Secrets of Foxworth Read online

  There was no reason for me to be surprised about that. Anyone, even our teachers, who usually didn’t pay attention to such things, could see that we were looking at each other more intently. Those feelings, those moments gazing at each other so long that they could be called staring, were not easy to hide or prevent. Neither of us seemed to care if anyone knew about our deeper feelings for each other, anyway. Kane always seemed to me to be someone like that, but it was new for me. Suddenly, I wasn’t as bashful or concerned about what other people were thinking of me.

  When I thought about it, I wondered how Corrine and Christopher Sr. had hidden their passion for each other from her parents, at least in the beginning. Probably, they reached a point when they knew they couldn’t any longer, and that was when they had decided to run off together. I couldn’t help but imagine them sneaking around that mansion at night, clinging to each other in shadows, terrified they would be discovered, and hating that it had to be that way. It made them feel as dirty and as sinful as her parents would think they were, and who could live with that?

  Kane and I had known each other for a long time. Were he and I always going to be this passionate about each other? Were my feelings for Kane and his feelings for me always this obvious to everyone else but me? My girlfriends were always telling me that he liked me more than he liked other girls he had dated, but I didn’t dwell on it, especially during these last few days when I was reading Christopher’s diary. Besides, I was always skeptical about Kane. To me, it still looked like he was shopping around, and I was reluctant to be easy, anyway. I thought my girlfriends knew that. Maybe those others he had disappointed just wanted me to be another victim caught in Kane Hill’s web.

  Or maybe it was always my fault. Maybe I was simply too afraid of being disappointed. Was I more like Uncle Tommy than I was like my father? Being deceived and betrayed after you had exposed yourself in a commitment could be devastating. You’d never trust any boy after that. Kane, despite what he had said and how he had behaved, especially at the lake, was so casual about everything he did that it was easy to have this feeling, this fear. Even now, it sneaked in under my growing affection for him. What if he began to date someone else the following week? If just like that, he turned away from me? How was I supposed to take it?

  Too many of the girls I knew, especially in the junior and senior classes, were satisfied with what they called “hooking up.” Committing themselves to one boy for a long period of time was for the insecure. It was more fun to circulate. “What’s your goal, to be the king and queen at the prom or something? Please, give me a break.” I overheard these conversations, and they weren’t only coming from envious girlfriends. Many, if not most, believed it.

  Maybe they were right to think that way. How did you know the right decisions to make when you were our age? How many of my girlfriends really had close enough relationships with their mothers to get some guidance, and how many even wanted it? Everyone seemed suspicious of her parents. Whose mother would ever suggest intimate relationships, much less condone them? But everyone was titillated with the prospect, including me, although that was my most secret thought.

  Would Cathy have these thoughts before she left Foxworth? She’d have no experiences, no chances to develop even small relationships. Suddenly, she would find herself dropped into the world my girlfriends and I were navigating but without the benefit of growing into it, developing. It would be like taking a sixth-grader, having her in a coma for three years, and then pushing her into the teenage world.

  According to what my father had told me about the Foxworth children, Uncle Tommy knew someone who had been a servant at the mansion and confirmed that Cathy was more than fifteen by the time they left. She was just a little younger than I was. Three years without any contact with other girls, while her body was developing and her interest in boys and her own feelings should have had healthy room for exploration. How could any girl come out of that normal?

  It was difficult to not get lost in these thoughts, even when my friends were chatting around me. I knew I looked preoccupied, but they all thought it was because I was so swept up in my first big love affair. They continued to press me on what I was wearing for the party, but I told them I wasn’t sure.

  “Nothing fancy,” was all I would say. I really wasn’t sure. I never was one to plan what to wear in advance. Sometimes I would decide only minutes before going somewhere.

  I did go right home after school with the intention of figuring that out, but when I realized Kane was coming for me in less than two and a half hours, I decided I had to get into the diary for at least an hour and a half of that. I had nothing else I had to do but dress for the party. I scooped the book out from under my pillow and lay back on it to turn the page and begin.

  One day dragged into another so seamlessly I lost track of time, but Cathy was always there to remind me how long we had been locked away. If there was one thing I hated, it was wasting time. Besides games we could play and invent, there were, fortunately, dozens and dozens of books to read. Momma, true to her word, brought us games and cards. I tried constantly to keep the twins occupied with whatever toys Momma could bring and things I found that might amuse them.

  Our grandmother was there with our meals. Most of the time, she said nothing, but she soon began cross-examining us about the Bible. We were ordered to read it daily and memorize important quotes. She demanded that both Cathy and I repeat one, obviously to see if we were lying when we said we had read the Bible. Cathy surprised her with her quote from Genesis, one I had taken time explaining and illustrating why it was a good one to throw at our grandmother. Cathy did it with that smug smile I was beginning to love: “Wherefore have you rewarded evil for good?”

  I looked quickly at Grandmother Olivia. Her eyes widened, and her face reddened a shade or two, but she sucked back her breath and spun on me. “Quote from Job,” she ordered. I felt as self-satisfied as Cathy did, because the book of Job was my favorite story. I went on and on, until she shouted, “Enough!”

