Out of the Attic Page 7

  “I’ll do my own bath tonight, Dora. See to his dinner, and help Mrs. Steiner with dinner preparations. I imagine they’ll be more elaborate tonight. Mr. Foxworth has asked for something special.”

  “But when you’re ready to dress…”

  “I’ll do it all myself, Dora. Before I married Mr. Foxworth, I always did. I was looking after myself from the age of five. That’s when I had realized my mother would stifle me and turn me into a nobody,” I said.

  The intimate revelation about my feelings toward my mother shocked her. I smiled at how it had left her speechless and then left to take my bath. Tormenting and teasing Dora had become my daily entertainment.

  Afterward, I spent a lot of time on my hair and used a little blush on my cheeks. Garland didn’t want me using any of the cosmetics some wealthy women were using these days. Most people still thought they were only for prostitutes. But my mother had given me some good advice when it came to how I should treat my face. She warned me about getting sunburnt. I didn’t want to look pasty, so I got some sun, especially when I rode my bicycle, but I wasn’t riding anymore. Garland wouldn’t permit it. “Mrs. Foxworth should always be transported in our gilded carriage,” he had declared. We literally looked down on most people. The best dash of sunshine I got was walking to the lake. Even so, afraid for my face, I was careful to wear a wide-brimmed hat.

  Dora stopped in to tell me she had given Malcolm his dinner without dessert, and although he wasn’t crying, he was very sad. She thought he was remorseful.

  “We’ll see,” I said. “He can be quite the little actor—liar, I should say.”

  “Oh, no, ma’am. He’s sincere.”

  “We’ll see,” I said.

  “You look beautiful, ma’am. The necklace is the most beautiful I’ve seen, but it looks more beautiful on you.”

  “Thank you, Dora. It is quite stunning, isn’t it?” I touched it and smiled at myself in the mirror. Then I looked at her. I knew what she was up to. She was trying to soften me so I’d be more lenient on Malcolm. “Don’t keep him company,” I warned. “Being shut up with you is not a punishment.”

  She nodded. “Oh, no, ma’am. I’ll just tell him good night, then, and be sure he brushes his teeth and washes his face,” she said. “He really needs a bath.”

  “Not tonight,” I snapped.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “And if you are in there with him more than five minutes, I’ll keep him eight days, not seven,” I warned. Of course, how would I know? Still, she’d be afraid I’d find out.

  She nodded.

  I started out. When I reached the top of the stairway, I could hear the piano in the ballroom. Garland really was making this a very special night. How would I harbor any anger with the prospect of so wonderful an evening ahead? Besides, it wasn’t good for my complexion, I thought. I must put it all out of my mind. Frowning, just like too much smiling, could give you wrinkles. Tomorrow was soon enough to think about it. I framed my face in the expression I’d like in a portrait, regal and dazzling, and started to descend, for once following my mother’s advice and stepping down slowly like a queen would.

  Garland appeared in the hallway and looked up at me with the pleasure and pride he often showed the first year after Malcolm had been born. How dapper he was in his gray herringbone, three-button frock coat hemmed at the waist, high-sitting black trousers, Penworth red vest, black leather boots, and a high-collared dress shirt with a puffed black tie. If there was one thing I’d never be daft about, it was fashion, both for women and for men. He had a John Bull top hat in hand and put it on before taking a step forward and holding his arms out.

  “That’s all new,” I said. “Down to your tie.”

  “Exactly. I needed new clothes for my upcoming business trip.” He held up a nearly empty glass of champagne. “I started our celebration early. You look absolutely lovely, Corrine. You were right about your dress. It suits you.”

  He met me on the last step and held out his arm.

  “Our own private ball, my lady,” he said.

  I put my arm through his, laughed at the way he postured and walked toward our grand ballroom as if the hallway was lined with adoring and envious people. His pianist was playing “Casey Would Waltz with a Strawberry Blonde.” He was a bald-headed man with bubbly cheeks. His brown eyes caught the light when he smiled and nodded at me.

