The Shadows of Foxworth Read online

  “Pauline!” she screamed, looking at us. “Get out!”

  A woman who looked no taller than I was peered through the opened door fearfully. She had the face of a child, round and soft, with big blue eyes. Her skin was richer, smoother than her sister’s. How much younger was she? I wondered.

  She clapped her hands. “We’re in France,” she said.

  Aunt Effie turned to look back at her and then looked at us, shaking her head. “My sister, Pauline, has been my responsibility from the minute our mother passed away. You will realize almost immediately that I have had all the training and experience any mother would. Not that I need anyone’s stamp of approval,” she added, nodding at Anne and Jean-Paul.

  Neither of them spoke, so she turned back to us and then gestured toward Pauline and added, “Well, this is it. This is us. Welcome to your new family.”

  4

  Aunt Effie had arrived like a seagull pecking nastily at everything, not to eat it but just to poke it. Before she took another step, she went through a litany of complaints, as if we were responsible for whatever was wrong with the whole country. Her voice was high-pitched, on the doorsteps of a scream. The roads were too bumpy and almost nonexistent in places, the food they were served wasn’t fit for beggars on the Richmond streets, and the wind, especially here, surely made this place close to unlivable. Her ears were filled with a constant roar of the sea and the screams of terns. “And,” she added, “the number of people who don’t know how to speak English is astounding.”

  “Not more astounding, surely, than the number of Americans who don’t speak French,” Jean-Paul said.

  She hoisted her shoulders as if he had tossed icy cold water on the back of her neck. “We’re staying only as long as it takes to leave,” she declared in response. Then she turned to Yvon and me. “So please don’t dilly-dally. We have train tickets from Nice to Marseilles, and I don’t want to miss our scheduled departure for the crossing back to America.”

  Yvon and I stared with our mouths open, especially when Pauline had emerged and stood beside her, obviously careful to remain a little behind her, like an attendant to a queen. Aunt Effie’s light-brown hair was graying at the roots and pulled so severely back her forehead looked stretched. Aunt Pauline, who wore a round blue felt hat that looked a size or so too big, had light-brown hair more loosely pinned. Curled strands fell over her right eyebrow. She was dressed in a drab-looking button-down jacket and a skirt and wore what looked more like men’s laced-up shoe boots.

  Unlike Aunt Effie, she appeared to be excited with the view of the sea and our surroundings, her eyes bright, looking everywhere, as if she had just been released from some kind of prison. She even clapped her hands and pressed them to her bosom at the sight of a gull soaring over the house toward the sea.

  “Hello,” she said after her sister had made her long, critical speech. “I’m Pauline Dawson. Effie says I don’t have to say my middle name when I introduce myself because it was my mother’s maiden name and isn’t really mine and people don’t remember that anyway. Do you have middle names?”

  “Be still, Pauline,” Aunt Effie said sharply. “Have you two gathered your necessities for travel?” she asked us. “I assume you two, unlike the rest of the people in this infernal country, speak English well, since your parents were Americans.”

  “Yes,” Yvon said. “We speak English perfectly.”

  “We’ll see about perfectly,” Aunt Effie said.

  Yvon didn’t change his expression. Instead, he took a step toward her. “We are pleased to meet you. I’m Yvon Hunter and this is my sister, Marlena.” He looked at Pauline. “Like you, we use our mother’s maiden name as our middle names,” he told her. She beamed, but as soon as Aunt Effie glanced at her, she stopped. Yvon then repeated our names to Aunt Effie as a way of saying to call us by name and not “you two.”

  Aunt Effie pursed her lips and nodded to herself, as if what she had suspected about us before coming here proved to be true. Whatever that was, it was clear to me that it was certainly not something about which Yvon and I should be proud, not in her eyes.

  “First, you are not Yvon Hunter anymore. You are Yvon Dawson, and you,” she said, looking at me hard, “are Marlena Dawson. The sooner you refer to yourselves that way, the faster the name will become yours. Now, please give your things to our driver, Maurice, to put in the carriage. I hope you followed my instructions and have little to take.”

  She turned back to Anne before either of us could respond.

