The Shadows of Foxworth Read online

  She pressed her lips together hard, so hard that little white spots burst out at the corners, and crossed her arms over her ample bosom.

  “It wasn’t my dream to become a commercial real estate mogul. There are few, if any, women in my position. The truth is, Broderick stands in for me often, because men resent women holding any high positions of power and authority. I don’t imagine it is much different in France, especially in France.”

  Neither of us spoke. We knew what she was leading up to saying, and neither of us wanted to hear how difficult Papa had made life for her. She looked like she recognized that in our faces and didn’t continue for quite a while.

  “What did your father tell you about our family?” she demanded.

  “That your mother died when he was young and your father died when he was in his teens, maybe not much older than Yvon,” I said.

  She smiled in her cold way.

  “He was older than Yvon. He was already out of our house. I couldn’t reach him for weeks after to tell him the news. I had to hire a private detective to find him. He was still in America, but the news didn’t bring him home to the funeral.”

  Neither of us spoke. Papa wouldn’t attend his own father’s funeral? I looked at Yvon, but he looked out the window and continued to say nothing.

  She turned away, and seemingly minutes passed before she suddenly turned around and almost in a tone of accusation told Yvon, “Perhaps you are meant to step into a more authoritative position with far more responsibility eventually. We’ll see. There is nothing special about a man that enables him to do so more than a woman. It takes determination, training, and efficiency, no matter what you are.”

  She looked more at me. “Your father wasn’t up to it for a number of reasons, unfortunately.”

  I felt Yvon nudge me to keep quiet. Neither of us wanted to get into an argument right now. He sat back and looked out the window again. Aunt Pauline was still quite asleep. As soon as she began to snore, Aunt Effie poked her hard with her elbow. She shuddered, opened her eyes, and then closed them again.

  “My sister needs special care and supervision, as I believe you have realized by now. She’s been like this from birth, and my mother was quite annoyed with it, so the responsibility fell on my shoulders even when I was no more than eight years old.” She turned more to me again. “By the time I was your age, I was capable of managing our home. Necessity is not the mother of invention; it is the mother of self-responsibility. Until now, you both have had someone else carrying your responsibilities. I will provide some of that, but I will expect both of you to begin to do more for yourselves and, by definition, for the Dawson family. Am I clear?”

  “Mais oui,” I said.

  “What?” She grimaced.

  “Of course, we will do whatever we can to help you.”

  “Help me? You will be helping yourself. You are the future. Maybe,” she added.

  She pursed her lips again and shifted in her seat.

  “Another thing. From now on, especially with me and in my house, I do not want to hear either of you speak in French. It will retard your improvements in English, and people might think you were saying nasty things about them,” she emphasized. I had no doubt she was thinking about herself. “Also, it will confuse Pauline even more.”

  “But she said she wanted to learn French.”

  “She doesn’t know what she wants. She’s incapable of making mature decisions. By the time we arrive in America, she will have forgotten all about that, I assure you. Don’t encourage her.

  “Now, I suggest we all relax and rest. This journey hasn’t even begun. I have booked you two separate berths on the ship for crossing. Most people are quite exhausted when they arrive, even young people. They spend a great deal of time leaning over the railings, if you get my meaning. I suggest you eat very little, drink a lot of water, and don’t wander about too much.”

  “We’ve been on the sea many times,” Yvon said. “Jean-Paul is a fisherman as well as an artist and has a nice boat, and other village fishermen have taken us both out many times.”

  “We’ll see,” she said. She paused, narrowed her eyes, and added, “Arrogance and overconfidence are two of the most dangerous characteristics for anyone, in business especially. Children are born with it, and if their parents are wise, they drive it out of them quickly.”

  “We aren’t overconfident,” Yvon said. “We’re self-confident.”

  She smiled. “Spoken like a typical man. Yes, you will fit well in the world you’re about to enter. But don’t worry. I will make sure you don’t make the tragic mistakes.” Again, she turned to me. “As your father did.”

  I wanted to scream and jump out of the carriage, but Yvon put his hand over mine and squeezed it softly.

  “Aunt Effie is right,” he said. “Let’s relax and save our strength for the long journey ahead.”

  I knew he didn’t mean the remainder of the carriage ride and the ocean crossing. He meant what awaited us in Richmond and, probably, the rest of our lives.

  Aunt Pauline slept until we reached the train station in Nice. She was as excited about it as would be any small child, so excited, in fact, that Yvon and I laughed. Throughout the trip, Aunt Effie was constantly chastising her for this or that. Aunt Pauline wanted to sit next to me on the train. Yvon offered her his seat, which surprised me, because now he had to sit next to Aunt Effie. But that made Pauline very content. From the moment the train left, she rattled off questions about everything that was happening and everything she saw. Aunt Effie tried to get her to be silent, but I said it was fine. Answering her helped me pass the time, too.

  “You’ll change your mind about that,” Aunt Effie predicted, with the same annoying confidence.

