Garden of Shadows (23 page)

Perhaps that is why I found so much comfort in God, the Bible, and, later, in the church. It was my one consolation, my companion, indeed, my salvation. It was my cousin John Amos who led me back to religion. His own mother had died, and he, like myself, was all that was left of his family. He came to visit, and encouraged me to pray with him, and as we sat quietly meditating in the guest parlor, I indeed felt filled by the holy spirit, as John Amos promised me I would. He insisted I start attending church more often, and before he returned up north, he left me with a stirring program of daily Bible readings. I had refused for so long to surrender my will to Malcolm that it was with relief and gratitude that I learned to surrender my will to God.
Malcolm, grew annoyed with my devotions. He missed Corinne every bit as much as I did, but the only comfort he took was the visits he made to her at school. He never visited the boys at their boarding schools. I did visit them whenever I could, and they wrote me long letters describing their activities. Malcolm didn't know, of course, but Mal was taking an instrumental course and Joel was in the orchestra.
The boys also adored Corinne. They were just as fascinated with her beauty and charm as was Malcolm, but they couldn't help being jealous of her relationship with him By now she was very spoiled, whereas the boys, even though they lived with great wealth, had grown up relatively unaffected. Malcolm never gave them things with the ease and full heart he gave things to Corinne. When they were teenagers, he insisted they work summers in one of his banks, serving as messengers and doing other menial tasks.
Still, despite all the reason they had, the boys never resented Corinne. They, too, spoiled her, were eager to do things for her and buy things for her. They took her sailing and horseback riding, and when Mal was old enough to drive, he drove her anywhere she wanted, anytime she wanted. Joel, especially, was at her beck and call whenever the three of them were home together. There was nothing he would refuse to do for her and she knew it and took advantage of it.
One Thanksgiving holiday, when they were all home from boarding school, I took the boys aside in a front salon and discussed it with them. Malcolm had taken Corinne to Charlottesville for a shopping spree because she told him all her clothing was out of date, and that was important to her even though she was only eleven years old.
I sat Mal and Joel on a settee and stood before them, not unlike one of their lecturers at school. We were having an early winter snowfall. It was a light one, however, with the sky remaining quite bright. It had the effect of putting everyone into the holiday mood, anticipating the coming of Christmas. The boys and Corinne had begun to decorate our tall Christmas tree, only Corinne spent most of her time sitting in one of our tall-back French provincial chairs dictating to them what she wanted where, and Joel scurried about like a slave, stretching and straining to get this ornament here and that ornament there.
"Mal," I began, "you will be eighteen on your next birthday, and as I told you boys years ago, each of you at eighteen will have access to a trust fund. It will provide each of you with a great deal of independence, but independence requires a welldeveloped sense of responsibility," I said, and paused to see how they were listening to me.
Mal, as usual, stared up intently, sitting as quietly and as still as a statue. He was so long-legged, he looked uncomfortable on that soft light-blue cushioned settee, but he didn't utter a word of complaint. Joel, on the other hand, fidgeted about, strumming the arm of the settee, running his hand through his thin gold hair, leaning forward then bouncing back.
"I know, Mother," Mal said. "Father has been talking to me about that very thing lately. We had a discussion right after I arrived yesterday, as a matter of fact," he said. He had Malcolm's strong, deep voice.
"Yesterday? What has he been telling you?" I asked.
"He's asked me to sign the money over to him so he can continue to invest it properly."
"What did you say?" I asked quickly. Joel stopped fidgeting and looked up, concern in his face. The boys were always very sensitive to my feelings.
"I told him I would discuss it with you," Mal said, and smiled wryly. How like Malcolm he looked, but oh, how like me he was. I smiled back at him and Joel smiled widely.
"Good. Good boy, Mal. You should never turn that money back to your father. He might just take it and spend it all on Corinne," I said. Joel started to laugh, but my look stopped him. "I don't mean to be facetious, boys. I've called you in here because I think you've got to stop pampering your sister. She's using you, taking advantage of you. And I don't think she appreciates the things you do for her. Your father has spoiled her so. I'm telling you this for Corinne's good as well as for your own. Your father won't listen to reason. He's blind when it comes to her, but you two can be of inestimable help if you won't be so eager to do anything she wants whenever she wants."
I started to pace before them.
"It's not too late to help her, but you can just imagine what kind of a woman she is going to turn out to be if this continues. She has no sense of money and its worth; she thinks everyone exists to be her servant, especially you two, and I don't like the way she takes advantage of you."
