"I know, but I didn't grow up with that name, and I don't like it."
"Maybe you will. If you give it a chance," he suggested.
"I won't," I insisted, but he didn't seem to hear or care.
We turned into the old section of the hotel and headed for the stairway, my pulse throbbing harder and harder with each forward step.
The upstairs had new-looking wallpaper with light blue polka dots, and the corridor had a plush cream carpet. A large window at the far end made it airy and bright.
"This is Philip's room," my father explained as we came to a door on the right, "and the next door is Clara Sue's. Our bedroom suite is right down here on the left. Your grandmother's suite is just around the corner."
We paused outside the closed door to his and my mother's bedroom, and my father took a deep breath, closing and opening his eyes as if he had a weight on his chest.
"I must explain something to you," he began. "Your mother is a very delicate woman. The doctors say she has frayed nerves, and so we try to keep tension and pressure away from her. She comes from a fine old southern family, aristocrats, and she was well protected all her life. But that's why I love her. To me she's like . . . a work of art, fine china, fragile, beautiful, exquisite," he said. "She's someone who needs to be protected, cherished, and held dearly. Anyway, you can imagine what all this has done to her. She's a little afraid of you," he added.
"Afraid of me? Why?" I asked.
"Well . . . bringing up our two children has been a strain on her as it is. To suddenly be confronted by a long-lost child who has lived an entirely different sort of life . . . it frightens her. All I ask is that you be patient.
"All right," he said, taking another deep breath and reaching for the doorknob, "here we go."
It was like entering another world. First we stepped into a sitting room with a burgundy velvet carpet. All of the furniture, although shiny, clean, and new-looking, was obviously antique. Later I would learn how valuable it was. It was all original and dated back to the turn of the century.
On the left was a fieldstone fireplace with a long, wide mantel. Atop it at the center was a silver frame with a picture of a young woman holding an umbrella and standing on the beach. She was dressed in a light-colored dress with a long hem. On both ends of the mantel were slim vases with a single rose in each.
Above the mantel was a painting of what must have been the original Cutler's Cove Hotel. There were people gathered on the lawn and people sitting on the wraparound porch. A man and a woman stood together at the front door. I wondered if they weren't supposed to be my grandparents. The sky behind and above the hotel was dotted with small puffy clouds.
To my immediate left was a piano. There was a sheet of music on it, but it looked as though it had been placed there simply for show. In fact, the entire sitting room looked unused, untouched, like a room in a museum.
"Right this way," my father said, indicating the double doors before us. He took hold of both handles and opened both doors with one graceful motion. I stepped forward into the bedroom and nearly gasped in astonishment. It was so big, I thought it was larger than most of the apartments I had lived in. The thick sea-blue carpet rolled on forever until it reached an enormous canopy bed at the far end. There were large windows on each side of the bed, with white lace curtains draped over them. The walls were covered with dark blue velvet. To the right was a long milk-white marble vanity table with cherry-red streaks running through it. There were two high-back matching cushioned chairs. Vases filled with jonquils were spaced along the table. A floor-to-ceiling mirror ran the entire wall behind the vanity table, which made the bedroom look even longer and wider.
A door on the left opened to a walk-in closet bigger than the room I now slept in. There was another closet down from that. The bathroom was on the right. I had only a glimpse of it, but I was able to see the gold fixtures in the sinks and the enormous tub.
My mother was almost lost in the enormous bed. She sat up against two jumbo fluffy pillows. She was wearing a bright pink silk robe with a lace cotton nightie. As we drew closer, she looked up from her magazine and put a chocolate back into the box that was beside her on the bed. Even though she was still in bed, she wore pearl earrings and lipstick and eyeliner. She looked as if she could get out of bed, slip into a fancy dress, and go dancing.
"Laura Sue, we're here," my father sang, stating the obvious. He stopped and turned to me, gesturing for me to come farther forward. "Isn't she a pretty girl?" he added when I stepped up beside him.
