The Shadows of Foxworth Page 15

  I stared at her for a moment. She played with her fork and knife and looked at her empty plate. The twins came back in and told her she had to go up to change and reminded her to go to the bathroom so she could go for a walk in the park soon.

  “Can Marlena come, too?” she asked.

  “No, she has to stay to do her lessons,” Minnie said.

  “With none of us disturbing her,” Emma said. “Mrs. Trafalgar is packing sandwiches for us. We’ll have a picnic in the park. You like that.”

  She looked at them and then turned sharply to me, for a moment looking more like Aunt Effie.

  “You come to the picnic,” she said. She did sound like Aunt Effie giving orders, but her imitating her sister was almost comical.

  “I think I have to stay here and have lunch with Miss Cornfield,” I said. “Maybe another time.”

  Aunt Pauline folded her arms tightly under her bosom and looked like she was going to pout.

  I touched her shoulder. “I promise,” I said.

  She eyed me suspiciously. “I don’t like promises,” she said. “As Daddy says, ‘Promises ain’t worth the words you use to make them.’ ”

  “When I promise something, I mean it,” I said, smiling. “That’s what my mama and papa taught me.”

  “My brother Beau and his wife,” she said, nodding.

  “Yes.”

  She relaxed. The twins began to clear the table quickly. They looked like they were afraid to hear anything else I might say, especially about my parents.

  It made me wonder for a moment. Do they or would they spy for Aunt Effie?

  Exactly an hour after Aunt Effie had told me she would arrive, Ella Cornfield appeared at the front door. The twins were still upstairs with Aunt Pauline, and Mrs. Trafalgar, who I didn’t think did much more than prepare meals anyway, did not come out of the kitchen when the doorbell sounded. It was up to me to greet my new tutor. Was this meant to be my first new test?

  I was surprised at how small she was. Ella Cornfield was just an inch or so taller than me. Anyone looking at her from behind would surely mistake her for a young girl. She wore a pair of wire-rimmed glasses with round lenses that were set just a trifle below the bridge of her small but distinctly sharp nose. Standing there with her lips pressed together, she looked like she had a knife slice of a mouth. Her grayish-white complexion brought out the sparkle of her light-green eyes. The wrinkles at the sides of them webbed and ran deep. Her graying dark-brown hair was swept up in a bun. She wore a tailored ruby jacket tight at the hips and a matching long, flared skirt. I admired her stylish high ankle boots. She was carrying a black leather briefcase.

  She cleared her throat, more to stop me from staring at her than anything, and said in sharp, clear diction, “I am Miss Cornfield. I suspect you are Marlena, Effie Dawson’s niece?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I said, and why I did it, I don’t know. It was her forceful presence, perhaps, but I curtsied and then stepped back.

  When I didn’t move in any direction, she raised her eyebrows, in which there were invading gray hairs. “We’re not going to work in a hallway, are we?” she said.

  “Oh. My aunt has designated the sitting room to be my classroom.”

  “Then let’s get started. My first lesson is to respect time,” she said firmly.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  I led the way. She paused in the doorway and looked about. “You take the settee,” she said, nodding at it.

  Most everything she said and I suspected she would say sounded more like a command than a request. Unlike Mr. Donald, she didn’t ask me any personal questions. She was all business, having me go through some tests to determine my skills. Her tests were a little longer and more elaborate but were still not a major challenge for me, even though she made me very nervous because of the way she stared and watched me, as if she could see my thoughts.

  When she stepped closer to me, I could smell the scent of fresh strawberries. Whatever the perfume was, it was strong, as if she had squeezed the juice out of the berries and let it streak down her neck. I wouldn’t have noticed it as much if it didn’t remind me of strawberries back in France. Mama and I would pick the wild ones, and she would make jam.

  “Did you go to a formal school for English?” she asked when she looked over my responses.

  “No, ma’am. My mama taught my brother and me how to read and write English.”

