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"Phone? We don't have a phone," she said calmly.

"No phone?" So far away from anywhere in such a large house, with no phone? I thought. "But . . . how do you get important messages?"

"Anyone who wants us calls down at the general store in Upland and when Mr. Nelson has a free moment or is heading out in this direction, he brings us the message. We don't have any need to call anyone ourselves. There's no one left to call," she said dryly.

"But I have people who want to call me and . . ."

"Now listen to me," she said, stepping a few steps toward me. "This isn't supposed to be a holiday, young lady. You're here because you've disgraced yourself and my sister wants you here. Fortunately for you I've had experience as a midwife," she said and started toward the stairway again.

"Midwife? You mean I won't have a doctor?" asked.

"Doctors cost money and are unnecessary when it comes to delivering a baby," she said. "Now would you please come along. I have many other things to do beside settle you in for the night."

I looked back at the doorway. With the kerosene lamp in her hands ahead of me, there was only a deep dark shadow to look at. I felt as if I had just entered a tunnel and the entryway had been shut up. I wanted to turn and run out, but where would I run to? We were miles and miles from anyplace and it was growing darker and darker by the minute.

Maybe in the daytime thin

gs would look better, I thought. I could probably get Luther to drive me to the general store when I wanted to call Trisha. And there was always the mail.

"You do get mail here, don't you?"

"We get mail," she said. "But not much."

"Well I'll be getting some," I replied.

"Humph," she said again and lifted the lamp so the light fell over the steps of the circular stairway.

"Isn't there electricity in this house?" I asked, walking behind her and embracing myself. There was a terrible chill . . . no fires burning, no scent of wood or coal, nothing but the musty odor of dampness.

"We use it sparingly," she said. "It's too expensive."

"Too expensive?" How curious, I thought, especially with all of Grandmother Cutler's enormous personal wealth. Why couldn't she send some money to these sisters to help them out? Where was the other sister? I wondered. I was about to ask when I heard a strange peal of laughter from above. It sounded more like a little girl than an elderly lady.

"Quiet, you fool," Miss Emily snapped. When the light reached the second-story landing, I saw a much shorter and much plumper little old lady leaning over the banister. Her gray hair was tied with yellow ribbons into two thick pigtails. That plus the faded pink shift with the yellow ribbon belt tied loosely about her waist made her look like an adult masquerading as a child. She clapped her hands together and then ran her palms quickly over her abundant bosom to smooth out her shift.

"Hello," she said when we reached the landing.

"Hello," I said and looked to Miss Emily for an introduction. She was reluctant to give it, but tightened her mouth in the corners and did so.

"This is my sister Charlotte," she said. "You can call her simply Charlotte. I told you to stay in your room, didn't I, Charlotte?" Miss Emily chastised.

"But I've come to meet our niece," Charlotte whined. As she drew closer, I saw she had a much softer face and bluer eyes. Although there were wrinkles along her forehead and some lines at the corners of her eyes, she looked considerably younger than Miss Emily and Grandmother Cutler. Her smile was far friendlier and simple, the smile of an excited schoolgirl.

I saw that the hem of her shift was torn and frayed and she was wearing what looked like a man's leather bedroom slippers with no stockings or socks. Her ankles were thick, even swollen, with little pink bumps around them.

"Well you've met her, now go on back and do your needlework," Miss Emily commanded.

"I do needlework," Charlotte said proudly. "I made all the nice towels and washcloths and Emily's got some hanging in frames in Daddy's office, don'tcha, Emily?"

"For God's sake, don't make a fool of yourself first chance you get,. Charlotte. This isn't the time to talk about your needlework. Just go do it."

"I'll be happy to look at some of it later," I told her. Her eyes brightened and her smile widened. She clapped her hands together again.

"We'll have mint julep tea," she said excitedly.

"Not tonight," Miss Emily said, practically shouting now. "It's too late for that. I'm showing Eugenia her room so she can go to sleep. She's tired."

"Eugenia! My name's not Eugenia," I cried. "My name is Dawn."