In Search of Satisfaction (20 page)

Arabella smiled, “And you are Mrs. Befoe? Or someone she has sent with a message of condolence for me?”

Carlene now smiled with sarcasm. “I AM Mrs. Befoe AND Miss Befoe. I have been a Befoe all my life!”

Arabella was now level with Carlene. “How wonderful for you. I’m sure you are quite pleased.” She smiled pleasantly. “Ahhhh, Mrs. Befoe, may I be of some service to you?”

Carlene looked around her. “Do we stand here in a hall to talk? Surely my father taught you better manners than this.”

“Your father, my husband, taught me many things. But I always do what I decide to do. Yes … I will invite you to sit and talk a moment. Follow me, please. Would you like some tea? … or coffee? I have no hard liquor in the house, I’m afraid.” She led the way to a nearby sitting room where a small fire was burning. Carlene knew that she or someone had been expected. She thought to herself, “This bitch expected me. So she knows how to play a game, mmph. Well, she’s playing with the wrong woman now. My father may have been a fool for her, but I am not my father.”

As they made themselves comfortable, Carlene spoke, “I do not care for anything. I simply wanted to see the woman who had … taken advantage of my father.”

Arabella laughed, startling Carlene. “Taken advantage of your father?” She continued to laugh with gentle gusto. “You think your father was a fool then! Oh, my dear, my dear, it seems your father took advantage
of you!” Her body was shaking with her laughter. “You do not know your father!” Suddenly the laughter stopped, but she continued speaking. “Certainly not as I do.”

Carlene was getting angry, but could think of nothing to do or say that would upset this woman and still leave herself a lady more highborn than Arabella. “Yes,” she finally said, “I am sure I do not know him as you do. Where are the … children?”

Arabella smiled. “The children? They are too old to be called children. My son, our son, Carl junior, is away at school. He will be going to college very soon. My … our daughter, Heda, is upstairs attending classes with her tutor and governess.”

Carlene’s voice was very low as she asked, “You have named your son, Carl junior.”

Arabella still smiled. “Yes, after his father … at his father’s request.”

Carlene could hardly stand being where she was, hearing what she was hearing and looking at this horrible, horrible woman. She spoke in a tight voice. “You took everything you could from him, didn’t you?”

Arabella still smiled. “Dear, ladies never ‘take.’ Ladies never have to.” She laughed that gentle, infuriating laughter. “And don’t forget, I didn’t take you from him.” Suddenly Arabella stopped smiling and became serious. “But, yes, where is your sister, Sally? Carl lost touch with her. She was moving so much and you … said he had not received any mail from her.”

Carlene was taken aback. “What do you want with my sister Sally?”

“Well,” Arabella answered, “Carl left something very special to him … for her. I wish to give it to her.”

Carlene thought a moment. “What is it? What special thing did he leave for Sally?”

Arabella leaned back in her chair. “I cannot really say what it is. It is wrapped and has been for years. He said many times, it was for Sally … when … he … passed on.”

Carlene sat forward in her chair. “Give it to me. I will see that she gets it.”

Arabella thought a moment. “No … I would rather give it to her myself. I’m sure you won’t mind. Carl’s request was to me, you know, dear.”

Carlene’s voice became hard, “You are very rude to tell me I cannot take a … gift from my own father to my own sister.”

Arabella stood up. “And you have been trying to be rude to me since you arrived here in my house. I cannot see what further need you have of me … and I have some very important things I must do. So if you will excuse me … I will have the maid show you.…”

Carlene stood up, enraged. “How dare you! To try to put me out of my own father’s house!”

Arabella’s voice now became hardened. “This is MY home, Mrs. Befoe. I tolerate no one here I do not wish to.”

Carlene turned to leave. “I was ready to leave anyway, but,” she turned back to Arabella, “this house may not always be your home. I have lawyers, excellent lawyers. I am going to contest the actions my father took. He was old and obviously sick.”

Arabella’s voice did not rise. “Then you will have to have his will examined where you and Sally are concerned, also. Perhaps he did not know what he was doing there either. And Mrs. Befoe, he DID talk to me a great deal about you … and Sally … and what he wanted for her … and you.”