  That turned out to be the first and last time she would question me. I could see how much it hurt her to admit to herself that I was intelligent enough to read and understand the Bible as well as, if not even better than, she could.

  I hoped that maybe it would soften her treatment of Momma. Momma did look happier and more settled and comfortable when she arrived each evening, sometimes bringing us better things to eat, but never candy, which made the twins moan more. She rambled on about how she was slowly winning over her father. Then one day, she did bring us some melted ice cream and cake. I could see she was even happier. Her father had given her a car to use. She said this convinced her he would forgive her. Cathy wasn’t impressed. We had been locked away for a little more than two weeks, but Momma made it clear that if he found out about us now, all would be lost. Reluctantly, Cathy retreated. I did my best to buoy her hopes, all our hopes.

  We began a fully involved search of the large attic to pass time and amuse ourselves. Cory was fascinated by the piano but soon tired of its out-of-tune groans. I found five old Victrolas. One worked better than the others, but all we had were Enrico Caruso records, very scratched. Cory was intrigued with winding the Victrola and amused at the way the great singer sounded when it was made to go too fast or too slowly. I winked at Cathy. One of the twins was satisfied for a while. Carrie still hated the attic and went back downstairs to play with her dolls and other toys. She surprised us with her willingness to be alone, separate from Cory, but it also underscored how much she hated the attic.

  Bored myself finally, I decided to amuse them all with my imitations of Grandmother Olivia barking her orders and rules. I even had the twins laughing like children again, but their attention spans were short. They wandered about, getting into trouble, cutting fingers, getting splinters. Cathy was good at mothering, and I made sure they didn’t get infections. Sometimes they pouted and were defiant, holding their breath until their faces turned red. It made Cathy nervous, but I
told her to ignore them.

  “Just like Momma is ignoring us,” she fired back, and did some pouting herself, flaring at me and asking, “How can she leave us all up here so long?”

  I didn’t feel like going through the explanation again and again, emphasizing how much this could mean for us. “Momma is doing all this to guarantee our future,” was all I said.

  Then weeks went by without Momma visiting us on Sundays. Inside, I was beginning to panic, but I did all I could to keep it to myself. Finally, she showed up wearing a beautiful and expensive-looking sailing outfit. I had been upstairs sifting through books I wanted to read and heard the shouting below. Cathy was tearing into her. When I descended, I saw how Momma was near tears. I had to help her. She looked desperate.

  I raved about how beautiful she looked. “What a change since we came here,” I emphasized, looking at Cathy. “You’re succeeding. It’s obvious.”

  “No!” Cathy screamed. “This has got to stop. I hate it up here. You have to tell your father about us.”

  Suddenly, Momma leaned forward, covering her face with her hands. I put my hand on her shoulder, but she shook her head, and when she looked up, I saw there was pure terror in her face. Cathy gathered the twins to her, and I sat beside them.

  “What is it, Momma?” I asked.

  She admitted she hadn’t been completely honest with us. I thought she wasn’t going to say why, but Cathy demanded it. “The letter I told you my mother wrote to me when I pleaded for help . . .”

  “Yes?” Cathy asked. “Well, tell us. We can take it. After what we’ve been enduring, we can take anything.”

  “Cathy,” I whispered.

  She shook me off and glared at Momma.

  “My father wrote a note at the bottom of her letter.”

  “So?”

  “He said he was glad you father died.”

  “What?” I asked.

  “He said evil and corrupt get their just rewards.”

  I was about to curse him out when Momma coldly added, “And that the only good thing about my marriage was that it hadn’t created any devil issue.”

  “He means children,” I told Cathy.

  “I know that. I’ve been reading the Bible, haven’t I?”

  “He considered Daddy evil and corrupt solely because he married his half-niece?”

  “What else could he consider? Your father was a wonderful, good man.” Her face turned bitter with hot, angry rage. “Your grandfather could find something evil in an angel.”

  She ranted on about him, practically spitting every time she mentioned him. Then she softened and told us how her original plan was to bring us to him, hopeful that when he saw how brilliant I was and how talented and beautiful Cathy was, his horrible ideas about our being the devil’s issue would disappear.

  “But that was my dream, my fantasy. I don’t know what I was thinking when I planned that.”

  “So you’re not going to tell him about us?” Cathy asked. “Ever?”

  She shook her head.

  “Great, let’s go,” Cathy muttered.

  “No, no. Don’t worry,” Momma said. “He’s going to die soon.” She pleaded with Cathy to be patient. The tears streamed down her face. “We’re close,” she kept saying. “So close.”

  I rose and embraced her. Looking at Cathy, I said, “Don’t worry. You’re not asking too much of us, not when we consider what we’ll all gain.”

  Cathy looked away and shook her head, but Momma was pleased and stopped crying. The twins sat there, still stunned at the scene playing out before them. Momma hugged them and then tried to hug Cathy. She didn’t hug back. She just stared at the floor, shaking her head. I walked Momma to the door.

  “Don’t worry,” I whispered. “I’ll keep them amused.”

