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Her arm came up, and slowly, with that same mechanical movement, she began to stroke her hair again.
"Mamma," I said, touching her shoulder. She didn't hear me; she was lost in her own thoughts, reliving some moment she had spent with my real mother years and years ago.
Suddenly, she began to hum one of her tunes. She sat there for awhile and then she sighed deeply, her bosom rising and falling as though a shawl of lead had been laid upon her shoulders.
"I'm so tired tonight, Violet. We'll talk in the morning." She kissed me on the cheek. "Good night, dear sister. Sweet dreams. I know your dreams will be sweeter than mine, but that's all right. You deserve it; you deserve everything wonderful and good."
"Mamma," I said in a cracked voice when she stood up. My breath caught and held as I choked back my tears. She went to her bed and slowly took off her robe. I watched her get in under the blanket and then I went to her and caressed her hair. Her eyes were closed.
"Good night, Mamma," I said. She looked like she was already asleep. I turned off the oil lamp on her table and left her in the darkness of her past and the darkness of her present, and what I feared was the dreadful darkness of the future.
Mamma went in and out of these dark daydreams during the ensuing months. Whenever I came upon her alone in her room or even walking in the hallway, I would never know for sure until I began to speak to her whether or not she was living in the present or the past. Emily's reaction was to ignore it and Papa's reaction was to grow more and more intolerant and spend more and more of his time away from the house. And when he returned, he usually reeked of bourbon or brandy, his eyes bloodshot and so full of rage over something that had displeased him with business that I dared not utter a syllable of complaint.
Sometimes Mamma came to dinner, and some-times she didn't, when Papa was away. Usually, if it was just Emily and me, I would eat as quickly as I could and leave. When Emily excused me, that is. Papa left very clear and exp
licit instructions as to how the house was to be run whenever he was not home.
"Emily," he declared one night at dinner, "is the oldest and the wisest, maybe even wiser than your mother these days," he added. "Whenever I'm away and your mother is not feeling well, Emily is in charge and you are to treat her with the same respect and obedience you treat me. Is that clear, Lillian?"
"Yes, Papa."
"The same goes for the servants and they know it. I expect everyone to follow the same rules and the same procedures they would had I been home. Do your work, say your prayers and behave."
Emily soaked up this added authority and power like a sponge. With Mamma distracted more often than not and Papa away more frequently, she rode herd over everyone, making the chambermaids redo much of their work until it suited her, and piling chore after chore on poor old Henry. One evening before dinner when Papa was away and Mamma was shut up in her room, I pleaded for Emily to be more compassionate.
"Henry's older, Emily. He can't do as much or do it as quickly as he used to."
"Then he should resign his position," she declared firmly.
"And do what? The Meadows is more than a place for him to work; it's his home."
"This is the Booth home," she reminded me. "It's a home only for the family and those who are not Booths but who live here, live here at our pleasure. And don't forget, Lillian, that applies to you as well."
"You're so hateful. How can you claim to be so religious and devout and be so cruel?"
She smiled that cold smile at me.
"You would say that and you would have others believe it. It's Satan's way to discredit those who are truly faithful. There is only one way to defeat Satan and that is with prayer and devotion. Here," she said, thrusting the Bible at me. Louella entered the dining room with our food, but Emily forbid her to put it on the table.
"Take it back until Lillian reads her pages," she ordered.
"But you said your prayers and it's all ready, Miss Emily," Louella protested. She took pride in her cooking and hated to serve something too cold or overdone.
"Take it back," Emily snapped. "Begin where I have the marker," she commanded me, "and read."
I opened the Bible and began. Louella shook her head and returned with the food to the kitchen. I read page after page until I had read fifteen pages, but Emily wasn't satisfied it was enough. When I started to put the Bible down, she ordered me to continue.
"But Emily, I'm hungry and it's getting late. I've read over fifteen pages!"
"And you'll read fifteen more," she demanded.
"No, I won't," I said defiantly. I slammed the Bible down. Her lips paled and then her long, glaring look of contempt and pure hatred was like a slap to my face.
"Then go to your room without supper. Go on," she ordered. "And when Papa comes home, he will hear about this defiance."
"I don't care. He should hear about this, about how cruel you are to everyone when he's not here and how they're all so upset they're grumbling about leaving."
I slammed my chair against the table and ran out of the dining room. First, I went to Mamma's room to see if I could get her to intercede, but she was already asleep, having eaten a little of what Louella had brought her. Frustrated, I marched up to my room. I was angry and tired and hungry. Moments later, I heard a gentle knock on my door. It was Louella. She had brought me a tray.
