Cutler 03 - Twilight's Child

I felt very sorry for her.
    "She's reliving Old Man Cutler's attack on her," Bronson said.
    "Mother," I said softly. "You're safe. No one will come into your room unless you want them to. I promise," I said.
    She stared at me, and then her lips began to tremble more and more until she was crying again.
    "One more time, please. Let me look at her one more time. I won't touch her," she said, seizing my arm. "I just want to look at her. I can say good-bye, can't I?"
    She tilted her head and smiled.
    "She won't know; she's too small to know. She won't remember, so it doesn't matter, does it? Please, one more time."
    "She's talking about you, you know," Bronson said sadly. "All right, Mother. All right. It's going to be all right." She looked away, not at Bronson, not at me, but at something she saw in her own mind. Her eyes grew smaller, and she shook her head slowly.
    "I'm saying good-bye again, aren't I? Another one's been taken away from me. She had . . . such . . . golden . . . hair," Mother said, and she dropped back against the pillow, her eyes closing.
    "Laura Sue," Bronson cried, taking her hand in his.
    "I'm so tired," she muttered. "Just let me sleep a little while. And then I promise I'll get up and get dressed and look beautiful again." Her eyes popped open, and she smiled madly once more.
    "I'll show her," she pledged. "I promise. I'll be beautiful. The more she hates me, the more beautiful I'll be. And while she grows older and older, I'll get younger and younger. Put out the lights, please," she said. "I need my beauty rest," she added, and she turned her head, her eyes tightly closed. In moments she was asleep.
    Bronson looked at me, and I shook my head. I fixed the blankets around her. Bronson put out the light, and then the two of us left.
    "I'm sorry," he said in the hallway, wiping his forehead with his handkerchief. "I didn't know it had gotten as bad as this."
    "She needs treatment, Bronson. You might have to send her away."
    "Oh, no," he said firmly. "Whatever she needs, it will be brought here. No one must know, either, except for .the immediate family. She's going to get better," he said, his eyes small with determination. "She's going to recuperate and be the beautiful woman she once was. You'll see.
    "This is only a temporary setback, an aftershock," he continued. "She's gone through a great deal of unhappiness in her life. Everyone thinks she's had it so soft, gotten everything she wanted, but we know differently, don't we? It's understandable, this condition. Isn't it?"
    "Yes, Bronson. I'm sure when you get her professional help she will begin to recuperate," I said, even though I wasn't as optimistic as he was. I saw he needed the encouragement.
    "Right. And I'll get her the best doctors. You can be sure of that. I'll start right away. This very moment I'll go to the phone and make some calls. You'll come back often, won't you? And help?"
    "Of course I will, Bronson."
    "And bring the children. Always bring the children. Once she sees the sort of grandchildren she has, she won't be feeling so sorry for herself," he assured me, nodding his head for emphasis.
    "Okay, Bronson, but first we'll have to explain things to them. They'll have to understand Grandmother's not feeling well," I said.
    He bit down on his lower lip, the tears flowing freely from his eyes.
    "We had a little bit of happiness together, at least," he said sadly.
    "It will get better, Bronson. It will," I said more firmly. "You two have years and years of happiness ahead of you yet," I said.
    "Yes, yes, of course we do," he replied, smiling again. He took a deep breath. "You wouldn't know how much she cared about you and Clara Sue. She was pulled by so many different forces. But at night recently I would wake up to find her screaming either your name or Clara Sue's.
    "I guess," he concluded, "being a mother is not something a woman can ignore. She gives birth, and her children are no longer inside her womb, but there's always a part of them inside her. She can try to deny it, but in the end she always hears her baby calling to her. Am I right?" he asked.
    "Yes, Bronson. You couldn't be more right," I said, recalling how much I had longed for Christie after she had been taken from me.
    We embraced each other, and then I took his hand and walked down with him to make his phone calls.
    Early in the summer Bronson and the nurses managed to get Mother dressed and out so she would sit in the gazebo or on the patio. Some days were