I peered over my shoulder to see how they were taking my little lecture. Both boys looked serious and thoughtful, although Joel did look more unhappy.
"I love your sister. Don't misunderstand me," I said. "But I wasn't kidding about your inheritances. Your father is capable of assigning everything to her, and don't for one moment think she is not a bit conniving. I know she wears that innocent, childish look, but behind those eyes, Corinne thinks like a Foxworth." I stopped and stared at them. Mal nodded and Joel sat back, his arms folded across his narrow chest. He still had difficulty gaining weight and looked thin and fragile.
"What should we do?" Joel asked. His voice was thinner, softer, more high-pitched and feminine. I often thought Joel would have made a much prettier little girl, although perhaps not as pretty as Corinne.
"Give more consideration to what she asks of you. Teach her some abstinence and patience. Help her become a better person," I added. Mal nodded and then Joel nodded. "As for your father and his demands on your trust funds, continue to tell him you're discussing it with me. Let him come to me," I said.
"Why did he give us these trust funds if he wants to take them back?" Mal asked.
"It was something he and I decided a long time ago, and there are some decisions that cannot be broken. The reasons are not important right now. Just understand that you're not as defenseless as you might sometimes feel, not as long as I am still mistress of Foxworth Hall," I added. Mal nodded thoughtfully, but Joel continued to look worried.
I was sadly aware of the fact that I could create two opposing camps in Foxworth Hall--Mal, Joel, and myself against Malcolm and Corinne. I knew it was distasteful to the boys and to me, so I didn't harp on it.
"Everything will get better in time," I concluded, smiling. Of course, I knew it wouldn't.
The holidays continued to be festive occasions for us. It meant the children would be home, and for Malcolm it meant his princess would arrive. Despite the way I felt about Malcolm's relationship with his daughter, and his hard relationship with his sons, I couldn't wait for her arrival either. She brought light and life to Foxworth Hall. By the time she was thirteen, she was quite the little lady and very popular with her peers. I could tell that all her girlfriends vied for her attention and favor. There was little that they valued more than an invitation to spend the night or to attend a holiday party at Foxworth Hall.
Our Christmas parties continued to be lavish affairs, only now with Corinne a little lady, Malcolm conducted each one the way he would:conduct a debutante's ball. Every Christmas Eve Corinne was presented to our high society. The parents of all of Corinne's girlfriends and peers were invited. He always bought her an expensive new dress for the occasion. Her girlfriends knew what was expected of them. Everyone came formally dressed, fathers in tuxedos and mothers in gowns. There was always a great deal of glitter and glamour. Women and teenage girls wore expensive jewelry. People drove up in expensive cars, costly flowers grown in hothouses were everywhere, and the feast was as varied and as rich as it was at the Christmas Eve party when Malcolm had introduced the newborn Corinne.
Malcolm screened Corinne's friends carefully, inviting only those he believed were "good enough." Our guest list was pruned more vigorously every Christmas, until Corinne reached eighteen, for during that year, a great many things changed.
But until then, Malcolm's adoration of his beautiful daughter increased daily. He not only had photographs taken of her continually, he had her portrait painted, something he still hadn't done for me. The picture of Corinne was placed in his trophy room for his private viewing. In his eyes she was perfect.
One evening Malcolm and Corinne were alone at the dining table. The boys had not returned from their boarding schools yet. Corinne was home because Malcolm had made a special trip to get her. She was sitting like a little lady, a graduate of Mrs.
Worthington's tutorship, describing events at her school. Malcolm was entranced, his chin on his hand, propped up on his elbow, a constant smile on his face. He was mesmerized by her sparkling blue eyes and her musical laughter. I watched them through a crack in the doorway. They seemed so far away from me, in more than actual distance. It was as though they were in their own private world. I envied them, envied the way Corinne held Malcolm's attention.
When she finished her story, she leaned forward, as if by instinct, and kissed him on the forehead. She did it so quickly and so unconsciously, it was a perfect heavenly act.
He caught her hand in his.
"You like your daddy?" He looked serious, as if he really weren't sure.
"Oh, yes, Daddy." She pulled her lips back gently to tease him with her smile.
"Then promise to stay with me forever and I promise that all this will be yours." He made a sweeping gesture with his hand and Corinne looked up at the high ceilings. She giggled. "I mean it," he said. "Everything I own will go to my princess. Will you stay with me forever?"
