Garden of Shadows

MALCOLM SAT WITH THE NEWSPAPER BEFORE HIM, BUT I knew he wasn’t reading it. My stomach felt as if I had swallowed a dozen butterflies. We were both awaiting the arrival of Garland and Alicia. Malcolm had left his offices early to be here when they arrived. He snapped the paper viciously and eyed the grandfather clock. They were more than a half hour late.

“Knowing my father,” he said finally, “he might very well be arriving at four in the morning rather than four in the afternoon. Important details like that always escape him.”

“He would know the difference between night and day, Malcolm,” I said.

“Oh, would he? I can remember my mother sitting in this very room waiting for him to pick her up for an afternoon affair and he not coming at all because he wrote it down incorrectly in his calendar.”

“You can remember? You were only five when she left.”

“I can remember,” he insisted. “I would sit with her and she would complain to me. She respected my intelligence, you see. She never spoke down to me the way mothers often speak down to their children. After a while, if he didn’t show up when he was supposed to, she would go off by herself. It was his fault, don’t you see?”

“He was occupied too much with his business,” I said, hoping to make a point about him, but Malcolm either didn’t hear me or didn’t see the relationship to himself.

“Yes, yes, but he was often careless with business meetings too. He just doesn’t have the concentration. He gets bored too easily. I can’t tell you how many deals we lost because of him and how many I saved.”

“Was your mother involved with the business?”

“What?” He looked at me as though I had just made the most ridiculous statement. “Hardly. She thought the stock market was a place to buy and sell stockings.”

“Oh, come now. You exaggerate.”

“Do I? She had no concept of what a dollar was. Why, when she went shopping, she never asked about the price; she never cared. She bought things without knowing how much she had spent and my father … my father never chastised her for it, never put her on a budget. Hopefully,” he added, “things will be different with this wife.”

“Where did your father meet your mother?” I asked.

“He saw her crossing a street in Charlottesville, stopped his carriage, and began a conversation with her. Without even knowing her family background! She invited him to her home that night. Wouldn’t that tell you something? How impulsive a person she was? Would you have ever done such a thing? Well?” he asked when I hesitated.

I tried to imagine it. It was romantic—a handsome young man stops his carriage to start a conversation with a young woman, a total stranger, and their conversation is so good that she is moved to invite him to her home.

“She didn’t know of him?”

“No. She was visiting an aunt in Charlottesville. She wasn’t from this area and never heard of the Foxworths.”

“I suppose he was impressive.”

“You would have invited him to your home?”

“No, not right away,” I said, but something within me wanted to say I would, wished such a thing to have happened to me, but I knew what Malcolm was driving at, what was right and proper.

“See what I am saying? He should have been able to perceive the kind of woman she was immediately.”

“How long did they court?”

He smirked.

“Not long enough,” he said.

“But Malcolm, you and I must have had an even shorter courting period.”

“It wasn’t the same thing. I knew what kind of woman you were; I didn’t need endless examples to demonstrate and support my view. He was blinded from the beginning and rushed right into a proposal. He once confessed to me that he suspected her aunt had brought her to Charlottesville for the sole purpose of meeting a distinguished gentleman. The guile of women! It wouldn’t have surprised me to learn that she had planned crossing that street at just that time, knowing he was coming. He said she smiled up at him so warmly, he had to stop the carriage.”

“I can’t believe that.”

“I do. Women like that are always conniving. They look so simple, so unassuming, so sweet, but they’re plotting, believe me. And some men, men like my father, always fall for that type.”

“Is that what his new bride is like?” He didn’t respond. “Well, is she?”

“I can’t see why not,” he said, and folded his paper noisily.

I was about to respond, when Lucas came to announce that their car had driven up.

“Go help with the trunks and luggage,” I said. I stood up, but Malcolm sat staring. “Well?”

He shook his head to shake away a thought and followed me to the front door as Garland and a young woman who could have been his daughter stepped out of their car. He held her in such a way that I suddenly realized that this child woman was his bride! My entire being was shaken. Why hadn’t Malcolm told me? I turned to stare at him accusingly, but the face I saw was hardly recognizable as Malcolm’s, so contorted was it with shock.