  Garland immediately put down his glass, took my hand, and led me into the waltz. It was as if all the time between our first waltz at the Wexlers’ anniversary gala and this day years later had been whisked away. I laughed at his enthusiasm as we danced on the grand ballroom floor that could easily cater to two hundred couples. Garland looked younger than ever and moved with grace and precision. When he was like this, there was such a strong positive energy about him. It was contagious. Every part of me was elated, happier. At this moment I thought I should never be upset with Foxworth Hall and my new life. What was dark about it was my own fault. I should strive to be more accepting, more mature. How many women had a husband as sophisticated, wealthy, and charming as mine?

  “You’re wonderful,” he said. “We’ll capture everyone’s attention tonight.”

  “Everyone?” I looked around and laughed. “Are you seeing your ancestors, those you spoke to in the attic when your father put you up there?”

  “Only those who matter,” he said, smiling. When the song ended, he poured us each a glass of champagne while Mr. LaRuffa played one melody after another. He kissed me on the cheek and then the lips.

  “Maybe I should go with you on this trip, Garland. You’ll be gone for weeks. I’ll go mad here without you.”

  “No, no, no,” he said vehemently. “You wouldn’t enjoy a trip like this. Believe me. I don’t linger in one place long, and I don’t spend time smelling the roses. I visit the warehouses and offices, talk to boring businessmen, and get up very early every day, which you hate, too. Lots of smelly train rides. I want only certain things from these people and wouldn’t dream of doing anything social with them. I spend a great deal of the time with dreary lawyers and then move on. Why would I take you through all that when you have everything at your beck and call here? Time will pass quickly.”

  Disappointed, I pouted for a few moments. He started to sing again to the music Mr. LaRuffa was playing. When he turned back to me, he laughed.

  “You look like a spoiled little girl sometimes, but I love it,” he said.

  “If I can’t go along with you, I’d like to join the Charlottesville Women’s Club,” I said quickly. Thinking about things he might refuse always made me hesitant and indecisive.

  “Suffragettes? Most of those women have mustaches. I won’t hear of it.”

  “They’re not suffragettes, Garland,” I said, smiling. “They sympathize, but they’re doing nothing to promote it. It’s a social club. Women gather to talk fashion, have lunch.”

  “How did you hear of this?” he asked suspiciously.

  “At the department store earlier today, I met the wife of someone you know in business. Her daughter was with her.”

  “Who?” he asked, after sipping more champagne.

  “Mrs. George Remington and her daughter Melinda Sue, who married Clarence Henry Carter. He works for George Remington.”

  “I know the clod. His father-in-law created a job for him. He is something of an assistant to the chief financial officer of the company.”

  “Melinda Sue isn’t much older than I am. She’s very sweet.”

  He was thoughtful.

  “It’s something for me to do while you’re away. I feel locked away here. I haven’t made any friends of my own, and the women you’ve introduced me to are all so much older. Melinda Sue is the first young lady I’ve met who’s anywhere near my age.”

  “You have to be careful of clubs,” he said. “These days they drift into suffragettes and embarrass their husbands. It could hurt my businesses if you’re in any way associated with that sort of thing,” he warned. br />
  “I’m not interested in the women’s vote. I’m interested in what you call idle chatter.”

  He smiled. “I do believe you wouldn’t be interested in all that protesting and marching. Not good for the complexion and hair.”

  I stared at him. He was making fun of me, but I swallowed it back.

  “Well, if you think you’d enjoy this sort of social club,” he said.

  “Melinda Sue said there’s only really a half dozen who attend the meetings. They hold them at her home or another member’s home. I could hold a meeting here if you give permission and tell Mrs. Wilson to prepare a garden lunch.”

  I wondered if I should tell him I once had my own club as a girl, a club for my instructing other girls how to be more womanly. He’d like that, I thought, but still I hesitated.

  “I’ll think about it,” he said.

  “I’d like to have Lucas bring Melinda Sue here, maybe while you’re still here so you can see how innocent and sweet she is. Actually, she’s only five years older than I am.”