  “Would you be so kind as to provide us with some water and a chance to refresh ourselves?” she asked.

  “Of course. Let me show you in,” Anne said.

  “Thank you. Come along, Pauline.” She looked at Jean-Paul. “You and I will go over some documents before we leave and be sure that everything I wanted us to arrange is proper and complete.”

  “Certainement, mademoiselle,” Jean-Paul said with a little bow.

  “That’s French,” Pauline said instantly. She looked at us. “I can say oui, oui, and… what’s the word for good-bye again, Effie?”

  “Au revoir,” I told her.

  She smiled. “I remember. Oh river.”

  “Not quite, but I’ll help you say it right,” I said.

  She clapped her hands. “I’d like that. It will be like French lessons, right, Effie?”

  “Stop it. There’s no time for that nonsense, Pauline. You should go to the bathroom now and wash your face and hands. We have the same long and tedious journey back, and we will not be stopping overnight.”

  “I’ll see after her. Can I offer you something to eat?” Anne asked. She shot me a quick smile before turning back to Aunt Effie. “I assure you it will be better than what would please beggars in Richmond.”

  “Whatever,” Aunt Effie said. Realizing how abrupt she was being, she added, “Very kind of you. Yes.”

  Anne turned and indicated the doorway. Aunt Effie tugged at Pauline to follow them into the house. I looked at Jean-Paul, but he gazed off to the right. I knew in my heart that our leaving with our aunts was tearing him apart. Perhaps if he were a younger man, he would have put up a fight, but Yvon was right. It was unfair of us to demand anything more of him. For him, every day was a struggle to survive, and Anne certainly had enough to do just looking after him.

  I turned to Yvon to see what he was going to do now that we had met our aunts. He couldn’t be happy with Aunt Effie. She was nothing like our father. There was barely a resemblance, in fact. Would he tell me to just wait and run off with him? We’d slip away and go to Paris or someplace where we could find our own way. That was my last hope.

  But it wasn’t to be.

  “Let’s get our things together, Marlena. We don’t want to make it any more difficult for Jean-Paul and Anne. The faster we get our aunt away from them, the better,” Yvon said.

  “What about away from us?”

  “Maybe she’ll be the one to decide to run away after she gets to know us better,” he said, smiling.

  I smiled, too. It was like finally taking a breath. Reluctantly, I followed him into the house. We already had our things packed in our small bags and brought them out of our rooms. Aunt Effie and Aunt Pauline were seated at the table. Aunt Effie looked at us, mostly at me, and stopped drinking and eating. She grimaced. It wasn’t going to be difficult to read her thoughts and emotions. They were practically embossed on her wide forehead.

  “You can’t seriously expect to travel in that dress,” she said. “Don’t you have something else more substantial for a long journey? It’s ridiculous.”

  “It’s not ridiculous. It’s a dress my mother gave me. I don’t want to leave it,” I said firmly. “And I’m quite comfortable traveling in it, no matter how long.”

  “Young people this age are the same everywhere, irresponsible and unrealistic. I can see I have my work cut out for me.”

  She shook her head and bit into a piece of fresh bread. I didn’t wait for her to say anything more about it. Yvon and I went out and gave our things to the driver. He and his sideman were eating some cheese and bread and drinking some wine. He leaned over to whisper to us.

  “A friendly warning. I plan to drive these horses hard and make it a fast trip to Nice and the train station,” he said. “If she’s what an American woman’s like, I feel sorry for you two.”

  Yvon laughed. “Our mother was an American, and I assure you, she was nothing like our aunt.”

  “Whatever. I’m not complaining about my woman anymore,” he said, and took another swig of wine. “Vive la France.”

  We returned to the house to have some lunch, me thinking this could be the last time I would enter my home.

  “Don’t give them too much to eat,” Aunt Effie told Anne. “I want to leave in ten minutes or so, and I find it best not to put too much into your stomach when making such a dreadful journey. Last thing we need is one of them having to throw up from the rough, long ride ahead. The trains here are prehistoric.”

  “They’re quite used to traveling around here, Miss Dawson,” Anne said. “No worries there.”