“My God,” Malcolm said, “she’s pregnant!” I knew what his concerns were—another heir. His face was bright purple and he clenched his hands into fists. “She’s pregnant!” he repeated as if to confirm it for himself.

Indeed she was. The otherwise delicate, slender, and fresh-looking young lady with bright chestnut hair looked to me to be in her final months. Garland saw us in the doorway and waved vigorously, taking Alicia by the elbow to lead her on.

He didn’t look as though he had aged much since he had begun his journey. I had photographs with which to judge. If anything, taking such a prolonged trip and marrying so beautiful a young woman had made him look younger. I saw a great many physical resemblances between him and Malcolm, of course, but there was a lightness to Garland’s step and a warmth in his smile that Malcolm lacked.

Garland was nearly the same height and had the same broad shoulders. He looked fit, vigorous, energetic. It didn’t surprise me that such a young girl would be attracted to him. He looked rather dapper in his light sport jacket and tan trousers.

And his wife was positively radiant. She moved lightly, gracefully, toward us for an introduction.

She had large blue eyes and one of those peaches-and-cream complexions usually found only in magazines. She had a soft, gentle mouth and a small, slightly turned-up nose. I was immediately envious of her delicate, feminine features. Her hands were so small and her neck so smooth and graceful. In many ways she reminded me of Corinne, Malcolm’s mother, and I understood why Garland Foxworth would have pursued her and taken her for his second wife. When he had first seen her, he probably envisioned Corinne the way she was when he had first set his eyes on her crossing that street in Charlottesville.

I turned quickly to Malcolm to see his reaction to her. His eyes grew small, his gaze intense. Although he had prepared himself to be stern and coldly formal when they arrived, I saw his face softening. What kind of a woman had he expected? I wondered. Or was she what he had expected and that was why he looked so affected.

“Malcolm, you look absolutely … older,” his father said, and laughed. “Alicia, this is your stepson. Malcolm, your stepmother, Alicia.”

Malcolm looked at his father. I saw the cold sneer come into his face.

“Mother? Welcome, Mother,” he said, and extended his hand. Alicia smiled and took it but let go almost immediately and turned to me, as did Garland.

“This,” Malcolm said, pronouncing his words sharply, slowly, “is Mrs. Foxworth, Mrs. Malcolm Neal Foxworth. Olivia,” he said.

“Well, well. How do you do, Olivia,” Garland said. Coldness filled my chest. I could tell from the look on Garland’s face that Malcolm had never written him to tell him he had gotten married. Which meant, he didn’t even know he had two grandchildren!

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Alicia asked Garland. She had such an innocent, simple way about her. Garland, knowing his son well, would rather have ignored this embarrassing moment. I could sense that. Later on, in private, he might discuss it with him and voice his unhappiness about such a surprise. “Garland?”

“Simply because I didn’t know, my love,” he said, staring at Malcolm. I could see that self-satisfied expression around Malcolm’s eyes, the expression he usually took on when he had gotten the better of someone. “How long have you two been married?”

“Well over three years,” Malcolm said.

“We have two children,” I said, impatient with the way Malcolm was stalling them in front of the house and rationing the news. “Both boys.”

“Both boys? Well, what do you know! Alicia, you’re a grandmother before you are a mother. Boys!”

Alicia smiled warmly as Garland embraced her, pressing her to him with such force, I thought he might endanger the pregnancy. She was so fragile-looking.

“Well, let’s get on with this homecoming,” Garland said, moving forward. Malcolm stepped aside and I accompanied them into the house. “I see there have been some changes made,” Garland said. He was referring to some of the things I had done to warm up the foyer—the addition of some new, brighter landscapes and pictures of other country-type scenes, and some colorful rugs. “All good things,” he added for my benefit, winking as he said so.

I couldn’t help but like him. He was so bright and happy. There was a positive energy around him that was contagious. Alicia beamed.

“It’s everything you promised it would be,” she said, and she kissed him on the cheek, but the kiss was so much more affectionate than the kisses Malcolm gave me that I was envious. It was nearly passionate.

