The Shadows of Foxworth Read online

  “Take her,” Aunt Effie said. She said it as if she was saying, Take her away forever, for all I care.

  She left. Yvon smiled and reached for my hand.

  “We’re going to make it in America,” he said.

  I wished I could be half as happy about that as he was, but all I could do was flash a smile, a smile that I sensed in the deepest place in my heart was destined to fade.

  Perhaps forever.

  9

  The ugliness that hid in the dark shadows of our new home began to emerge. Mama once told me that we spend most of our early lives fighting off sad endings. It was better to end with a laugh than a cry. But laughter does wear thin as you grow older. It seemed that maturity called for less optimism, more realism.

  When I spent time recalling our lives in Villefranche and saw myself in my memory, I saw someone with so much vulnerability. How oblivious I was, innocent and protected. Maybe Yvon should have been more forceful and shattered the bubble in which I lived and played. Perhaps he shouldn’t have sheltered me so well. I would have been better prepared for what was to come.

  Now that I thought more about it, I realized that was what Mama and Papa had been doing. Perhaps Papa, who created his own world on canvas, thought he could do the same with our lives. They both thought they could keep the dark secrets in their coffins forever. Maybe they were still dreamers, too.

  If our new home was anything, it was a house without dreams. There was ambition, ruthless ambition, but that wasn’t the same thing. Ambition swam in the sea of reality; dreams floated above it, secure in your imagination. It was what let you see yourself as being prettier, happier, and more loved. Aunt Effie never dreamed; she planned and plotted and, in the end, demanded.

  Right from the start, she had given me, if not Yvon, the impression that she thought we were too protected, too insulated. We were long overdue to be sent out naked and alone. Maybe she was jealous and wished she, too, could have simply picked up and run off to some fairy-tale world like Papa had. In time, I would see that inside she was as knotted and as twisted as the ugly truths she hoped would stay buried in the darkness. Reluctantly, I’d have to admit that she was a victim as well, but she lived in self-denial. It was her own fault.

  In her way, she would teach me one very important truth: before you could survive in the adult world, you had to master how to lie to yourself. Otherwise, it was all too much, and you would crumble under the weight. That crumbling would begin today.

  After breakfast Saturday morning, Aunt Pauline and I helped Mrs. Trafalgar prepare our picnic lunch. She fried some chicken, made some potato salad, wrapped up some homemade biscuits and some chocolate chip cookies. She put apple juice in some jars and made sure we had enough napkins, knives, and forks. While she worked with her thin, vein-ribbed hands, she told us about her family picnics and how much she and her five sisters and brothers looked forward to them on weekends.

  She paused and in a dreamy voice expressed her thoughts more to herself than to us when she said, “We wasn’t just gettin’ out of the house; we was gettin’ out of the world we was in. For a few hours, at least, we could be as happy as new bluebirds.”

  Neither Aunt Pauline nor I said anything. Mrs. Trafalgar looked like she was going to cry, but then she snapped out of her musing quickly and smiled.

  “Not the same thing for y’all. Y’all just have fun.”

  The twins were busy with Saturday housecleaning. Aunt Effie was in her office with the door closed as usual. Yvon went off to meet some of the other young men and, I suspected, women from the company, to go cycling and have their own bought picnic lunch somewhere just outside Richmond. Either it never occurred to him to ask me along, or he felt I couldn’t leave Aunt Pauline after promising to take her on a picnic. Maybe he thought I was still too young for them. Whatever his reasons, I did anticipate him saying something more about it than simply “I’ll be meeting some friends.” But he said nothing else and left before we did.

  I went up to Aunt Pauline’s room to help her choose the right clothes to wear and pin her hair back. She was obviously more excited than she had been when she was going to the park with Minnie and Emma.

  “Didn’t Aunt Effie ever take you to the park, Aunt Pauline?” I asked her as I finished with her hair. “Or my father?”

  She paused to think about it and shook her head.

  “Effie doesn’t like the park. She doesn’t like bugs or sitting on the grass. She thinks it’s a waste of time, and Beau had friends to be with all the time.”