Carlene could only stare at Arabella, wondering how much she knew. Had she talked to the lawyers? Were they friends? Did she know? Did they know? They were always wondering why Sally had not come in to see them.

“Something is wrong here,” Arabella thought to herself. “I will find Sally on my own.” She turned to the door where the maid had suddenly appeared. “Please, show … Mr. Befoe’s daughter out.” She turned to go up the stairs and never turned back to Carlene until she had reached the top. Carlene was still standing, stupefied, staring up at Arabella. Arabella knew the grandness of a stairway as her late husband had. She turned her head to look over her shoulder at Carlene and said, “It would please me, dear, if you do not return to my home until you are invited. Good day.” Then her skirts swished as she disappeared from view.

Carlene, blinded by tears of anger, was soon out the front door and being helped into the automobile. She looked back at the house until she could see it no more. When she did turn around, her first thought was “Perhaps I had better leave well enough alone. I won’t contest my father’s provision for her.” A wave of anger swept through her then. Her
heart raged with the question, “But what is in that package from my father to Sally?” She hated Arabella and Sally.

The devil, Satan, had much amusement with what had happened to Carlene. Even though she was a faithful subject of his, he didn’t like her at all. Satan cannot love, you know.

c
arlene’s thoughts on this early morning were tearing at her nerves. She sat her father’s picture down and reached out to her liquor tray which always sat on the edge of the desk. She poured a brandy. She thought as she sipped, “My father would have been overjoyed to know he had well-balanced grandchildren.” She forgot Sally’s children were also what could be called “well-balanced.” However, they had proved with the treatment of their mother that they did not know much about love.

She frowned into her glass. “He never did spend much time with Richlene. Never.” But Carlene had spoken so disparaging of Richlene and had taken so little time with her herself, he had just followed suit. She had done the same with Sally’s children. Belittling them, ridiculing them, laughing at them, she had colored his vision. As she had about Sally. She had been abrasive. Carl was not a complete fool about Carlene. He had hidden his new family. He never let her meet them or told her about them. But she had heard about them anyway. And hated them, as he had known she would.

Carlene stopped reminiscing a moment, looked out at the sunny morning and took another drink from the crystal glass, thinking, “But he
couldn’t always leave me behind. I began to travel myself!” She smiled, but it was not a pretty smile. “I went to all the great capitals of the world. I shopped in Paris and Rome. I have been dressed by the greatest. I have been served by the best!”

Carlene had traveled almost to the point of maternal indecency while Richlene was growing up. Richard stayed home, handling the huge financial structure and seeking help for Richlene. Carlene always saw that she received statements and reports because she knew about keeping watch over your kingdom. She did buy beautiful clothes, jewels, furs, carriages and even some art. To show, to have, more than to enjoy. She entertained, huge parties in Befoe homes all over the world. She received many invitations, although not many people really liked her. She did not entertain much in Yoville, it was so far out of the way, and she had not wanted the railroad spur to come there. She had arranged for a large, richly outfitted barge to be built to carry her along the river from the Mythville railroad station ten or so miles from Yoville. She came home only to rest until it was time to go again.

She had lovers. She was a passionate woman. But she was a liar. A liar is also a sneak and sneaks do many things we never know of. Carlene was one of Satan’s people. But since Satan cannot love, he did not love her and he always took the people she loved from her in payment for his gifts. However, she always made the first choice. Her life was the result of her choices. And I suppose he was pleased because she could do so much more harm as an unhappy lady.

She replaced her father’s picture on the desk and reached for Richlene’s. She did not hold it to her breast. She stared at it and, unusual for her, tears formed in her eyes. She was thinking of the past again. But who was she crying for? Richlene? Herself?

The sun was moving across the sky, the weather was glorious, but Carlene saw none of it on this morning. All her thoughts were turned inward.

a
fter Richard learned Richlene could speak from her own mind, they became even closer over the years. She was almost fifteen years old. He devoted much of his time to the business but came home often and spent much of his time there with his daughter. He often tucked her in at night. He always kissed her good night. She would often ask him to stay with her until she went to sleep.

