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"His ears were pointed," she recited quickly as if she had been hypnotized to repeat it every time there was a reference to her child.
"No, Charlotte. I'm sure they were not. Emily said you were just pregnant one day, but women don't just wake up and find themselves pregnant. There's always a father. Why didn't you ever tell her who the father was and make her stop saying those terrible things?"
She started to pull her hand from mine, but I held on.
"Don't go, Charlotte. Tell me. You're not as stupid as your sister says you are. You were ashamed, weren't you? So you kept it a secret. Why were you ashamed? Was he someone Miss Emily wouldn't have approved of? Did you think you loved him like I loved my Michael?"
Her eyes
widened with interest, but I saw from the look in them that love wasn't involved.
"You can tell me, Charlotte. I won't tell Miss Emily. You know I won't. You and I are closer and friendlier. I want to help you and be your friend just as much as you've been mine. You let her think you didn't know how you were pregnant; you let her create that horrible fantasy with the devil, didn't you?"
She didn't reply; she looked down.
"You know how women get pregnant, don't you, Charlotte? You know what they must do with men, even though I'm sure no one's ever bothered to tell you. It's a subject I'm positive has always been forbidden in this house, especially as long as Miss Emily's ruled it. But you know, right?"
"The wiggles," she said quickly.
"The wiggles? I don't understand, Charlotte. What are the wiggles? How does that make you pregnant?"
"After he did the wiggles on me," she said, "the baby started to grow in my stomach."
"After he did the wiggles? Who, Charlotte? Who did the wiggles on you?"
"It was in the barn," she said. "He showed me how the pigs did the wiggles and then he did it."
"The barn? It wasn't Luther, was it? It was Luther," I concluded from the expression on her face. "And I believe Miss Emily knew that all the time. Of course," I realized. "And she's been punishing him for it all these years, weighing on his conscience. That's why he takes all her abuse and lives and works like a slave.
"Oh, Charlotte," I said, reaching out for her. "I'm sorry what happened to you was made into such a nightmare. But tell me, what happened to the baby?"
We heard Miss Emily's footsteps in the hail and Charlotte jerked her hand from mine quickly.
"I'll make you a nice needlework picture to hang in the nursery," she said quickly and took the empty glass. Then she started out just as Miss Emily turned into the doorway. Miss Emily seized her arm to stop her.
"Did she drink it all?" she demanded and Charlotte nodded and showed her the glass. "Good. Go rinse it in the sink," she ordered and then looked in at me.
"How is the baby?" I asked.
"The baby was too small," she said quickly. "I want you to sleep so you will be ready to leave in the morning. Arrangements are being made." She started to turn away.
"What do you mean?" I said, propping myself up on my elbows. "What do you mean the baby was too small?"
"When babies are born too small, they're not meant to be born," she replied nonchalantly and started away again.
"What's happened to her? Where is she?" I shouted. I swung my legs off the bed, but my head began spinning so much I had to drop myself back to the pillow and keep my eyes closed. I felt a warmth in my stomach and a gurgling. The warmth seemed to travel quickly up into my chest.
What was in that drink? I wondered. I shouldn't have drunk it after all. I shouldn't have . . .
I felt so groggy, so tired and weak. It took all my strength for me to get my legs back on the bed and I couldn't open my eyes. It was as if a heavy blanket, a blanket made of iron, had been pulled over me, holding me down. Soon I thought I was sinking deeper and deeper into the bed. I tried to fight it, but I couldn't lift my arms. In moments, I was in a sleep even deeper than the one before.
I slept on and off most of the day, but whenever I woke up and started to rise, my head began to pound. All that would relieve it was lying back and keeping my eyes closed, which eventually resulted in my drifting of again. I didn't know whether it was day or not, for the door to my room was kept closed, but some time much, much later, it was thrust open and Miss Emily returned.
I started to lift my head from the pillow. She approached quickly and put her hand behind it to help me into a more seated position. Then she brought a glass to my lips. It was filled with the same liquid Charlotte had brought. I started to gag on it, but she held the back of my neck firmly in her wiry, pincer-like fingers and kept the glass to my mouth.
"Drink this," she commanded when some of it began to run down the sides of my chin. "Drink or you will never get strong enough to leave."
I started to spit it back, and shake her hands from my neck, but her fingers clung to me like old rotten moss and she kept the glass between my lips, pouring, pouring, pouring. I couldn't keep from swallowing some of it. Finally, she released me and my head dropped back to the pillow.