  “Aunt Effie didn’t think it was a waste of time when she was younger, too, did she?”

  She gave me that look that often made me wonder if she was smarter than she pretended to be, the look that said, What a silly question.

  “Effie was never younger,” she said. I didn’t know whether to laugh or not. She looked so deadly serious. Then she leaned in to whisper, even though we were up in her room alone. “Effie never had a doll.”

  She put on her gored light-blue skirt and what I had chosen as her best blouse, a two-tone striped floral embroidered cotton. The skirt looked quite faded, creased, and even a little stained, but it was the only one of those she had that I thought she should wear to go to the park.

  “I don’t have to wear a corset,” she said proudly. “But Effie does.”

  I smiled, but I was still thinking about what she had said. “Aunt Effie never had a doll?”

  “I wanted to give her one of mine, but she wouldn’t take it. She said dolls were silly. She told me we have to be with real people and not talk to something that only talks back in your head. Why have a toy tea set when you could have real tea in real cups?”

  “Didn’t your mother and father give her any toys?”

  “Daddy said it would be a waste of money. But not for me. He gave me all my toys and dolls. When Mommy was sick, Daddy had to be Mommy and give me whatever she would and do whatever she would do. That’s why he worked at home or took me with him sometimes.”

  “What about Effie? Didn’t she help? She did tell us she did.”

  “She didn’t like to do anything but give orders. Daddy said if women could be soldiers, she’d be a general.”

  I smiled. It was amazing just how many things her father had said that she had committed to memory. He must have been a very impressive man, I thought.

  “I have to get my park hat,” she said, and went to her closet.

  Although it was well worn, I was surprised she had such a fancy hat. It had a large wired brim with two layers of stiff, shiny net with black straw stitched edging. Faded and well-beaten-down pink and cream flowers were woven through.

  “Who gave you that hat?”

  “Daddy gave me this when I was twelve,” she said. “Because I was crying.”

  “Why were you crying?”

  “I got my monthlies, and it hurt and hurt. The hat was once my mother’s. Effie thought she should have it, but he gave it to me. Effie said she didn’t cry when she got her monthlies. Effie never cries.”

  “Not that you can see,” I muttered.

  She stood at attention like someone ready for inspection. “Am I ready?” she asked when she put on her hat.

  “What? Oh, yes. Let’s go. You’ll have to show me the way.”

  “I will?” She clapped. “Minnie and Emma never let me.”

  “Well, I want you to,” I said, and we left her room, descended, picked up our lunch basket from Mrs. Trafalgar, and started out.

  Aunt Effie finally appeared. She called to us as I opened the door. “If you lose her, you’ll have to find her yourself or not come home,” she warned. Then she returned to her office.

  I stood there for a moment wondering if I had taken on too much.

  “We won’t get lost,” Aunt Pauline said. “Daddy will watch over us.”

  We started out. I was relieved to see that Aunt Pauline actually did know the way. As we walked, she recited rules that had been driven into her, rules about crossing streets, talking to strangers, and picking things off the sidewalk and street. She related them in a singsong way, as if they had all been told to her in a nursery rhyme.

  When we reached the park, she directed us to a small knoll that looked out over the pond. She said her father once told her it was their spot, the Dawson spot. It was quite perfect, with a nice wave of shade cast by the nearby hemlock tree. The fall day was a little warmer than I had anticipated, but there was a slight cool breeze occasionally coming across the water. Elongated clouds looked like floating cotton. There were birds everywhere. The fall scene was still bursting with life. It was more like the start of spring.

  “It’s not as big as the ocean,” Aunt Pauline said when I had spread out the blanket and we both sat.

  People were dressed in fancy day clothes, strolling alongside the water, women with parasols, men with top hats. Families with little children all holding hands reminded me of the four of us taking our walks along the shore.

  “No, it’s not. You can’t see across the ocean, and there are waves.”

  “It’s better by the ocean, even though Effie didn’t like it.”

