Forbidden Fruit. Erica Spindler

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      And only an eternity of yesterdays that she was a prisoner of this place. “To me, too, Mama.”

      Lily crossed to the bed and the suitcase that lay open on top of it. Hope saw the effort it took her mother to keep from falling apart, and wondered if her mother noticed that her daughter’s eyes were dry, her hands and voice steady. She wondered what her mother would say if she knew the truth, if she knew that her only daughter planned to never see her again.

      “Is this the last one?” her mother asked. “The car will be here any moment.”

      “Yes. I’ve already taken the others down.”

      Lily carefully tucked the final few items into the case, then closed the bag and fastened the clasps. “There.” She lifted her swimming gaze to Hope’s. “All ready to…go.” Her throat closed over the last, and the word came out choked.

      Hope forced herself to cross to her mother. She caught Lily’s hands with her own and brought them to her cheek. “It’s going to be all right, Mama. Memphis isn’t that far.”

      “I know. It’s just that—” Her mother drew in a ragged breath. “How am I going to manage without you? You’re the best thing…the only good thing in my life. I’m going to miss you desperately.”

      Hope curved her arms around her mother, fighting a smile. She hid her face against her mother’s shoulder. “I’m going to miss you, too. So much. Maybe I shouldn’t go. Maybe I should stay and help—”

      “No! Never!” Lily cupped Hope’s face. “You will not end up like me. I won’t allow it, do you hear? This is your chance to escape. It’s what I’ve always wanted for you. It’s why I named you Hope.” She tightened her fingers. “You were always my hope for the future. You mustn’t stay.”

      This time Hope couldn’t contain her smile. “I’ll make you proud, Mama. You wait and see.”

      “I know you will.” Lily dropped her hands. “Everything’s set. St. Mary’s Academy is expecting you. You’re from Meridian, Mississippi, the only child of wealthy parents.”

      “Who travel abroad,” Hope filled in. She laced her fingers together, nervous suddenly. “What if someone discovers the truth? What if one of my classmates is from Meridian? What if—”

      “No one will discover the truth. My friend has seen to everything. Not one other girl from Mississippi attends the academy. Even the headmistress believes you’re Hope Penelope Perkins. No one will question your story. Feel better now?”

      Hope searched her mother’s expression, then nodded. She knew her mother’s “friend” to be none other than the Governor of Tennessee. He and her mother went way back; Lily knew many—if not all—of his darkest secrets. Secrets she would go to her grave with. Of course, such loyalty sometimes demanded return—in the form of favors.

      The sound of a horn sliced through the humid afternoon. Hope’s heart flew to her throat, and she raced to the window. Three stories below, the airport shuttle idled in the driveway while Tom, the houseman, helped the driver load the bags.

      Lily followed her to the window. “Dear Lord, it’s time already.” She laid her hands on Hope’s shoulders, her cheek against her hair. “I don’t know how I’m going to bear this.”

      Hope sucked in a deep breath, joy a living thing inside her. Almost free. Just a few more minutes and she would never see her mother or this hated house again. She struggled to keep from laughing out loud.

      Her mother sighed, dropped her hands and took a step away. “We’d better go.”

      “Yes, Mama.” Hope collected the suitcase, then she and her mother started for the stairs. Her mother’s girls were waiting for them in the foyer. They each hugged and kissed Hope, they each wished her well and made her promise to write.

      The youngest of the group—a girl not much older than Hope—handed her an apple, lush and red and ripe. “In case you get hungry,” she said softly, her eyes bright with tears.

      Hope took the girl’s offering though the fruit burned like acid against her palm. She longed to fling it away and run, but forced herself to meet the whore’s eyes and smile. “Thank you, Georgie. It was sweet of you to think of me.”

      Hope stepped outside, her mother beside her. The breeze off the River was hot and slow, but sweet still; it washed over her, cleansing her of the stench of the house and its history. Her history.

      Her mother drew her into her arms and clung to her. “My darling, darling baby, I will miss you so much.”

      Hope fought the urge to tear herself from her mother’s arms and race to the waiting vehicle. She allowed her mother to kiss her one last time, promising herself that she would never again have to endure her vile touch.

       The touch of sin.

      The driver cleared his throat. Hope said a silent thank-you and eased from her mother’s grasp. “I have to go, Mama.”

      “I know.” Lily curved her arms around her middle, battling tears. “Call me when you arrive.”

      “I will,” Hope lied. “I promise.”

      She started for the car, counting the steps. With each she felt as if another piece of her past was falling away from her, like layers of smothering clothing, ones made of wet, rotting wool.

      The driver opened the door. She moved to get in, then stopped and looked over her shoulder at The House, at her mother standing in its shadow, at the whores, clustered in the doorway. Her lips curved into a small, satisfied smile.

      Today she was reborn as Hope Penelope Perkins. Today she left The Darkness behind.

      Letting the apple slip from her fingers, she turned and stepped into the car.

       Chapter 1

       New Orleans, Louisiana 1967

      The perfume of flowers hung in the air, almost overpowering in its sweetness. The scent mixed strangely with those of the maternity ward, creating another that was both appealing and repugnant. Even so, fresh arrangements arrived hourly, enthusiastic offerings sent to herald the birth of Philip St. Germaine III’s first child.

      The excitement was understandable. After all, this child would be heir to the family’s wealth and social position, this child would be heir to the venerable St. Charles, the small luxury hotel built in 1908 by the first Philip St. Germaine.

      For this child, nothing was too much.

      Hope gazed down at the newborn, nestled in the bassinet beside her bed. Despair and disappointment, so bitter they burned her tongue, roiled inside her. She had prayed for a boy. She had done the rosary, she had done penance. She had been so certain her prayers would be answered that she had refused to consider names for a girl.

      Her prayers had not been answered; she had been cursed instead.

      She had given birth to a daughter, not a son. Just as her mother and grandmother had, just as every Pierron woman had for as many generations back as she could recall.

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