  She nodded and then began the first lessons in various business correspondence formats.

  Just when I hoped we would break for lunch, she sat in the upholstered antique oak accent chair that she had moved closer to the table and pressed her fingertips together in cathedral fashion.

  “You have been taught well,” she said, sounding more like someone making a conclusion than giving my mother a compliment. “I think we can move you along to the necessary skills to begin an internship quickly. You understand what that means?”

  “Yes, ma’am. My aunt has told me what she plans for me to do.”

  I waited for her to say more and then smiled when she didn’t. She looked like she was thinking very hard about what to say next.

  “I understand you suffered some indignities yesterday.”

  My first thought was, Aunt Effie told her? Didn’t that mean she did believe me? Why did she refuse to show me she did and then go tell Miss Cornfield?

  “Yes, I did. It was very unpleasant for me.”

  “Actually, that was good,” she said.

  “Pardon, ma’am?”

  She finally smiled. “A young girl, a young woman, I should say, with your physical attributes will suffer and endure similar experiences when she enters what is a man’s kingdom. I can’t teach you the skills necessary to counter and avoid. That is something you have to find in yourself. My only advice is to contain your outrage, be unafraid, and do what is expedient.”

  “Expedient?”

  “Necessary to survive. Make yourself valuable, and you’ll have a better chance to do that. Let’s continue,” she said.

  She was clearly not interested in lunch, and Mrs. Trafalgar did not appear in the doorway to tell us anything was prepared and ready. I did get hungry and was on the verge of asking her about it, when she surprised me by suddenly standing up and declaring that today’s lessons were over. She outlined our schedule for the weeks ahead, gave me my homework, mainly in grammar exercises and spelling, and then started out. I followed her to the door.

  “I thought you were going to have lunch with me and go through the dining etiquette,” I said. Perhaps I sounded too disappointed or critical.

  She stepped back and drew the corners of her mouth back so hard that it looked like the knife that cut the image of her mouth had continued into her cheeks. Her eyebrows were up and her eyes wide.

  “I didn’t mean to sound like I was complaining,” I immediately added.

  “I’m an academic. I’m here for one purpose: to prepare you for work, not social events. Miss Dawson will either instruct you in what she feels necessary or find some… someone else for that. However, I will have Miss Dawson arrange for us to have something to eat informally in the future. Do the work I have outlined for you so we can move ahead rapidly. Any other questions?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  She almost smiled. Then she looked up at the entryway ceiling and chandelier and nodded. “I remember your grandfather. He gave me the impossible task of trying to educate your aunt Pauline. But he was the sort of man who wouldn’t accept failure. He’d rather ignore it. I don’t know you at all well enough to be sure,” she continued, “but I don’t think you’ll be anything like him.”

  She started toward her car and driver. I backed into the house and closed the door.

  Yes, I thought, I won’t be like my grandfather, but I’m not sure I can say the same for my brother.

  As if they had been watching the house from somewhere across the way, the twins brought Aunt Pauline home a minute or so after Miss Cornfield had left.

  Mrs. Trafalgar had left a platter of cheeses, tomatoes, lettuce, and bread with a jug of fresh cold water on the formally set dining-room table, so I sat down and began eating. The twins looked surprised that I was by myself, but Pauline was so excited she wanted to eat another lunch. They tried to get her to leave and let me eat.

  “It’s fine,” I told them, and they went into the kitchen. “How was your picnic, Aunt Pauline?” I asked her. She did still act hungry.

  “I didn’t like it,” she said.

  “Why not?”

  “I wanted to get up and go to the pond, but they wouldn’t let me go. They thought I’d get wet. They sat beside me so I couldn’t just get up and run away.”

  “Oh? Why would you want to run away?”

  She looked angrily at the doorway to the kitchen and then leaned over to whisper. “Daddy was there. He waved to me and wanted me to take a walk with him.”