  “I’ll think about it,” he said again, but looked like he was giving in.

  “Thank you, Garland. When are you leaving?”

  “I have to go the day after tomorrow.”

  “That soon?”

  “Get while the getting’s good.”

  “How long is this trip?”

  He drank the rest of his champagne before replying. “Not sure. Weeks,” he said. “But it will go fast. You’ll see. I promise.”

  He said that every time he left.

  “Hey,” he said, lifting my chin gently. “Don’t despair. We’ll get a head start tonight on my making up for missing nights.”

  Mr. LaRuffa began to play and sing “I Gave My Love a Cherry,” and Garland joined him. He looked so young and handsome. I really would miss him. He saw it in my face, I think, so he took me in his arms, and we danced. We danced, drank, and laughed for almost another half hour before he decided he was hungry. Mrs. Wilson had stepped into the doorway of the dining room twice to signal her food was ready.

  On the way to the dining room, he leaned in to kiss my cheek and whisper. “Invite her to lunch whenever you want. I’ll let Mrs. Wilson and Mrs. Steiner know. I don’t have to meet her. I trust your judgment.”

  “Oh, thank you, Garland,” I said, hugging him.

  Mr. LaRuffa followed us into the dining room and began to play his violin as soon as we sat and Mrs. Steiner poured us both some red wine from a decanter. Garland’s enthusiasm and energy seemed to be contagious for everyone and not only me. We never had a more festive dinner. Everyone was smiling, and Garland was very generous with his compliments. The good food, the music, more wine, and Garland’s continuous excitement about his business success and future were hard to interrupt with any sadness about what could be his longest trip away from home and me. As he had predicted, all that had happened to me earlier disappeared.

  Before dinner ended, he leaned over to whisper. “I’ll leave first. Come to my room.”

  There was that intent on romantic intrigue again. For whom were we putting on this act?

  “Why don’t I leave first this time and you come to mine? I’ve made some changes and additions you haven’t seen.”

  He held his smile but didn’t reply. Instead, he finished what was left in his wineglass, thanked Mrs. Steiner, Dora, and Mrs. Wilson, and rose from his seat.

  “Give me a few minutes with Mr. LaRuffa to pay him and arrange for Lucas to take him home,” he said. “And then come up.”

  After Mr. LaRuffa said good night to me and told me how well I danced, he left with Garland.

  I sat there feeling strangely numb. The women glanced at me and then quickly began attending to the table. At one point they realized how silly I felt sitting there by myself, and all disappeared into the kitchen. They didn’t know Garland had asked me to wait a few minutes before following him. Maybe they thought he was returning.

  I sat with conflicted feelings. It had been such a wonderful night, but it would have been even more wonderful if my husband had escorted me up the stairway and not had me behaving like some harlot sneaking around to his bedroom. It was almost as if he had another wife in the Swan Room and I was to tiptoe past her door. What did the women here think of us, of me?

  I finished my wine, too, and then rose and walked out slowly.

  Pausing at the foot of the stairway, I listened to the faint sound of the night breeze slipping over the windows. Some part of the house on my right creaked as if the entire mansion was leaning to the right. I could hear the women cleaning up more quickly now. In moments our wonderful dinner table would be naked and restored to its place as a piece of the antique world this mansion protected. It was as if time never passed for anything in this house. The rest of the world moved on, but Foxworth Hall held the hands of the clock from clicking forward. In years to come, I would slip dutifully alongside everything else. I wondered if my portrait would hang near any of the Foxworth ancestors or if I would be relegated to the darker inner belly of the mansion because I was too beautiful to be tolerated. My exquisite face would overwhelm them.

  The very thought of it made me laugh. Or maybe it was the wine.

  I started up the stairs. Every once in a while during the past few years, especially right after Garland and I had made love, I would wonder why I hadn’t become pregnant again, not that I was eager to be. Sometimes I thought the angry ancestors had put a curse on me. There was a new Foxworth male, and that was enough. Garland never commented much about it. “When it happens, it happens” was more or less his attitude. He was certainly not going to criticize himself in any way. There would never be the possibility that he was responsible. My eggs were just “too squirrelly.”

