Paxton Pride by Kerry Newcomb Page B

entered her room. Behind her, Iantha watched as the door closed, then slowly walked down the hall, her head held high in triumph.
    Inside her room, Karen walked to her bed as if in a dream. She kicked off her slippers and sat on the edge of the mattress. The lantern burned brightly in front of her and she stared at it a long, empty time, seeing only the light and nothing more. Finally her gaze slipped down to the table. The forbidden Zola lay there. Les Rougon-Masquart . She picked it up and stared at it, seeing it for the first time in its entirety. It was about the decay of a family through alcoholism and a number of other vices. “I could write a book about the decay of the Hamptons, Monsieur Zola,” Karen told the book, her voice choked with emotion. “Not through vice and corruption, but ambition and greed.” Sobbing now, she lay back and drew her knees to her chest. The tears streamed down her face and wet the pillow. “I could write such a book, sir, but I should not like to read it. I should not at all like to read it.…”

CHAPTER IV
    Retta found her in the morning, eyes puffed and red from crying, still asleep, still fully dressed in her rumpled Parisian finery. The black servant stood over her for a long moment. Her little girl had cried herself to sleep. She looked so small, so fragile. Retta remembered the little girl she had watched and served and cared for over the years. Now the little girl was a big girl. How fast they grow, she thought, how rapidly the little bodies turned into big bodies. And yet how long it took for the inside to learn how to handle the hard parts of life without letting it show on the outside. She leaned over the girl and touched her tenderly. Almost her mother, she thought, I know her better than her mother. “Karen, honey? Time to wake up, chile.”
    Karen’s eyes came open slowly, struggling against the puffiness and red, then closed again. Morning. A new day. She glanced out the window. Clouds. Dark rain clouds, gloomy and threatening. Thank God Retta was there. She stretched, pushing and pulling the cramped muscles taut. “Retta?”
    â€œIt’s me all right, honey. Yo’ sure looks a sight this mornin’. If I was you I’d forgit today and try again tomorro’. You want to talk about it?”
    â€œNo,” Karen answered a bit hesitantly. “I have to figure out this one alone, Retta. I’m a big girl, now.” The Hampton determination flared in her eyes. “I’m fine, Retta. I’ll just take my bath as usual. That ought to wake me up. You needn’t worry about tea. I’ll eat with Papa this morning.” She slid out of the bed and shrugged out of the disheveled dress, dropping it to the floor behind her as she pulled on the gown Retta handed her. She stepped into the hall, grateful for the silence surrounding her. Neither Retta nor Karen spoke until they entered the bathroom and Retta busied herself with the towels and one last jug of steaming water.
    â€œLawd, it’s hot this mornin’. Yo’ watches yo’ step or dat tub water’ll near scald yo’ pretty hide, chile.”
    â€œThank you, Retta.”
    The black woman left the room and went about her chores. Karen disrobed and put one leg in the steaming water. Retta had spoken the truth and Karen winced as she stepped completely into the tub and sat all the way down, gritting her teeth until the water became bearable. Burn, burn. There’s much to be done today .
    She stayed longer than usual, letting the heat soak away her tiredness, ease the stiffness from her limbs. When she was finally out and toweled dry, her skin pink and shining with the healthy glow of youth, she padded back down the empty hall toward her room, barely missing her father as he descended for breakfast. Retta was waiting, ready to brush her hair and help her dress. She chose a pink gown of very proper cut by anyone’s standards, quite