He was a man lonely of soul. Yes, he had his women, but he really was a family man. He loved his home. He had begun to drink after arguments or hard words with Carlene. He wanted more children, Carlene wanted neither him nor more children. Then he would be angry and sulk until he went to see his daughter.

One evening he returned late from a business trip. The day had ended with a few drinks to celebrate a business success with his associates. He left these friends to go visit his current lady, who was not in because she had not expected him. He felt no special tie to this woman so was not disturbed at her absence. He would have stayed the night had she been in, he paid the rent. Instead he chose to go home, a two-hour train ride.

He had a few private drinks on the train, feeling sorry for himself.
He was so alone. The house was dark when he arrived. He went in to see his daughter, his love. He lay beside her, loving the child in his heart. He kissed her brow, smoothed her hair, smiled down at her, then lay his head upon her pillow and fell asleep. During the night he woke up cold and, lifting the covers, he got in beside her.

Now perhaps he was not an evil man, this man. Maybe he thought he was with his city woman, but that woman was certainly not a virgin. Or he just what …? He made love to his daughter sometime during that night. Why did she not scream out? This man was her father. In her own heart, was she grateful to be in his arms? Did she know the loneliness, the need in his soul, that would make him do this horrible thing? What were her thoughts? This child who was also lonely. In need, not of this kind of love, but to be touched, held by someone she knew loved her? She did not understand just what he was doing, but she knew if someone came in, it would be wrong. She cried, but softly. During his orgasm, he became wide awake. He could not stop himself, but he froze in his position, staring down at her. Her eyes were open, filled with tears, but there was no look of accusation on her face. He stealthily arose, cleaned his daughter with his shirt. Then she spoke, softly, through her tears. “Dadda, you hurt me. I hurt.”

His tears came. “Dadda is so sorry, baby. So sorry, so sorry. Hush, now, hush. Don’t cry.” He looked around the room, bleary eyed, saw her pills her mother kept for her when she was getting hysterical and found the one he wanted. He gave her some water, she took the pill. He stayed with her, talking her to sleep. “Dadda so sorry, my baby. This will never happen again.”

“You … you pro … mise?”

“I promise from the bottom of my heart.”

“I hurt.”

“I know. Oh, I know. Go to sleep, baby, go to sleep.”

He stole away to his room. He lay in his bed, alone, crying quietly in that deep hoarse way men have, until the sun came up. Then he fled quietly away to the train and the city. And left Richlene … alone.

r
ichard went directly to his mother’s house. He sent a message to Carlene that his mother Marian was ill and he would be staying with her
until she recovered, taking care of his business from there. His mother was happy to have him there and was pleased Carlene had not come with him. She could tell he was disturbed about something, but she did not ask any questions. She took it for granted his wife made him unhappy. “I hope my dear son is planning a divorce,” she thought. “I cannot bear the thought of that … woman spending my money after I have gone from this earth.” Even though her husband was dead and she was alone, she simply continued maintaining the schedule she always kept in the huge mansion. Chapel in the mornings, full breakfast and dinner services at the long, formal dining room table with the crystal and gold-laced lemoges plates, chandelier or candles lighted. Servants served and waited behind her chair as she quietly ate the several courses prepared every day. So she was pleased to have her son with her for a while.

Richard’s conscience bothered him a great deal. He could not sleep, tossing and turning all night, every night. He walked and walked over the acres of land. He sat staring into space. Finally, one night, after a dinner he had hardly touched, he spoke of his problem to his mother as they sat before the great fireplace that crackled with flames. His remorse bore heavily on him. In self-degradation, he told her what had happened, what he had done to his child, Richlene.

Marian continued staring into the fire but said nothing for long moments. When, at last, she turned to him, she looked at him for a long time. Her eyes made a slight, inner shift and she was looking beyond him. When she rose to leave, she passed him and placed her hand on his bent shoulders, pressing his shoulders for a long moment. “You are my son,” she said. “You did not intend to do it. It was not done with … evil intent. You have not done as much wrong as you may think.” She began to walk away then stopped, turning back to him. “We shall never speak of … this … again.” Then she was gone.