of my room didn't matter as much. We made do, and besides, I had to keep a cheerful face to help keep Jimmy cheerful and Daddy happy. But there was no one to keep happy here, no one to care about right now but myself.

"I'm not hungry," I said. My heart felt like an iron weight, and my stomach was all twisted and tight.

"Well . . . Mrs. Cutler wanted you to eat," she said and looked troubled. "I'll stop by later and take you to the kitchen," she decided, nodding. "But don't forget, I got to bring you to Mr. Stanley and get you a uniform. Mrs. Cutler told us."

"How could I forget?" I said. She stared at me a moment and pressed her lips together firmly. Why was she so annoyed with me? I wondered. Then it occurred to me—my grandmother had said she had let someone go to make a position for me.

"Who was fired so I could have this job?" I asked quickly. The expression on Mrs. Boston's face confirmed my suspicions.

"Agatha Johnson, who had been working here five years."

"I'm sorry," I said. "I certainly didn't want her fired."

"Nevertheless, that poor girl is gone and walking the streets looking for something new. And she got a little boy to raise," she said with disgust.

"Well, why did she have to fire her? Couldn't she keep her on along with me?" I asked. My grandmother had put me in a horrible position, fixing it so the help would resent me for being discovered and returned as much as she apparently did.