  Aunt Effie grunted and then turned to Jean-Paul.

  “Let’s start on the documents,” she said, and reached into a satchel. “I’ve reviewed them with an attorney and will show you where signatures are needed. My power of attorney is here to show anyone who requires it, and I have signed where necessary.”

  Jean-Paul nodded but didn’t smile.

  “Not that I expect much to come of this… house and whatever,” she said, looking around.

  “Your brother’s art has become quite valuable,” Jean-Paul said. “I wouldn’t underestimate the price some of it will bring in the future, either.”

  “Yes, well, thankfully, none of us will nee
d to depend on it. I just don’t want anyone stealing what is the family’s,” she emphasized. “Despite the false name.”

  Yvon, anticipating my reaction, seized my wrist before I could speak. He let go when he thought he had silenced me.

  “Jean-Paul and Anne are our family, too,” I said as firmly as I could.

  Aunt Effie turned slowly to me. Jean-Paul gestured with his fingers lifting on and off the table, indicating that he wanted me to be silent.

  “In legal matters, your family is who is a blood relation,” she said, with the coldest eyes I had ever seen on a living person. They were like glass for an instant, and then she broke into a smile that came close to suggesting kindness. “But it’s understandable you have warm feelings for these people. Orphans cling to whoever shows them any attention.”

  “Orphans?”

  “What else would you call yourselves now? Until I take you off,” she added. “You will be better known as Dawsons of Richmond. This is what lies ahead. My experience has always been that it is far more productive and satisfying in the end to face reality. Something your father failed to do,” she muttered.

  Before I could respond, she turned back to Jean-Paul and began reviewing the documents. I didn’t want to listen, but Yvon did, so I left the table and went outside. Anne joined me.

  “You mustn’t make snap judgments about your aunts, Marlena. I’m sure your aunt Effie is very nervous about all this, and that explains why she seems so stern. She and her sister have apparently had no one else in their lives for so long. It will take time. Once she gets to know the two of you and sees how independent and intelligent you both are, she’ll relax.”

  “I doubt it. As Jean-Paul says about some people, she’ll probably nag the undertaker,” I said.

  Anne laughed.

  “Why is her sister, Pauline, so… childlike?”

  “Jean-Paul told me your father didn’t talk that much about her. She seems quite sweet, however. I think she will really like you.”

  “She was right about the trip. I feel like throwing up already,” I muttered.

  “You’ll be fine. Jean-Paul was right. It’s quite exciting, actually, going to America. Maybe someday I’ll come to visit you.”

  “Would you?”

  “We’ll see,” she said, and kissed me. Then she held me at arm’s length, her face darkly serious. “Now, I know Yvon is older and more mature than any boy his age here, but you look after him. He’s more fragile than he reveals.”

  “I will,” I said.

  “Don’t cry,” she warned when we heard everyone coming out. She winked. “You’ll frighten your aunt Pauline.”

  “More like I’ll frighten myself,” I said. Yvon, with Jean-Paul holding his arm, joined us.

  “Can we please go?” Aunt Effie said to the driver.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said. He rushed to open the door and help Aunt Pauline in first. She giggled and turned to wave good-bye as if there was a crowd watching. It provided a little lightness just when both Yvon and I needed it.

  Aunt Effie turned to Jean-Paul. “I will anticipate hearing from you soon or…” She turned to Anne. “You.”

  The implication was clear. Jean-Paul might die before the house was sold and any additional payments for Papa’s paintings were made.

  “Of course, Miss Dawson,” Anne said. “Please do not worry about any of it.”

  “I don’t worry. I prepare. Thank you for your hospitality,” Aunt Effie said. She looked at Yvon and me and raised her eyebrows. “Please make your good-byes quick. In my experience, that is always the best way.”

  Yvon turned and embraced Jean-Paul. He held on to him so long that it brought tears to my eyes. Jean-Paul kissed his cheek, and they parted. Yvon then embraced and kissed Anne. He looked at me. Aunt Effie didn’t have to tell us to do this quickly. I couldn’t stand a moment more. My chest was aching with my effort to keep from sobbing. I hurried to hug Jean-Paul.

