9
MY NEW LIFE . 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 king- dom and she's the queen. Don't expect nobody to go against her wishes, not even your daddy, Mrs. Bos- ton 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 furnituresoft
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 oc- curred to memy 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.
Mrs. Cutler runs a very tight ship, Mrs. Boston said. No excess, no waste. Whoever don't pull his load goes. She got just as many chambermaids as she needs, just as many waiters and busboys, just as many kitchen help and service people. Not a single one more. That's why this hotel goes on and on while other places have peeled off over the years.
Well, I'm sorry, I repeated.
Um, she said, still without much sympathy. I'll be back in a while, she added and left.
I sat down on the bed. The mattress was old and had lost any firmness it might have had and the springs squeaked with complaint. Even my little weight was too much. I took a deep breath and opened my suitcase. The sight of my simple belongings brought back a flood of memories and feelings. How my heart ached. The tears started to flow. I sat there and let them run down my cheeks and drip off my chin. Then I saw something white peeking out of the cloth pocket inside my suitcase. I reached inside and pulled out Momma's wonderful string of pearls. They had been in my dresser drawer at homebecause of the confusion after the concert and Momma's death, I had never given them back to Daddy to put away. The
policeman who had packed my bag must have thought they were mine. Now I hugged them to me, crying ten oceans of tears as memories came crashing over me, dral ling me down to drown within their depths. How I longed for Momma now to hold me and stroke my hair, to see Jimmy's face full of pride and anger, to have Fern's eyes light up at the sight of me and her little arms reach up to be held. The pearls brought back all of this and more till my heart was an aching ruin.
Daddy, how could you do this? How could you do this? I screamed inside.
Suddenly there was a knock on my door. I quickly hid the pearls in a drawer, wiped my face with the back of my hands, and turned.
Who is it?
The door opened slowly and a handsome man dressed in a tan sport jacket and matching slacks peered in. His light brown hair was brushed back neatly at the sides, but he had a small, soft wave in the front. There was a tinge of gray at his temples. His rich, dark tan emphasized the blue in his eyes. I thought he looked as debonair and as elegant as a movie star.