"What do you want to do now, Luther?" I asked him.
"Do now?"
"Are you going to stay here?" I inquired.
"Until someone drags me off," he said. "Got no other place to go, and"—he turned toward Charlotte—"someone's got to look after Miss Charlotte."
I nodded, smiling.
"I think that would be very nice," I said. "When Jimmy and I return to Cutler's Cove I'll have our attorney see about the legal questions involving the property. No matter what happens, I don't see why you and Charlotte can't stay. That is, if you really think you can take care of her, Luther," I added.
He fixed those dark brown eyes on me hard, his face as serious as I had ever seen it.
"I've been taking care of her in one way or another ever since I can remember," he replied.
"I guess you have," I said.
"And here's your cup of mint tea," Charlotte said, placing it before him. Then she stepped back, her eyes glimmering with pride.
"Thank you, Charlotte," he said. She smiled down at him happily. Then she looked at me and clapped her hands together.
"I almost forgot," she said. "Tomorrow's my birthday." I started to laugh, remembering how she would say that every day, but Luther looked up smiling.
"She's right," he said. "It really is!"
EPILOGUE
AS JIMMY AND I DROVE AWAY FROM THE MEADOWS THAT DAY I thought how right it was that the two people who were made to suffer most there could now live there happily. I had no doubt in my mind that in time some of the more dreary and dismal aspects of that sad house would be buried along with the memory of Miss Emily. The shadows she had kept stored in the deepest corners—shadows she had protected and fed with her insane insistence that the light be rationed —would surely follow her to the grave.
When we returned to Cutler's Cove I had a meeting with Mr. Updike concerning The Meadows, and he said he would see to it that Charlotte and Luther could live there for as long as they wanted. I told Philip about our trip, Emily's burial and what we had decided. He was glad not to have to have anything more to do with it.
"The one or two times I was there," he said, "I was terrified. Aunt Emily made me feel I was the devil's own."
In a way it was good for me to have attended Miss Emily's burial. Seeing Charlotte and Luther happy and knowing that the dour, evil woman was gone from their lives as well as my own put an end to my nightmares about The Meadows. Those days stopped haunting me.
I had much too much to do with my life now anyway. There was Christie's musical education to continue; there were things to do in our home and, of course, there was the hotel. Jimmy and I made plans to take our first vacation together after the summer. We decided to return to Cape Cod to finish our honeymoon.
It was the most romantic week of our marriage. We were able to pledge our love to each other again and again in dozens of little ways: Jimmy just touching my cheek and not saying anything, me resting my head against his shoulder as the sun went down, or the two of us waking up before dawn and rushing out to hold hands and walk on the beach as the sun rose.
When we returned to Cutler's Cove we discovered Bronson had made arrangements for all of us to have Thanksgiving at Beulla Woods. He thought it would do Mother inestimable good to be surrounded by family. We were all there: Philip and Betty Ann, the twins, Fern and Christie, Jimmy and me. Mother sat in bewilderment throughout most of the dinner, it seemed, but afterward, when Christie and I played a duet on the piano, I turned to see her smiling through tears.
At the end of the evening she permitted each of the children to kiss her good night. Bronson beamed. He hadn't looked as happy or as handsome in months.
"Thank you," he whispered in my ear when we embraced. "I think this was one of the happiest Thanksgivings I can recall."
I went to Mother and said my good night, hugging her and kissing her cheek. She seemed to hold on to me for dear life, and when I pulled away her eyes were wide but smiling.
"You've come back," she said.
"Yes, Mother. I've come back."
"Good, good." She appeared to want to hold onto my hand forever. Bronson stepped up beside her and put his arm around her shoulder.
"It's time they put the children to bed, Laura Sue," he said softly.
"Oh, yes. Good night. Good night, everyone," she called. The children ran out laughing, and we all left.
It snowed the next day, one of the heaviest snowfalls ever for Cutler's Cove at this time of the year, but everyone was happy about it because it made them all think of the impending Christmas holidays. There did seem to be a jingle in the air. Never were the seasonal decorations more colorful and wonderful to behold. In the afternoon the children went sleigh riding behind the hotel.
Just before I left the hotel to go home I received a phone call from Trisha.
"I wanted to wish you a happy holiday," she said. "I'm going on vacation with my family. I let Daddy talk me into it," she said, laughing.
She and I had spoken since Michael had come to Cutler's Cove, so she knew about it.
"I heard something about Michael," she told me toward the end of our conversation. "He's giving vocal lessons in Greenwich Village."
"I can't help but feel sorry for him," I said, "even though everything in me tells me not to, and even though Jimmy would be furious if he knew."
"He hasn't changed; he's still trying to have affairs with his prettier students."
I laughed.
"Nothing will change him; he's incorrigible. Have a wonderful holiday, Trish, and call me when you return. I want to know all about your upcoming dance audition."
"I will. Are you all right? Is everything all right?" she asked with concern. "I hear a note in your voice."
"I'm just feeling a little sorry for myself these days."
"Oh, give up that hotel and go back to your singing," Trisha snapped.
"I might just do that one of these days. Wouldn't you be surprised?"
"Yes."
We laughed.
When I went home I sat by the piano and tinkered with notes until Jimmy arrived with Christie, both of them soaked to the skin from sleigh riding. I bawled them both out and sent them up to take hot baths.
Afterward, while I was drying Christie's hair, I felt a terrible wave of nausea come over me. It was so bad I had to sit down. It passed, but that night it woke me out of a deep sleep, and I had to go to the bathroom and vomit. I did it again in the morning, but I kept it from Jimmy. I knew how much it disturbed him when I got sick. When the feeling didn't leave me, I made a quick appointment with the doctor.
As always, though, Jimmy found out. The hotel had a hundred different sets of eyes and ears. It wasn't a good place to keep secrets, at least not for me. After my visit with the doctor I went right home. Jimmy found me in the sitting room at the piano again. Whenever anything happened to me I felt a need to retreat to music. When Jimmy came in I had my head down and my eyes closed.
I didn't even hear him enter, but I looked up when he touched my shoulder.
"What is it, honey? What's wrong?"
"James Gary Longchamp," I said.
"Yes?"
"You're going to be a father."
Jimmy's face exploded with happiness, and he hugged and kissed me, nearly squeezing me to death with excitement. I let him swing me about.
Through the window that faced the ocean I could see the sun slip in between two clouds. They grew farther and farther apart, permitting more and more of the sunlight to caress the ocean, turning the gray into a sparkling blue.
That night we held onto each other more closely and more dearly than ever, neither of us speaking for the longest time. I wondered if Jimmy was thinking about when we were both little, when we had been left alone and something had frightened us. We clung tightly to each other until Momma and Daddy finally arrived and made us feel safe again. Then, and only then, did Jimmy say good night to me, and I to him.
"Don't be afraid, Dawn," Jimmy finally whispered,
drawing me out of my reverie. "Everything is going to be all right with the baby this time. You'll see. Be happy," he said.
"I'll try, Jimmy. And I won't be afraid, not as long as you're beside me."
"I always will be."
"Good night, Jimmy," I said, closing my eyes.
"Good night, Dawn."
I fell asleep, dreaming of our younger days. There was music; there was always music, and we were running over some beautiful green lawn, running toward the sun.
V. C. Andrews, Twilight's Child
(Series: Cutler # 3)
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