  I stared at her. She was so confident of what she was saying that a part of me was wondering if I should believe her.

  “Did you tell Emma or Minnie?”

  She sat back. “Many times,” she said. “They never believe me when I tell them I saw Daddy.”

  “Well, next time you see your father, you tell me,” I said, and patted her hand.

  “I will,” she said, smiling. She looked overjoyed with the possibility.

  I wished I was as easy to please.

  Later, when Yvon came home, he hurried to ask me how my new tutor was. He looked just as excited as he had the day before, anxious to get me to talk so he could describe his day.

  “It went well,” I said. “I’m finishing the homework she gave me. I don’t think it’s easy to do, but I managed to like her.”

  “Why isn’t it easy to like her?”

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nbsp; “She’s all business.”

  “Time is money to these people. We can’t argue with that,” he said.

  I told him what she had advised me and what she had said about our grandfather.

  He thought a moment. “Well,” he said, “I don’t think he ignored what he had to do to make a successful business. He was a leader in this industry. Do you know they have his picture in the city hall, among those of other very important businessmen who helped build this city into what it is and is becoming? We have a lot to be proud of, Marlena. People could be jealous or upset that he didn’t think highly enough of them. I’m sure he was very selective about whom he chose as friends. I’ve only been there two days, but I can tell you this… you either make friends or make profit. That’s the American way.”

  “And you like that?”

  “I’m going to do what I have to do to make sure you and I have the best of everything. That’s what I like. But I am making new friends at the company who might be of some advantage to me. I might go out with a couple of them one night. We share a lot in common now. It’s not a bad life to have, Marlena. You’ll see.”

  It wasn’t only that Yvon sounded different; he looked different. It was as if he had found a way to make good use of his anger and his skepticism. He was in a world that put value on all that, a world that made those things seem more like strength to admire than behavior and feelings to pity.

  “Why did Papa walk away from it all, then, Yvon? Why couldn’t he do both, paint and be in business?”

  He looked like he was going to say something and then shifted his eyes to look away.

  “Do you have any idea?”

  “I don’t know exactly. What difference does it make now? We’re here; we have no place else to go.”

  “We could go home,” I said. “That’s my dream.”

  “Go home? Where I could be a cobbler and you could be a seamstress, maybe marry a fisherman and have children draining you of your youth and hope?”

  “That didn’t happen to Mama and Papa, did it?”

  “They were special. It happens to most. Let’s not argue about it. We’re both on the right paths. I can’t wait for you to be working at our company.” He smiled. “Then you’ll understand everything.”

  “Our company,” I muttered.

  “That’s what it is, what it will be, Marlena.” He smiled again. “Find a way to get used to being rich.” He waited for me to smile.

  “There’s something else happening here, Yvon. There’s something… that might hurt us,” I predicted.

  He pulled himself back, a look of dissatisfaction filling his face before I could say anything else. “Oui,” he said. “I know.”

  “You do? What?”

  “Failure,” he said, and went up to change for dinner.

  I watched him ascend, feeling a new emptiness inside. With Yvon finding friends, I’d have only poor Aunt Pauline. How would I deal with such loneliness? Whether I liked it or not now, I had to become part of the business, become part of something besides myself.

  I heard the front door opening and turned to see Aunt Effie enter.

  “Well?” she asked without a hello.

  I knew what she wanted to hear. “I think I’ll learn quickly with her,” I said.

  She nodded. “Of course you will. I didn’t think it would take long for you and your brother to realize what you have to do. I can’t wait for when I don’t have to be the one to convince you,” she added. “How is my sister?”

  It was on the tip of my tongue to tell her about her references to their father so I could see what her reaction truly was, but for now that felt like a betrayal.

  “She had a second lunch with me. Miss Cornfield did not want to work on dining etiquette. She said—”

  “I know, I know. It was hard enough to get her to come out of retirement to do what she is doing with you. We’ll worry about social events later.”

  She started away and then paused.