  For a while, Aunt Effie closed her eyes and fell asleep. The rattling and shaking had the same effect on both Yvon and me, and when we fell asleep, Aunt Pauline did. I was the first to awake and was shocked to see that the movement of the train had shifted Yvon so that he was leaning against Aunt Effie. He was in a dead sleep. Neither of us had slept well the night before, and the emotional pain of leaving Jean-Paul and Anne added to our exhaustion. Aunt Effie opened her eyes, realized that Yvon was leaning against her shoulder, looked at him for a few moments, and then, to my surprise, closed her eyes again and left him where he was.

  An hour or so before we arrived in Marseilles, he woke and was immediately embarrassed, but Aunt Effie said nothing. Instead, she described what we would be doing, how we would be taken to the ship, and what we should do when we got there. She hired a carriage at the train station, and we were quickly off. Pauline began to whine about her aches and pains, as if she was three times her age. Aunt Effie ignored her until she could stand it no longer and snapped at her with words as sharp as whips. She curled up, smothering her sobs.

  “As you see,” Aunt Effie said, “whatever horrible deed I did before I was born earned me this.”

  Neither Yvon nor I could believe how cold she was to her sister. We didn’t have to imagine much about how cold she would be to us. When we all parted to go to our cabins on the ship, Yvon took my arm and whispered, “We’ll see how it is when we get to Richmond. If she’s on top of us and everything we do and we find the means to go off…”

  That was enough of a promise and a hope to get me through the hard days of traveling at sea, but I did have the sense that he was telling me this to keep me from complaining. Grown men were seasick seemingly the whole trip and the food, despite our class of travel, was more like what we fed chickens. We tried not to complain and slept as much as we could. Nevertheless, whenever Aunt Effie said something bitter or mean to either of us, we looked at each other like two who held a deep secret close to their hearts, a secret wrapped in hope. Once we arrived in America, however, we were both far too distracted and amazed to think of much else.

  After we disembarked, the train took us directly to Main Street, Richmond, where a tall, stout African man met us.

  “Welcome home, Miss Effie,” he said, and immediately began carrying Aunt Effie’s and Aunt Pauline’s things to a big automobile. Yvon was, of course, intrigued.

  “This is George,” Aunt Effie told us. “These two are our nephew and niece, Yvon and Marlena,” she told him, and he tipped his hat.

  “Welcome ta Virginia,” he said.

  Aunt Effie grunted. “Let’s go,” she said.

  “What kind of a car is this?” Yvon asked him.

  “It’s a Maplehurst, Model 36,” he said proudly. “One of the ones holds five passengers.”

  Aunt Effie got into the front seat when he opened the door for her, and Pauline, Yvon, and I got into the rear, both of us holding our small bags on our laps.

  Yvon would never hate cars for the rest of his life, but I couldn’t help having a dark, sad feeling when I sat in one. If Papa had still been using a horse and carriage, he and Mama would surely still be alive.

  We started away from the station, and in moments, we were on a long, wide street. Having grown up in the small seaside village of Villefranche-sur-Mer, we found the sight of a city with over one hundred thousand people awesome. What we had heard about America seemed every bit true.

  The paved wide streets were crowded with pedestrians and what looked to us to be a disorganized combination of automobiles and horse-drawn wagons and carriages. Funny-sounding horns blared everywhere. There was a constant flow of voices, laughter, shouts, bells, and musical instruments, pianos and fiddles. How could Aunt Effie complain about the roar of the sea compared to the bedlam on the city streets of Richmond? Our eyes were stuffed by so many different things we had never seen. It both excited and frightened me. How did anyone, especially a young person, find his or her way through all of this?

  There were so many restau
rants, stores, and bars. We passed a theater, but what truly amazed me was how many African people there were amassed in some places, while in other places we saw none. We made a turn when we reached a church. It was the first time Aunt Effie told us about anything.

  “This is St. John’s Episcopal Church,” she said. “It’s my church and will be yours. It’s the oldest church in the city of Richmond. It’s where Patrick Henry gave his famous speech.”

  “Who?” I asked.

  She nodded, smirking. “You will need a quick education in American history now that you will become an American,” she said.

  “I want ice cream,” Aunt Pauline said suddenly, and pointed toward a store.

  “Not now, Pauline. And don’t ask again,” Aunt Effie said firmly. Pauline sat back, disappointed.

  We continued down what was Broad Street, moving farther away from the busy streets and noise, passing houses but none as large as the one we headed toward. Neither Yvon nor I had seen anything like it. How could our aunts be living in such a place? I thought twenty houses like ours back in France would fit in it.

  “This is where you live?” I couldn’t help asking as we turned into the drive of pinkish-colored stones that curved in front of the house and then out another way.

  “It’s the house my father bought and restored,” Aunt Effie said, “the house your father grew up in and deserted to live in shacks and closets.”

  I sat back in awe. Yvon was just staring, as overwhelmed as I was.

  It was a two-story rectangular stone building with more windows than in all of Villefranche-sur-Mer.

  “Our house has historical architecture,” she continued. “Those two high Dutch gables date back to the early seventeenth century. There is a garden terrace on the east side and, as you will see, a two-story cathedral-ceilinged library we call our sitting room.”

  “Cathedral-ceilinged?” Yvon asked.