  When I had ascended the stairway, I paused. The dimly lit hallway reminded me of the way it looked that first night Garland had brought me to Foxworth Hall. I had invited myself to my great-aunt Nettie’s in Charlottesville and let Garland know when I would be there. He appeared after we had dinner and my aunt and her caretaker, Hazel, were about to go to sleep. I was berating myself for traveling all the way from Alexandria, apparently making a fool of myself because he hadn’t arrived.

  But when he did, all the depression and sadness evaporated. He was as charming and as handsome as he was at the Wexlers’ gala. After my aunt had gone to bed, he made the surprising suggestion we go out to Foxworth Hall to see it in the evening. I would never forget how he described it as having one personality in the daytime and another at night. Now that I had lived here, I believed that was so true. It hadn’t simply been a line to get me intrigued.

  I would lose my virginity that night after becoming inebriated on his special Italian discovery, limoncello. It seemed to me at first to be nothing more than lemonade. Here I was, a girl who thought she was far more sophisticated than other girls her age, especially when it came to men, and I quickly fell into the most common male trap of all, alcohol. I was embarrassed and felt very foolish when Garland seemed to have stepped out of my life afterward, dispatching me and leaving me to my own regrets. Even so, I couldn’t stop thinking about him.

  And then it all happened quickly: my pregnancy, my marriage, and my Foxworth life. If I stood here now for a moment and closed my eyes, feeling a bit wobbly from all the wine, and then opened them, I might find myself five years younger, with the opportunity to turn around and flee before taking one sip of the drink. Would I do that? Would I give up all this? Had it been enough? Was every step I took on this stairway adding more regret? Who wouldn’t want a chance to be sure?

  But magic doesn’t happen here for anyone but a true Foxworth, I thought. I laughed at myself for even dreaming of it, and then I started down the hallway toward Garland’s room like a virgin bride presenting herself to her new husband the night of their wedding. I would just think it, and thinking so would make it real.

  It had happened before, hadn’t it? Although lately, that sort of lovemaking between us was more and more rare. Of
ten, I came away feeling it was rushed, more like a husband’s chore, something he checked off the way he checked off items on a profit-and-loss sheet, than it was a night of exquisite romance filled with the special kisses and caresses I used to tell my adoring girlfriends marked true sexual ecstasy.

  Would tonight be one of those precious nights, another flower I could press into my memory? I so needed it. At times, with the gaps between us, I really did feel like I was fading. I’d stop to look at myself in the mirror more and more for reassurance. Part of the reason I went shopping so often was to garner the looks of other men, looks of appreciation and desire. Coming home with the vision of those was almost as important as the clothes, shoes, and hats I bought. Maybe, if I were truly truthful, I’d admit they were more important.

  I needed to verify I was still Corrine Dixon, who had been one of the most beautiful young women in Alexandria, and who still was quite beautiful.

  No woman who had been forced to marry before she wanted to could ever be certain of her husband’s love, or at least that it would be lasting. Someday, somehow, one of us would throw it back at the other. Perhaps it would just be out of anger, but once it was uttered, it would linger like a terrible odor that no open window or stiff breeze could chase into a thinning memory. I lived like someone waiting for the second shoe to drop. Nights like this did so much to get me to forget my fear.

  We would make love more passionately than ever.

  Wouldn’t we?

  After all, a marriage without passion was like an orange without juice.

  Hopefully, there was more to squeeze out of it and always would be.

  I turned at the sound of footsteps on the stairway. Someone was hurrying up. I was surprised to see it was Lucas, who had left earlier to take the musician home. He couldn’t have done so and returned this quickly. When he saw me standing there, he paused. I had changed in my room and was wearing only my nightdress, my hair down around my shoulders the way Garland liked it when we made love. I saw how embarrassed Lucas was. He lowered his head to keep his gaze on the floor and didn’t take another step forward.