1 looked at the woman I had been told was my real mother. Yes, there were resemblances, I thought. We were both blondes, my hair the same shade of yellow and as bright as the morning sun. I had her blue eyes, and I had her peaches-and-cream complexion. She had a graceful neck and slight shoulders, and her hair rested softly on those shoulders and looked as if it had been brushed a thousand strokes, it was so soft and shiny.
She looked me over quickly, her eyes darting from my feet to my head, and then she gasped deeply as if trying to catch her breath. She brought her hand to the heart-shaped locket between her breasts and fingered it nervously. There was an enormous diamond ring on her hand, the stone so large it looked awkward and out of place on her slim, short finger.
I took a deep breath, too. The room was permeated with the scent of the jonquils, for there were vases of them on the end tables and one on the table in the far corner.
"Why is she in a chambermaid's uniform?" my mother asked my father.
"Oh, you know Mother. She wanted her to get used to the hotel life immediately," he replied. She grimaced and shook her head.
"Eugenia," she finally said in a whisper, directing herself to me. "Is it really you?" I shook my head, and she looked confused. She turned quickly to my father. A worried frown drew his eyebrows together.
"I must tell you, Laura Sue, that Eugenia has known only Dawn as her name, and she is a little uncomfortable being called anything else," he explained. A puzzled expression flashed through her face and creased her brow. She battered her eyelashes and pursed her lips.
"Oh? But Grandmother Cutler named you," she said to me, as if that meant it had been written in stone and could never be changed or challenged.
"I don't care," I said. Suddenly she looked frightened, and when she looked to my father this time, it was to ask for help.
"They named her Dawn? Just Dawn?"
"However, Laura Sue," my father said, "Dawn and I did just agree she would give Eugenia a chance."
"I never said I agreed," I said quickly.
"Oh, this will be so difficult," my mother said, shaking her head. Her hand hovered near her throat; her eyes darkened. Something frightening burgeoned in my heart just from watching her reactions. Momma had been deathly ill, but never looked as weak and helpless as my real mother did.
"Whenever anyone calls her Eugenia, she won't know they're calling her. You can't call yourself Dawn now," she said to me. "What would people think?" she moaned.
"But it's my name!" I cried. She looked as if she would cry herself.
"I know what we will do," she said suddenly, clapping her hands together. "Whenever we introduce you to anyone who is important, we will introduce you as Eugenia Grace Cutler. Around here, in the family's quarters, we will call you Dawn, if you like. Doesn't that sound sensible, Randolph? Won't Mother think so?"
"We'll see," he replied, not sounding happy. But my mother put on a pained expression, and he relaxed and smiled. "I'll speak to her."
"Why can't you just tell her that's what you want?" I asked my mother. At this point I was more curious than angry. She shook her head and brought her hand to her breast.
"I . . . can't stand arguments," she said. "Must there be arguments, Randolph?"
"Don't concern yourself with this, Laura Sue. I'm sure Dawn and I and Mother will work it all out."
"Good." She took a deep breath. "Good," she repeated. "That's settled," she said.
What was settled? I
glanced at my father. He smiled at me as if to say let it be. My mother was smiling again, looking like a little girl who had been promised something wonderful like a new dress or a day at the circus.
"Come closer, Dawn," she said. "Let me get a real good look at you. Come, sit by the bed." She indicated a chair I should bring up with me. I did so quickly and sat down. "You are a pretty girl," she said, "with beautiful hair and beautiful eyes." She reached out to stroke my hair, and I saw her long, perfect pink fingernails. "Are you happy to be here, to be home?"
"No," I said quickly, perhaps too quickly, for she blinked and brought herself up as if I had slapped her. "I'm not used to it," I explained, "and I miss the only people I ever knew as my family."
"Of course," she said. "You poor, poor thing. How horrible this all must be for you." She smiled, a very pretty smile, I thought, and when I looked up at my father, I saw how much he adored her. "I knew you only for a few hours, held you in my arms for only a little while. My nurse, Mrs. Dalton, knew you longer than I did," she whined. She turned her sad eyes toward my father, and he nodded sadly.