  “Perfect English, you said.” She smirked and then explained. “That means a high ceiling. Someone about to enter the commercial real estate world needs to be able to describe and understand buildings, structure, and fixtures. You will,” she predicted as we came to a stop.

  Instantly, the front door opened, and two middle-aged women in maids’ outfits charged through. We were shocked to see that they were exact twins, identically stout, with wide hips and puffy forearms. They had graying ebony hair and oval faces so alike that they looked like mirror images: small button noses, thin lips, and gray-black eyes.

  “These are my maids, Minnie and Emma Brown,” Aunt Effie said. “They have been with our family for over twenty years. Show them respect, and never question what they do. They do it because I told them to do it.”

  The driver opened the door, and the Brown sisters, clutching their hands exactly the same way against their ample bosoms, waited for orders.

  “Welcome home, ma’am,” the one on the right said.

  “Thank you, Minnie. The young girl will go to the Gold Room and the young man to the Green. They don’t have much to bring up, so tend only to my and Pauline’s things.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Emma said.

  “I’m tired, and I want some chocolate milk,” Pauline declared after Aunt Effie stepped out.

  “You go to your room and wash and change first, Pauline. You’ve been in those clothes so long they reek.”

  “I have not,” she protested.

  “I’m going to change, too,” I said.

  She relaxed and, with George’s help, got out. She stood there waiting for Yvon and me to get out.

  We all stood for a moment, my brother and I still awed by the house.

  “This is where you’ll live,” Aunt Effie said. “It won’t be your home until it feels your appreciation and respect. Everything in it, every piece of furniture, must be held in highest esteem.” She paused and looked at Yvon. “That means reverence and admiration.”

  “I know that word,” he said. “It comes from estime in French.” He looked very pleased with himself.

  Aunt Effie smiled at him. “Maybe there’ll be some benefit to that French arrogance, but be careful. As I warned you, it can destroy you, too,” she said. She turned to Pauline. “Get yourself inside, Pauline, and do what I said. NOW!” she screamed.

  Pauline hurried toward the door.

  George started the car and drove toward what looked like a small barn.

  Aunt Effie turned to us. “You are about to see for yourselves all that your father left behind.”

  She turned to go in quickly, leaving us behind her. It was as if she was saying, Sink or swim.

  Yvon reached for my hand. “We’ll be just fine,” he said. He laughed. “Unless we get lost in there and never see each other again.” He looked up at the roof and then off to the right. “Look how well these grounds are kept. Someone cuts the grass with a scissors.”

  He surprised me by sounding so excited. The idea of our running off was obviously dead for now.

  “Maybe it won’t be so bad, Marlena. She can’t be so hard and mean all the time.”

  “She’ll never love us, Yvon. She’ll never think of us as family.”

  “Her loss,” he said. “C’mon, let’s see how the rich really live. I’m sure we can survive.”

  I nodded, but I didn’t have his confidence. Hopefully, he had enough for the both of us.

  As we walked to the door, carrying our small bags stuffed with the little we had taken from France, I was sure we’d both need more than confidence and new names. We would need new hope.

  5

  The interior of the house was just as impressive as the outside, if not more so. To use Aunt Effie’s terms, the main entrance was a high-ceilinged room with red oak paneling. There was an L-shaped staircase with a scrolled banister in the same oak. Everywhere we looked, there were antiques and paintings, but there was no art like Papa’s. Most of it looked like historical scenes, and some depicted biblical ones. It looked more like a history museum. In fact, the floor was composed of gray and black slate squares, something we had seen only in a museum in Nice once. When we stood in this grand entrance, which was more of a lobby to me, the house definitely reminded me more of a government building than a home. Even the portraits of ancestors looked like they belonged more in an encyclopedia. There was no warmth, no personality, in what we were seeing, unless perhaps no personality was its personality.

  The Brown twins hurried past us with Aunt Effie’s and Aunt Pauline’s things. They walked in small, quick steps like ducks. Then they paused at the foot of the stairway and looked back at us as if they had just remembered we were there. Both wore the same look of surprise at our not rushing to keep up with them. Why wouldn’t we have paused? No one was offering to show us around our new home. How did we know our rooms were upstairs? Aunt Effie had hurried Aunt Pauline in as if she wanted to keep her away from the eyes of the public and put her away in her room as quickly as possible.

  “Y’all just follow us up,” Minnie said.

  “And we’ll bring you to your rooms,” Emma added.

  We started up behind them. They not only looked exactly the same, they moved exactly the same, their gait a bit of a waddle. The steps were wide enough and their coordination so in sync that they could walk up side by side without bumping their hips into each other.

  “It’s like a body with two heads,” Yvon whispered.

  “Shh,” I said, and slapped him gently, swallowing down a laugh.

  “Do you know which room was my father’s?” Yvon asked them when we were on the second floor.

  “Your sister is in that room,” Emma said. “It’s called the Gold Room because there is gold trim around the curtains.”

  “And around the mirror,” Minnie added.

  “But there is no real gold in it,” Emma said.

  “Why am I in that room if it was my father’s? My brother should be in it. I don’t want to be in a man’s room.”

  “We don’t decide where people sleep,” Emma said.

  “This way, please,” Minnie said.