"Of course I will, Daddy," she said, and he kissed her on the cheek. "But will you do a favor for me now, Daddy?"
"Anything, princess, anything your little heart desires."
"Do you know that special room upstairs, Daddy?
The one that's always locked? I want that to be my room. Can it be mine? Oh, please say yes right now and I'll move all my things myself," she said, clapping her hands together. Her face was red with excitement.
"What room?" Malcolm asked. He looked up, a half smile on his face, not anticipating what she was about to say.
"The room with the swan bed. Oh, how beautiful it is."
Malcolm turned crimson, but his lips turned white.
"No, no," he said through clenched teeth. "You must not go into that room. It's not a room to be used."
"But why?" Her face crumpled with
disappointment, something she was unaccustomed to. She clenched her hands into little fists and pounded them against her thighs. Corinne's hands always betrayed her emotions. Sometimes they seemed to be separate creatures, turning and twisting of their own will.
"It's a bad room, a tainted room," Malcolm said, not realizing that by saying such a thing he would make the room even more enticing for her.
"Why?" Corinne asked.
"Because the ghost of my father's second wife lives in there," Malcolm said, hoping such a statement would terrify her. Her eyes did get big and she pressed her hands against each other in prayer fashion. "And she was not a nice woman."
"Why wasn't she a nice woman?" she asked almost in a whisper.
"It's not important. There are some things you are too young to know," he said.
"But, Daddy, I'm a big girl now. We know there's no such thing as ghosts. I don't believe that room is haunted by a ghost. Let me move in there, and if you're worried that there's a ghost there, silly Daddy, I'll scare it away for you."
"I want this subject dropped now, Corinne. I want it dropped right now," he shouted.
"But I want that room," she insisted. "It's the prettiest room in the house; I want it to be mine." And she fled from Malcolm, tears streaming down her pretty cheeks.
From that time on, whenever Malcolm was gone for the day, I let Corinne visit the Swan Room. I found her interest in the room fascinating. She loved to sit at the long vanity table and pretend she was a grown woman, the mistress of Foxworth Hall preparing for an extravagant ball.
I knew what she was doing in there because I used the peephole behind the picture in Malcolm's trophy room. Of course, Corinne never knew I spied on her. She would sit at the vanity table, brushing her hair with Alicia's own brush. One time, after she had locked the door behind her, she stripped off her clothing and put on one of her real grandmother's nightgowns. She tied the lace strings of the bodice extra tight so the garment wouldn't slip off. I saw how much she enjoyed the feel of it, how she ran the palms of her hands down over her budding bosom and onto the small of her stomach. She closed her eyes and wore a look of ecstasy I thought far beyond what someone her age was capable of feeling. She paraded about like the princess Malcolm had turned her into and then crawled onto the swan bed. She actually fell asleep there, wearing the silver silk nightgown.
I studied her little chest lifting and falling and thought about Alicia making love with Garland in that bed. Perhaps Malcolm was right; perhaps there were ghosts in there; perhaps there was something evil drawing little Corinne to it.
I didn't stop her from sneaking in; I didn't prevent her from using some of Alicia's and some of Malcolm's mother's things. In my heart I worried that it was not the ghost of Alicia or Corinne that inhabited that room--it seemed to be the devil himself, come to corrupt any innocent young girl who lived there.

.
"MAMA, I'VE BECOME A WOMAN!" I was out in the garden, cutting the last of the

late summer chrysanthemums. My garden had thrived that year, I felt, because all the children were home with me for the summer and often we'd all work on it together, weeding and watering and working in fertilizer. This year my prize mums stood tall and proud--some of them over five feet high, in glorious colors of lavender, blood-red, and sun-yellow. Mal teased me to enter the county fair, "You'll be the queen of the mums, Mother, most certainly." Corinne had also pressed me to enter my flowers, but I demurred. I wanted the flowers from our garden saved for us, for our home, to make our lives bright, to mirror the happiness my children brought to the gloom of Foxworth Hall. Too soon it was September, and in a week the children would be off again, Joel and Corinne back to their respective boarding schools, Mal back to Yale, where he was beginning to realize all the ambitions Malcolm had driven into him since the day he was born. I had just snipped off the crowning glory of my deep purple mum, when I saw the excited Corinne running toward me, her goldenblond hair fanning out behind her like a shawl spun of sunlight.