"Whenever I am able to see you, you must spend as much time with me as you can, telling me all about yourself, where you have been, and what you have done. Did they treat you well?" she asked, grimacing as if preparing to hear the worst things: stories about being locked in closets or starved and beaten.
"Yes," I said firmly.
"But they were so poor!" she exclaimed.
"Being poor didn't matter. They loved me and I loved them," I declared. I couldn't help it. I missed Jimmy and little Fern so much it made me tremble inside.
"Oh, dear," my mother said turning to my father. "This is going to be just as difficult as I imagined it would be."
"It will take time," he repeated. "Don't work yourself into a panic, Laura Sue. Everyone will help, especially Mother."
"Yes, yes, I know." She turned back to me. "Well, I'll do what I can for you, Dawn, but I'm afraid my strength hasn't returned yet. I hope you will understand."
"Of course she will," my father said.
"After a while, when you've learned how to behave in society, we will have a little party to celebrate your homecoming. Won't that be nice?" she asked, smiling.
"I know how to behave in society," I replied, wiping the smile from her face.
"Well, of course you don't know how, dear. It took me ages and ages to learn the proper etiquette, and I was brought up in a nice home surrounded by nice things. People of position were continually coming and going. I'm sure you don't know the proper way to greet someone, or how to curtsy and look down when someone gives you a compliment. You don't know how to sit at a formal dinner table, what silverware to use, the proper way to eat soup, butter your bread, reach for things. There is so much for you to learn now. try to teach you as much as I can, but you must be patient, okay?"
I looked away. Why were these things important to her now? What about us really getting to know each other? What about a true mother-daughter relationship? Why wasn't she more interested in what I wanted and needed?
"And we can talk about womanly things, too," she said. I raised my eyes with interest.
"Womanly things?"
"Of course. We can't have you looking like this all the time."
"She's working in the hotel this summer, Laura Sue," my father reminded her gently.
"So? She can still look like a daughter of mine should look."
"What's wrong with the way I look?" I asked.
"Oh, dear, honey, your hair should be cut and styled. I'll have my beautician look at you. And your nails," she said, grimacing. "They need a proper manicure."
"I can't make beds and clean rooms and worry about my nails," I declared.
"She's right, Laura Sue," my father said gently.
"Does she have to be a chambermaid?" my mother asked my father.
"Mother thinks it's the best place to begin."
She nodded with a look of deep resignation as if whatever my grandmother thought or said was gospel. Then she sighed and contemplated me again, shaking her head gently.
"In the future please change into something pleasant before coming to see me," she told me. "Uniforms depress me, and always shower and wash your hair first. Otherwise, you will bring in the dust and grime."
I guess I was a windowpane, easy to read, for she saw the pain in my heart.
"Oh, Dawn dear, you must forgive me if I sound insensitive. I have not forgotten how hard this is for you, too. But just think of all the wonderful and new things you will have and be able to do. You will be a Cutler in Cutler's Cove and that's an honor and a privilege. Someday there will be a line of proper suitors begging for your hand in marriage, and all that has happened to you will seem like a bad dream.
"Just like it seems to me," she added and took another deep breath. It was more like she was gasping for air.
"Oh, dear, it's getting hot," she announced, practically in the same breath. "Could you turn on the fan, please, Randolph?"
"Of course, dear."
She fell back against the pillow and fanned herself with her magazine.
"This is all so overwhelming," she said. "Randolph, you've got to help me with this!" she cried, her voice thin and high, sounding as if she were on the verge of hysterics. "It's hard enough for me to look after Clara Sue and Philip."
"Of course I will, Laura Sue. Dawn will not be a problem."
"Good," she said.
How could she think I would be a problem for her? I wondered. I wasn't a baby who needed constant care and watching.
"Does everyone know about her, Randolph?" she asked, staring up at the ceiling. When she spoke about me like this, it was as if I weren't in the room with her.