  “Yes, I think so. Did Aunt Effie at least go for walks with you and your father when you were both older?”

  “No,” she said. “It was just Daddy and me. Sometimes I fell asleep on his lap right here,” she said. She gazed around as if she was really looking for him.

  “And what was Aunt Effie doing while you were out with your father?”

  “She was reading at home.”

  “Your father didn’t make her come, at least for fresh air?”

  She shook her head.

  “Daddy didn’t have to make Effie do anything. He said she did everything right all by herself since she was four years old. Anyway
, she was too bossy and told him what he should do all the time. She even told him what to wear before he went to work. Sometimes he did, and sometimes he didn’t. That’s why he liked me more.”

  “I bet,” I said. “And my father, your brother, Beau. He was always with friends? He never walked with your father and you?”

  She looked away. I didn’t think she had heard me, but before I could ask again, she said, “Beau ran away and never came back.”

  “Why did he run away?”

  She turned away and threaded her opened fingers through the grass, breaking a blade and putting it between her lips.

  “Daddy showed me how to do this,” she said, and made it sing.

  “Yes, I used to do that, too.”

  “Oh, you did? How smart. Who taught you?”

  “My father. Your brother, Beau. Why did he run away and never come back?”

  She leaned back and looked up at the sky. “I’m not supposed to say.”

  “I think that means say to strangers, but I’m your niece and Beau was my father, so you can tell me.”

  She looked at me and decided. “He saw Daddy giving me a bath, and he got very angry. He screamed at Daddy and shook his fists. Daddy screamed back at him, and they almost had a fight.”

  “Why?”

  She didn’t answer. I thought a moment.

  “Do you remember how old you were?”

  “It was after my monthlies,” she said, nodding.

  I felt the heat rise into my face. “Why did your father have to give you a bath when you were that old?”

  She started to play with the blade of grass again and then stopped. “Because he wanted me to be pretty,” she said. “And he had to teach me what Mommy would have taught me if she was still alive, because Effie wouldn’t.”

  “About what?” I asked, my voice just a little above a whisper.

  She looked around to be sure no one could hear her and then leaned toward me to whisper. “About sex and sin,” she said. My heart stopped and started. “Oh, no!” she cried.

  “What?”

  She put her hands over her face and then drew them down slowly as she looked off to the right.

  “What is it, Aunt Pauline?”

  “Daddy. He’s mad that I told you,” she said. “He looked at me, shook his head, and then rushed away. What if he doesn’t come back?”

  He very well might not, I thought.

  Was that a good thing or a bad thing for her? I was suddenly very frightened.

  For both of us.

  Even though what she had told me hovered over every thought and word I said, I talked about other things, things I had loved doing in Villefranche. I made it all sound like fairy tales and had her rapt attention. Do anything, say anything, I told myself, to keep her from saying any more about my grandfather. I didn’t want to hear any of those details. My imagination was off and running as it was. Now I thought I understood why Papa wouldn’t want to return for his own father’s funeral. How amazing it was that he was able to keep all this buried inside him. He never let it turn him bitter. I felt guilty for pushing and pursuing him to tell me more about his father and mother.

  The worst thing was that I was terribly conflicted about what Aunt Pauline had revealed. Should I tell Yvon this? Should I ask Aunt Effie about it? How angry would she get? Could Aunt Pauline have made it up? And yet, could I keep this buried? Wouldn’t Yvon realize something when he looked at my face? He usually read my thoughts well. Why did I ask so many questions? he would say. This was my own fault, and yet I felt I understood more about Papa now and why he didn’t want to talk at all about his family. Yvon should be grateful that I’d learned all this.

  However, I had no doubt that if the roles were reversed, he wouldn’t tell me. He’d still be protecting me. Maybe he never would tell. Was that wrong, even though his motives were drawn out of his love for me?

  “I’m hungry,” Aunt Pauline said when I was too quiet.

  “Oh, me, too,” I said, even though I had no appetite. I began taking out our food.