“Your suite is in the south wing, next to Olivia’s,” Malcolm said, sounding more like the manager of a hotel than a son welcoming his father and his father’s new bride home. “It’s the one you requested.”

“Good. Well, let us get settled in and then I want to see my grandsons, eh, Alicia?”

“Oh, yes, I can’t wait.”

“And dinner. We’re both absolutely famished. The food on these trains leaves much to be desired. Have you done much traveling, Olivia?” he asked me. “Or is Malcolm keeping you a prisoner in Foxworth Hall?”

“Well, I haven’t really done much traveling, no, but we traveled on the train right after we were married.”

“She’s from New London, Connecticut,” Malcolm said. “Her maiden name is Winfield. Her father was in the shipping industry—unfortunately he passed away recently—”

“Oh, a Yankee, eh?” Garland said. “Alicia’s from Richmond, Virginia, so let’s not have the war between the states,” he added, and laughed vigorously. Malcolm, standing behind me, scowled, but Alicia smiled at me.

“You’ll find no fight in me,” she said, squeezing my hand. I must say I was taken with her warmth and her gregarious ways. She was as uninhibited as a four-year-old. Although I told myself it was just a lack of good breeding, I couldn’t help being fascinated by her openness. True she was only nineteen, but she had traveled most of Europe and been with a very sophisticated man. She should have had a rapid maturing, yet she didn’t seem affected by the traveling or by the realization that she was a very wealthy woman and the wife of a distinguished man.

“Ah, Mrs. Wilson and Mrs. Steiner,” Garland said, seeing them standing to the side. Mary Stuart stood behind them shyly.

“Welcome home, Mr. Foxworth,” Mrs. Wilson said warmly.

“Welcome home,” Mrs. Steiner said. He took both their hands and kissed each. They were obviously embarrassed by such a greeting.

“I’ve become the Continental,” he said, “traveling through Europe. You two better be on the lookout for me.” The two giggled like schoolgirls. I thought it was absolutely uncouth to behave like that with the servants, but I did see how much more they admired him than they admired Malcolm. He looked at Mary Stuart, the maid hired after he had left. “Hello there,” he said. She nodded and he looked about. “Are these all the servants?”

“Olsen is in the gardens, working,” I said. “You may resume your duties,” I told the maids, and they quickly left. Garland lowered his chin to his chest and peered at Malcolm.

“Are we pressed to economize?” he asked.

“Of course not,” Malcolm said. “We’re just practicing good economic behavior. What you do at home carries over to what you do in business.”

“I see. Well, with the addition of another child and the two of us, we’ll have to look into additional help, eh, Alicia?” he said.

“Whatever you say, my darling.”

I saw Malcolm grimace as if in pain.

“Onward and upward,” Garland announced, and led his bride up the dual staircase, pointing things out to her as she giggled and exclaimed her admiration. Malcolm and I remained below, looking up at them. I felt as if a wild but warm wind had come crashing through the front doors of Foxworth Hall, awakening things that had been asleep for two centuries. It was all quite breathtaking.

“Now you see how ridiculous he is,” Malcolm muttered. “Can you understand why I feel the way I do about him?”

“Why didn’t you ever write him about our marriage or about the birth of the children?” I demanded.

“I didn’t think it necessary,” he said.

“Not necessary?”

“No, not necessary. And as for her … remember, you were here first and you are older. You treat her like a child, and never give the servants the chance to take any orders but yours,” he commanded.

“But what if it’s something Garland wants?” I asked.

He didn’t respond. He muttered something unintelligible under his breath and went back to the salon, supposedly to finish reading his paper before dinner.

I went up to the boys to dress them for their first meeting with their grandfather and their step-grandmother.

Garland couldn’t understand why Malcolm would not permit the boys to sit with us at the dinner table. At first Malcolm did not want to discuss it, but Garland’s insistence finally brought a response.

“Because, Father, what they do is not pleasing to the appetite.”