  “You listen to the soft breeze when it comes in America. You will hear your mama’s voice,” he whispered.

  He kissed me, and I turned quickly to Anne. She held me so tightly that I thought, I hoped, she wouldn’t let go, but she did.

  “I will come to see you someday,” she promised.

  Yvon was standing by the steps. Aunt Effie waited just across from him. When she saw I was coming, she got in. Yvon tried to help her, but she moved away from his hand and got in, immediately chastising Aunt Pauline for taking up too much room.

  “Let’s go,” Yvon whispered. I didn’t think he could speak much louder without his voice cracking.

  I nodded and got in to sit across from Aunt Effie and Aunt Pauline. Yvon followed, and the driver closed the door.

  “Everyone’s going for a ride with us. Oh, this is so much fun,” Pauline said.

  “Torture is a more appropriate term,” Aunt Effie said.

  “For us, especially,” Yvon said.

  She glared at him. I thought she would say something sharp and nasty, but instead, she turned to look out the window.

  The carriage started away. I began to lean forward to look out the window facing Anne and Jean-Paul, who were standing next to each other, holding each other and watching us depart, but Yvon put his hand on my arm to keep me from doing so.

  “We’ll see them again. Just sit back,” he said.

  I did. I didn’t look out. I closed my eyes, and I listened for Mama’s voice in the wind. We turned a corner and bounced over the rough road down the hill. I thought about that first ride I had taken with Papa in his new automobile. How happy he was. How happy we all once were.

  Yvon could hear my thoughts. I was sure, because out of nowhere, he leaned forward to whisper, “Every time we see one of his paintings, we’ll see him.”

  We made another turn, and we headed away. The sound of the horses galloping was the exact sound I had heard in my nightmares, only this time, I was wide awake. This was really happening. Everything I had known and loved was falling behind. It was truly as if the tide of our lives was being drawn out to sea, never to be washed ashore again.

  Almost as soon as we left Villefranche-sur-Mer, Aunt Pauline fell asleep. She sagged against the corner of the seat and closed her eyes, spreading her legs. Her jaw dropped, and even the hard bouncing on some broke road didn’t wake her, nor did Aunt Effie pushing her legs closer together roughly. I studied Aunt Pauline’s face, searching for the resemblance to Papa, but because her cheeks were so bloated, I saw very little that reminded me of him. The same was true for Aunt Effie. All I could think was that they probably took after their father more than Papa had.

  “Tell me about yourselves,” Aunt Effie suddenly said. Neither of us spoke quickly. “You’re both obviously old enough to be thinking of your futures. Well? What have you done in that regard?”

  “I was an apprentice to the village cobbler,” Yvon began. “There’s really only one in our village and surroundings, so he has always been very busy. Marlena attended school and helped with the house.”

  “You’re fifteen?” she asked me.

  “Yes,” I said. “Just recently.”

  “And you’re almost seventeen?” she asked Yvon.

  He nodded.

  “Perfect. You’ll both work for our company now,” she declared with the authority of a biblical prophet. “You, Marlena,” she said, pronouncing my name as if it was difficult to do so, “should have good reading and writing skills. Do you?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I said.

  “Perhaps in French. It will be different mastering all that in English.”

  “We’ve mastered it in English, too,” Yvon said. “Our mother tutored us.”

  “We’ll see. What passed for good work here most likely won’t in America, but no need to worry. I have excellent people working for me, including someone who can tutor you,” she said, nodding at me. “You look well, but I’d like to have my doctor examine you both soon after we arrive. That week, I’ll take Marlena to buy some clothes, and my personal assistant, Broderick Simon, will guide Yvon in purchasing what he will need to start an internship at our offices. The expectation is that you will listen and learn and thus be trusted with more and more responsibility, quickly, I hope.

  “We own the building I’ve had named the Dawson Building. We have the top floor, and all the other office space below is rented out. We own five other buildings in downtown Richmond and do the same thing. Choosing the right commercial property to buy is a skill. My father was brilliant at it. We’ve bought and sold twenty properties since he began. And for considerable sums of profit.”