  She was very occupied with it and watching young children playing on the grass. If one tumbled, she laughed and told me she would always do that, too. I watched her when she looked at them, smiling at her own memories. She had such a pretty face, the face of a child. It was as if time had not touched it. Maybe because her mind had stopped growing, her face, which was the window to her thoughts, had stopped changing as well. Put a child’s bonnet on her, take her picture from the neck up, and you couldn’t tell her age.

  Whereas aging wasn’t very kind to Aunt Effie. Maybe that was because she lived a life more or less modeled on her father now. I hoped Yvon understood that rich people could have twisted and troubled lives, too, maybe even more so. He had become so infatuated with wealth, but the more you had, the more you had to protect, especially when it came to being admired and respected. Kings don’t often blush, but when they do, I imagined it surely looks like every ounce of blood has gone to their cheeks.

  Aunt Pauline lay back, resting her head on my lap. It surprised me, but I didn’t move. I stroked her hair and watched her drift into a soft repose. Someone had a toy sailboat on the pond, and someone else was trying to get a kite into the wind. I heard children laughing, saw how happy and loving their parents were, and I wondered why the world was full of happiness all around us, right beside such sadness.

  When Aunt Pauline woke and had to go to the bathroom, I found her a public one, and then I told her we had to start for home. The clouds had been gathering anyway, and the air had become cooler, with a stiffer breeze. For a moment, she looked confused about the route, but fortunately, I recalled it all. Aunt Effie’s threat had loomed the whole way, so I mentally tied a red ribbon around some things to look for.

  The house was quiet when we arrived, but the twins came quickly from the kitchen.

  “Miss Effie wanted us to take her for her bath,” Minnie said.

  “As soon as she returned from the park,” Emma added. “Come along, now, Miss Pauline.”

  “Don’t want you to,” Aunt Pauline told her, and pulled her arm out of Emma’s hand. “Marlena will help me with my bath.”

  “Oh, dear,” Minnie said, bringing her hand to her mouth.

  “Dear, dear,” Emma said. “She’s never like this.”

  “It’s not a major crisis, Emma. I’m glad to help her.”

  “But… Miss Effie’s orders…” Minnie said. “She had to go on an errand and told us before she left that we must do it as we usually do.”

  “Blame it on me,” I said, and directed Aunt Pauline to the stairs. “Your sister is an ogre,” I muttered. “No wonder your father thought she was bossy as a child, and no wonder she’s never found a husband.”

  Aunt Pauline giggled. “You’re just like your father,” she said. “He would say the same thing about Effie.”

  Comparing me to my father was the best thing she had done all day.

  The Brown twins didn’t tell Aunt Effie, and she didn’t ask them. She was too impressed with my efficiency spending the day with Aunt Pauline and then seeing her dressed for dinner, her hair brushed and very neatly pinned, and in the sitting room, where I was reading to her from The Camp Fire Girls in the Outside World.

  “Well,” Aunt Effie said from the doorway, “I see today was successful. She didn’t get lost.”

  It was on the tip of my tongue to say, Oh, yes, it was very successful. I learned why my father ran away from home. But I thought I should wait for Yvon.

  “It was a pleasant day for both of us.”

  “Your brother is not back yet?”

  “No,” I said.

  She didn’t look upset about it. She looked pleased. “I hope you are able to make friends through the company as quickly as he has when you start working there,” she said. “We’ll have dinner shortly.”

  She left, but I still stared at the doorway.

  “Don’t stop reading because Effie came home,” Aunt Pauline said.

  “No. I won’t,” I said, smiling, and started to read again.

  Yvon did not come home for dinner. If Aunt Effie was upset about that, she didn’t show it. In fact, she was in a particularly good mood. She revealed something about a good deal on a building she had wanted the company to sell for quite a while.

  “It’s the first deal your brother had anything to do with,” she told me. “Now that he has a taste for it, we’ll see what he can accomplish. I am hoping that after this week’s lessons in shorthand, et cetera, Miss Cornfield will decide you’re ready to start your internship. It will be a little more involved than working with your aunt Pauline,” she said.