  “Your father was a very good student, too,” she said. I was about to smile when she added, “What a waste.”

  Before I could give her a sharp reply, she turned and started up the stairs.

  I almost didn’t tell Yvon what she had said. I anticipated him saying something like Ignore her. Let’s just lay claim to what is ours. He didn’t say that when I told him, but he didn’t say anything nasty about her, either. He just nodded as if he had expected it.

  Expecting was one thing, but tolerating was another. Something important between us was slipping away. I didn’t know exactly what it was, but I could feel it, feel the widening gap. I tried not to think about it during the weeks that followed.

  Miss Cornfield adhered to my aunt’s plan for me and began an intense concentration on my learning shorthand. For hours over the next few weeks, she would pace the room and read from business manuals and texts while I scrambled to keep up with her. She wasn’t nasty or unpleasant about my mistakes or my failing to keep up. Instead, she slowed down, explained, and kept me concentrating so hard that I was truly exhausted at the end of the day’s lessons. Teaching me the symbols and abbreviations for words and common phrases surprisingly brought me to the point where I was writing as quickly as she spoke.

  Meanwhile, as time passed, Yvon was given more and more responsibility at the company office. He began to accompany the other agents to evaluate properties. One night after dinner, when he went on and on excitedly about a building in Richmond that was perfect for offices to rent, I sat with my pen in hand and practiced shorthand, copying down each and every word he had said. At one point, he stopped talking and accused me of ignoring him.

  “You don’t realize how important something like this is, Marlena.”

  I looked up at him. “Yes, I do, Yvon,” I said, and then read off my notepad, reciting back to him every word he had said. Aunt Pauline, who had been sitting with us as she often did, began laughing when Yvon did, even though she had no idea why she should.

  “That’s amazing,” he said. “Does Aunt Effie know how far you’ve come, what you can do?”

  “I’m sure Miss Cornfield is keeping her up on my progress,” I said.

  Weeks later, after we had finished our main course at dinner, Aunt Effie put her silverware down, clasped her hands, and announced that Miss Cornfield thought I was doing “exceedingly well,” and that it wouldn’t be that much longer before I was ready to intern at the offices. “You will start to earn a small salary, and that will improve as you gain more experience,” she said.

  “That’s wonderful,” Yvon said, and looked at me, urging me with his eyes to sound appreciative and excited.

  “Yes, thank you,” I said, more to please Yvon than my aunt Effie.

  Then I looked at Aunt Pauline. She understood that something significant was happening, but she wasn’t quite sure what it was. I had made it a point to spend most of my free time with her, reading to her from novels and listening to music on the new disc-playing machine Aunt Effie had bought. Sometimes Pauline would sing along, and she soon began to be able to sing all by herself if I started one of the songs we had heard repeatedly.

  I had told Aunt Effie and Yvon how beautiful Aunt Pauline’s voice was and how she had the ability to mimic the recordings.

  “Maybe Aunt Pauline can sing something for us to celebrate,” I said.

  Aunt Pauline did look confused but excited.

  “Her best one is ‘Sweet Adeline,’ ” I said. “Aunt Pauline, would you sing that for us?”

  “Really,” Aunt Effie said dryly, but as if I had pushed a button, Aunt Pauline sat back and began to sing.

  Yvon smiled, but Aunt Effie looked at her in the strangest way. It wasn’t with any sisterly pride, nor was it embarrassment. It was more like pity, which was at least some show of real feeling for her, I thought.

  When she was finished, Yvon and I clapped.

  It was very quiet for a moment, and then Aunt Effie said, “She used to sing for our father.”

  Aunt Pauline’s eyes lit up. “I still do, Effie,” she said.

  Aunt Effie looked at the ceiling, turned her head, sighed deeply, and stood.

  Before she could leave, I spoke up. “I’d like to take Aunt Pauline for a picnic tomorrow if the weather permits,” I said. “I promised her I would.”