"It's getting around Cutler's Cove, if that's what you mean."
"Heavens. How will I go about? Everywhere I go, people will have questions and questions. I can't stand the thought of that, Randolph," she moaned.
"I'll answer the questions, Laura Sue. Don't worry."
"My heart is pounding so, Randolph. It just started and I feel my pulse throbbing in my neck," she said, bringing her fingers to her throat. "I can't catch my breath."
"Now, take it easy, Laura Sue," my father advised. I looked at him in anticipation. What was happening? He nodded and tilted his head toward the door.
"I'd better be going," I said. "I've got to get back to work."
"Oh . . . oh, yes, sweetheart," she said, turning back to me. "I need a little nap now anyway. Later we will talk again. Randolph, please ask Dr. Madeo to come back."
"Now, Laura Sue, he was just here not an hour or so ago and—"
"Please. I think I need him to change my medicine. It's not helping."
"All right," he said with a sigh. He followed me out. I looked back once and saw her lying back with her eyes closed, her hands still pressed to her bosom.
"She'll be all right," my father assured me as we stepped out. "Just one of her spells. They come and go. It's part of her nervous condition. Why, in a day or two, she will be up and about, dressed in one of her beautiful dresses and standing in the dining room doorway alongside Mother, greeting guests. You'll see," he said, patting me on the shoulder.
My father assumed my sad and troubled look came from my worrying about my mother, but she was still a stranger to me. True, we looked somewhat alike, but I did not feel any warmth between us and couldn't imagine calling her Mother. She hadn't even made an effort to kiss me. Instead, she had made me feel dirty and unschooled, a wild thing brought in from the streets, someone to be made over and trained like a stray dog.
I looked away. Not money, not power and position, not all the honor associated with being a Cutler could replace one loving moment I had lived as a Longchamp. But no one wanted to see this or under-stand, least of all my real parents.
Oh, Momma! Oh, Daddy! I cried in the darkness of my tormented thoughts. Why did you do this? I had been better of not knowing the truth. It would have been better for all of
us if that memorial stone to a stolen baby remained untouched, lingering forever in the darkness on a quiet cemetery, just another lie.
But to me the world was full of lies, and one more now seemed not to matter.
10
A NEW BROTHER, A LOST LOVE
For the next few days I barely saw my father. Every time I did see him, he appeared frenzied, rushing from one place to another like a worker bee while my grandmother sauntered coolly about the hotel like the queen. Whenever my father saw me, he promised to spend more—time with me. I felt like a pebble in his shoe. He would pause to shake me out and then hurry off, forgetting from one time to the next that he had seen me and said the same things.
My mother didn't come down from her room for days. Then one day she appeared at the dining room door, greeting the guests as they entered. She was dressed in a beautiful turquoise gown and had her hair brushed and curled so it lay just over her shoulders. She wore a diamond necklace that glittered so brightly it was blinding in the light from the overhead chandelier, and I thought she was one of the most beautiful women I had ever seen. She looked as if she had never been sick a single day in her life. Her complexion couldn't have been more rosy, her eyes brighter, her hair more healthy and rich.
I stood off in a corner of the lobby and watched how she and my grandmother greeted people, both of them smiling warmly, patting hands, accepting kisses on the cheeks, and kissing other women and men. It seemed as though everyone who stayed at the hotel was an old friend. Both my mother and my grandmother looked radiant and alive, energized by the crowd of guests filing past them.
But when it was over, when all the guests had entered, my grandmother gave my mother a strange, stern look and then walked into the dining room. My mother didn't see me watching her at first. She looked as though she would burst into tears. My father came out to fetch her. Just before she turned to accompany him into the dining room, she looked my way.
I thought she had the oddest expression, one that even frightened me a bit. She looked as though she didn't recognize me. Her eyes were filled with curiosity, and she tilted her head slightly. Then she whispered something to my father. He turned, saw me, and waved. My mother continued into the dining room, but my father came across the lobby.