Read Online Cutler 02 - Secrets of the Morning by authors_sort - Free Book Online
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promised the day I left Cutler's Cove. However one night on the last Monday in August, she called to see how I was doing and to recite her excuses for neglecting me all summer long.
"I haven't been well," she said, "since the day you left. First, I came down with this horrible summer cold. It nearly became pneumonia and then I developed an allergy that simply puzzled the doctors.
"Oh yes, I had more than one doctor. Randolph brought in allergy specialists, one after the other, but I couldn't stop my eyes from watering and every once in a while, I broke into these spells of sneezing.
"You can imagine how it has been. I have hardly been down in the hotel."
"I'm sorry to hear it, Mother," I said. "Maybe if you came for a visit to New York, you would leave your allergy behind," I suggested.
"Oh no, the allergy has left me as mysteriously as it came. I'm fine now, except I'm quite run-down and the doctors advise me to continue my bed rest awhile longer. I'm sorry; I so wanted to take you shopping in New York.
"Are you having a good time? Enjoying the school?" she asked.
"Yes," I said, wondering whether she really cared. I knew that if I said no or tried to describe problems she would immediately have a fainting spell and jump off the phone so fast my head would spin.
"Good. Maybe in a month or so, I will be able to travel. In the meantime, I'll see to it that Randolph sends you some money so you can do some shopping with one of your friends, okay?
"I'd send Randolph, but the hotel's been busier than ever and Grandmother Cutler is depending on him."
"I'm sure," I said dryly, "she doesn't depend on anyone but herself."
"You must not talk like that, Dawn," my mother chastised. "It won't do any of us any good. We must make the best of the situation. Please, don't bring up any controversy, not now, now that I've gotten up enough strength to talk to you."
"Why does it take so much strength for you to talk to me, Mother? Is it because of the clouds of lies that hover above us?"
"I have to go now, Dawn. I'm getting tired," she said quickly.
"When will you tell me my father's name, Mother? When?" I demanded.
"Oh dear. I can't talk like this over the phone. I'll speak to you again, soon," she said and hung up before I could say another unpleasant thing. Right after she did, I once again heard a second click. It sent a chilling ripple through my body. Agnes Morris did listen in on my phone calls, I thought. It enraged me and when I went upstairs, I told Trisha.
"She's spying on me," I said. "I'm sure of it. And all because she believes the lies my grandmother wrote."
"We've got to get a look at the letter," Trisha concluded. "Let's try tomorrow night when she goes to the theater with her friends. I'm sure she won't lock her bedroom door."
"Oh, Trisha, I don't know. What if we're caught?" "We won't be. You want to see the letter, don't you?" she asked. "Well?" she pursued.
"Yes," I said. I looked into her eyes. "I want to see that letter very much."
The next night we sat in the sitting room and pretended to be interested in Agnes Morris's scrapbooks. It almost kept her from going out with her friends because she lingered so long to explain this picture and that and tell anecdotes about her performances and fellow actors. When Mr. Fairbanks, the clock, bonged out the hour, she realized she had to hurry to dress to meet her friends.
After she left we went looking for Mrs. Liddy and found that she had gone into her room to listen to the radio. Trisha looked at me and nodded. She went to Agnes's door and discovered it was unlocked, just as she had expected. When she turned the knob, I thought a dozen butterflies had been frightened inside my chest. It felt like their wings were flapping against my heart. I hesitated.
"What if she comes back while we're in there?" I asked.
"She won't. She's gone to a show. Come on," Trisha whispered. I looked back at Mrs. Liddy's closed door. The music from the radio could still be heard,
"I haven't been well," she said, "since the day you left. First, I came down with this horrible summer cold. It nearly became pneumonia and then I developed an allergy that simply puzzled the doctors.
"Oh yes, I had more than one doctor. Randolph brought in allergy specialists, one after the other, but I couldn't stop my eyes from watering and every once in a while, I broke into these spells of sneezing.
"You can imagine how it has been. I have hardly been down in the hotel."
"I'm sorry to hear it, Mother," I said. "Maybe if you came for a visit to New York, you would leave your allergy behind," I suggested.
"Oh no, the allergy has left me as mysteriously as it came. I'm fine now, except I'm quite run-down and the doctors advise me to continue my bed rest awhile longer. I'm sorry; I so wanted to take you shopping in New York.
"Are you having a good time? Enjoying the school?" she asked.
"Yes," I said, wondering whether she really cared. I knew that if I said no or tried to describe problems she would immediately have a fainting spell and jump off the phone so fast my head would spin.
"Good. Maybe in a month or so, I will be able to travel. In the meantime, I'll see to it that Randolph sends you some money so you can do some shopping with one of your friends, okay?
"I'd send Randolph, but the hotel's been busier than ever and Grandmother Cutler is depending on him."
"I'm sure," I said dryly, "she doesn't depend on anyone but herself."
"You must not talk like that, Dawn," my mother chastised. "It won't do any of us any good. We must make the best of the situation. Please, don't bring up any controversy, not now, now that I've gotten up enough strength to talk to you."
"Why does it take so much strength for you to talk to me, Mother? Is it because of the clouds of lies that hover above us?"
"I have to go now, Dawn. I'm getting tired," she said quickly.
"When will you tell me my father's name, Mother? When?" I demanded.
"Oh dear. I can't talk like this over the phone. I'll speak to you again, soon," she said and hung up before I could say another unpleasant thing. Right after she did, I once again heard a second click. It sent a chilling ripple through my body. Agnes Morris did listen in on my phone calls, I thought. It enraged me and when I went upstairs, I told Trisha.
"She's spying on me," I said. "I'm sure of it. And all because she believes the lies my grandmother wrote."
"We've got to get a look at the letter," Trisha concluded. "Let's try tomorrow night when she goes to the theater with her friends. I'm sure she won't lock her bedroom door."
"Oh, Trisha, I don't know. What if we're caught?" "We won't be. You want to see the letter, don't you?" she asked. "Well?" she pursued.
"Yes," I said. I looked into her eyes. "I want to see that letter very much."
The next night we sat in the sitting room and pretended to be interested in Agnes Morris's scrapbooks. It almost kept her from going out with her friends because she lingered so long to explain this picture and that and tell anecdotes about her performances and fellow actors. When Mr. Fairbanks, the clock, bonged out the hour, she realized she had to hurry to dress to meet her friends.
After she left we went looking for Mrs. Liddy and found that she had gone into her room to listen to the radio. Trisha looked at me and nodded. She went to Agnes's door and discovered it was unlocked, just as she had expected. When she turned the knob, I thought a dozen butterflies had been frightened inside my chest. It felt like their wings were flapping against my heart. I hesitated.
"What if she comes back while we're in there?" I asked.
"She won't. She's gone to a show. Come on," Trisha whispered. I looked back at Mrs. Liddy's closed door. The music from the radio could still be heard,
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