  “You’re so much like your father,” Momma said. “So mature and so strong.” She kissed me on the lips. I couldn’t help but kiss her back, luxuriating in the soft sweetness of her lips. Then she left and locked the door behind her.

  I turned and looked at Cathy.

  She was staring at me in a way I had never seen her look at me. It was as if she had just discovered who I really was.

  How strange Corrine was, I thought. What sort of way was that to kiss your own son? And a mother who wanted her own father dead and wanted her children practically to pray for it to happen? This was really bothering me now. Couldn’t she find some other way to get them safe and secure? And once she realized what it was really going to be like for her children and her, why didn’t she abandon her plan? How could she let them suffer so? I couldn’t stop envisioning those poor gullible children, even Christopher, who was so blinded by his devotion to her, believing it wouldn’t take much longer.

  Even lower forms of animals had instinctive drives to protect their young. It was unnatural for a mother to endanger her own children. From what I had read so far, Corrine’s parents were so fanatical and cruel it wouldn’t exactly take a brain surgeon to be intelligent enough to see the writing on the wall. This was hopeless.

  I sat there stewing over it so long that I was shocked when I looked up at the clock and saw it was nearly six, and I hadn’t yet showered, brushed my hair, or even thought about what I would wear.

  I jumped up as if springs had popped under me and then threw off my clothes as I charged into the bathroom. My friends had convinced me that because I was Kane’s girlfriend, I was practically cohosting this party, and with all that was being done for it, it was going to be the blast of blasts. Despite my casual attitude about what I would wear, I knew I had to look special, act my part. This wasn’t just some house party. Money and influence made families royalty in America, not birth and blood. The Hills were major contributors to the campaigns of the mayor, the congressman, both state senators, and the governor. If you bought a vehicle at one of the Hill dealerships and had a problem a politician could solve, Kane’s father, Crosby Hill, would make a call for you.

  There were no real castles in America handed down for centuries. There were, however, huge houses and estates that more than rivaled old castles because of their expensive construction materials, pools, tennis courts, landscaping, and technology. Kane’s home was one of those nouveau castles to which people dreamed of being invited. For a few hours of one evening, I would be like the lady of Hill Hall.

  My father hadn’t done any work on the Hill house himself. He knew other builders who had, and he never drove us past it without making some comment about the house that was “practically built out of solid gold.” He would go on and on about the high quality of the plumbing or the newest materials for roofing. Until now, I practically fell asleep listening, even though he spoke with passion. He was like an artist admiring the achievements of another. I smiled to myself about it, but I wasn’t exactly fascinated with the house—at least, not until now.

  I was afraid to ask him how the restored Foxworth Hall compared, but just from what I had seen of the property and the amount of rubble, I could see that Foxworth Hall had been much bigger and, of course, had much more acreage. Although Corrine’s parents weren’t popular people and were apparently more concerned with religion than their social status and political influence, I couldn’t help believing they were quite important at one time or another. Perhaps Corrine dreamed of all this, saw herself as assuming a throne of some sort, once her parents were gone and she had inherited it all. Maybe she wasn’t just selfish but coldly ambitious after all.

  I really did try to put the diary out of my mind as I sped through my preparations. It wasn’t easy. I couldn’t help thinking that thirteen- and fifteen-year-olds did a great deal more socializing today than they did back when the Dollanganger children were incarcerated in that attic world, but kids back then still wanted to go to parties and had romantic thoughts. Although Christopher had not yet written about anyone romantically, he did mention the girl who liked to press her body against his. I felt sure he had looked at one girl or another and imagined some sort of romance. From what
I imagined he looked like, I was confident that girls were interested in him.

  Cathy was already dreaming of being as beautiful as her mother. What good would it do her to look pretty while she was shut up and away from any other girls and boys her age? Surely, Corrine, after having suffered so under her parents’ iron rule, could appreciate what she was doing to her daughter especially.

  I was desperately trying to drive these thoughts from my mind. They were spoiling my mood, ruining my excitement about the party and being with Kane. I practically ripped the black jeweled designer jeans that I had decided to wear off their hanger. I kept glancing at the diary, still open on my bed, mumbling my rage at Corrine, her parents, all of it. I was going to add some color with my blouse, but I was in a dark mood and decided to wear my three-quarter-sleeved cowl-neck blouse that clung tightly to my torso and hips. It had been a while since I had worn it, and it was a little snug, especially around my bosom. Normally, I didn’t dress like this, but I didn’t feel normal at the moment.

  The only makeup I decided I had time to put on properly was my lipstick. I added a pair of my mother’s amethyst dangle earrings, which had images of swans. Then, just before I reached for my black leather jacket, I decided to put on a string of pearls. I started out, stopped as if I heard a voice calling to me, and returned to close the diary and shove it under my pillow. I could smother the book, but the voices were stuck in my head.

  Kane was already at my door ringing the buzzer as I started down the stairs.

  “You’re as prompt as a schoolteacher,” I said, maybe too critically. I saw the way he winced. “Don’t you know a girl has to be late?”