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She stared down at me a moment and nodded.

"Pray to God that it doesn't," she said. "Pray that God won't take his vengeance on an innocent baby, but you have made Him angry and that anger is so great it rolls on and on through the heavens."

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, her hands against her small bosom.

"Work," she said, "pray, and be obedient and, hopefully, you will find Him forgiving."

She turned and walked away. At the top of the stairway she paused and looked back.

"Don't forget, promptly at five and be as clean as you can," she added and descended, her head high, her back so straight she looked like a statue being slowly lowered.

I pressed my hands against my stomach and swallowed back the lumps in my throat. My baby was only something good, I told myself. No matter how Michael had deceived me, my baby was inside me and felt the power of my love. That power was something precious and heavenly and not the devil's work. Miss Emily never knew the power of love. At this moment I thought she was someone more to be pitied than to be despised. She lived in a cold, dark world peopled by demons and devils and saw evil and danger in every nook and cranny of her home and life. I imagined she rarely laughed, even rarely smiled.

She didn't know it, I thought, but the devil had already defeated her.

I washed my hands and arms and face the best I could. Without a mirror, I could only imagine how dirty and dingy my hair appeared, but Miss Emily didn't care about appearances. In fact the less attractive I was, the more she liked it. I had to replace the soiled gown with the second one in the drawer. Those two articles of clothing were all there was. She re-minded me of that when I came down for dinner.

"Remember what I said about clothing—we wash it once a week, so if you dirty both your dresses, you will have to wear a filthy one until we wash."

"Why don't we wash clothing more than once a week?" I asked.

"We don't need to be extravagant about it. Take care of what you have and you need do it only once a week," she emphasized.

"But I don't have anything—just two ugly dresses," I replied.

"Simple things are not ugly things," she snapped. "Just because you are used to fancy clothing doesn't mean everything else is ugly."

"I'm not used to fancy clothing. But I need things that fit and I need my underwear and socks and . . ."

"I need, I need, I need. Are those the only words young people your age know these days?" she said. She uncovered the pot of potatoes and mixed vegetables. That, plus a glass of water and another piece of bread, was to be our meal. I had eaten better when I was living with Momma and Daddy Longchamp and we were scrounging to feed ourselves because Daddy had no work. But Miss Emily thought simple foods were good for the soul and things like chicken and eggs were to be eaten only on Sundays.

After saying grace, she didn't speak a word and Charlotte looked different, frightened. I imagined Miss Emily had castigated her harshly for the things she had said before and had probably forbidden her to speak. Every once in a while she lifted her eyes from her plate and glanced at me like a co-conspirator. It was curious, but I didn't find out what it was all about until dinner was finished and I had cleaned all the dishes, silverware and pots. I found her waiting for me in the shadows of the hallway just outside the dining room. Apparently she had been hiding there all that time, just waiting for me to appear.

She practically jumped out at me when I stepped through the doorway. I didn't think I would want to go to sleep so early, but I was so exhausted from my work and so full of aches and pains, even the dark, dingy room loomed promising. I had my hot water bottle wrapped in a dish towel under my arm.

"Charlotte!" I exclaimed, stepping back. "What is it?" I looked about, but Miss Emily was nowhere in sight.

"I gave you a present," she whispered. "It's on your bed," she added and then turned again and shuffled quickly away before I could reply.

I didn't know what to make of it. What could she have given me? Probably one of her needlework things, I thought. Or maybe she felt sorry for me and gave me one of her things to wear. I climbed the stairway slowly, each step an effort now, and walked down the dark corridor to my horrid room. I went to the kerosene lamp and lit it quickly. The light drove away the blanket of shadows and revealed something on my bed.

Slowly I picked it up and turne

d it about in my hand. It was a baby's toy rattle and from the looks of it, practically new. Miss Emily had ridiculed me when I had asked her about it being Charlotte's birthday and she had reminded me that Charlotte was not to be believed. So I didn't ask her why Charlotte had inquired if the baby had kept me awake or what Charlotte had meant by Miss Emily being able to see into her stomach and see a baby with pointed ears.

But why would she have a baby's rattle and one that looked just bought? Charlotte was certainly too old to have had a baby recently.

Miss Emily had forbidden me to go into their wing of the house, I thought, but maybe that was the only way I could eventually find out what all this meant.

For now, I was too tired and confused to care. I pulled back the blanket and crawled under it, placing the hot water bottle snugly against my stomach, thinking I was keeping my baby warm, too.

It didn't seem as cold tonight, and for that, I was grateful. One of the few things Miss Emily had said at dinner was the warm air meant a change in weather and probably a snowfall would come.

A snowfall, I thought. What was the date? I added the days I had been in the hospital to the last day I remembered and the two days I had already been here. The realization of what day and what night it was made me sit up in sorrow and horror.

It was Christmas Eve! And no one had even mentioned it or had even cared. I thought about Jimmy in Europe, probably celebrating and singing Christmas carols with his army buddies; I thought about Trisha home with her family in their warm house around their tree; I even thought about Daddy Longchamp with his new wife and the promise of his new child.

The tears streamed down my cheeks as Michael's loving promises returned. We had planned such a wonderful and romantic Christmas Eve together. We were to sit by a warm fire and unwrap our Christmas presents to each other, while beautiful holiday music played. Afterward, we would lie together in each other's arms and fall asleep with soft kisses on our lips.