“Ridiculous. That’s the way children are. It’s the way you were,” he said. Malcolm’s face became bloodred, but his lips whitened so much, they were nearly indistinguishable from his teeth. “He was,” Garland told Alicia. “He was enough to tire out any woman. He was always asking endless questions. His mother couldn’t tell him to do anything without his questioning why. Sometimes I would come home and find her in an absolute dither because of him. I remember her rushing through the house and Malcolm trailing after her, wanting to know this or that. She was in flight from him. He exhausted her,” he repeated.

“And sent her packing?” Malcolm asked through his teeth. “We had twice the number of servants then, including a full-time nanny.”

“All needed because of him,” Garland responded, refusing to be goaded into an argument. Alicia smiled softly and Malcolm’s face relaxed.

Garland had insisted that his and Alicia’s settings be placed together on the left side of the table. Malcolm was going to give up the head of the table to him, but Garland wouldn’t hear of it.

“We’re still on our honeymoon,” he said, “and besides, we could never sit as far apart as you two sit, could we, Alicia?”

“Oh, no. Everywhere we went in Europe, Garland insisted we be placed right beside each other. He was an absolute tyrant when it came to that.”

“I imagine he was,” Malcolm said, but in a much softer tone of voice.

“Your father never stopped entertaining me and whoever was with us. We often joined other American tourists,” she explained. She had a soft, melodic voice, like dark honey. “And he was always embarrassing me,” she added, turning to me. Her smile was friendly, sincere. I nodded and smiled. Malcolm was staring at her as if she were some new species, when indeed I thought she was a great deal like some of the younger women who had come to my reception.

“But tell them the truth, Alicia. You loved every minute of it,” Garland said.

“Of course I did. I was with you,” she said. They kissed on the lips, actually kissed each other right there at the dinner table as if we weren’t present, as if the servants weren’t moving in and out. When I looked at Malcolm, expecting his expression of disdain, I saw a look of envy on his face. I thought there was even a smile around his eyes. It faded when he turned to me.

“We’re going to have to tell you it all, you know,” Garland said, more to me than to Malcolm. “We’ll bore you to death day in and day out with the endless details and pictures, but that’s what you get for marrying Garland Foxworth’s son,” he added, and laughed.

“You don’t have to listen to any of it if you don’t wish to,” Alicia interjected.

“But we do want to listen,” Malcolm said to her. “If you’ll be the one who tells it. That is, if my father will let you tell it without interrupting continually.”

“I won’t speak unless need be,” Garland said. “That’s a promise,” he added, raising his right hand.

“Don’t believe him,” Alicia said. Malcolm smiled. Actually, he almost laughed. As the dinner continued I saw Malcolm soften more and more until he was keeping up a continuous flow of conversation with Alicia. Their exchange didn’t include me. It was as if I were sitting at a separate table, eating by myself. The girl was like a talking travelogue, and Malcolm, who had done some traveling himself, seemed entranced. Garland ate voraciously.

“Your children are adorable,” Alicia told Malcolm. “I can see the Foxworth blood in them.”

“Mal shows it more,” Malcolm said.

“That’s only because Joel is still so young. Oh, I can’t wait for our baby to be born!” she said, clapping her hands. She bounced on the seat. I was quite astonished at her dinner etiquette. She talked with food in her mouth; she fluttered about like a bird in her seat, and she drank the dinner wine as though it were water. Malcolm was being extraordinarily tolerant this evening. I imagined it was because this was our first dinner together.

“Just how far along are you in your pregnancy?” Malcolm asked.

“I’m just at the start of the eighth month.”

“No time to waste,” Garland said. “Not at my age,” he added with a laugh.

“You don’t waste any time, any time at all,” Alicia said. They looked at each other so passionately, it actually brought a flush to my cheeks. They kissed again. In fact, they punctuated almost every sentence they spoke to each other with a kiss.

Malcolm seemed to move from moments of annoyance to moments of genuine pleasure. When Alicia turned her full attention to him, he was entranced. Once, she reached across the table and touched his wrist. I saw him blush, but he didn’t move his hand away.

It was Garland’s idea that we all take coffee on the veranda.

“Alfresco,” he said, making a grand gesture. He put a napkin on his arm like a waiter and stood up, holding his other arm out for Alicia.

“We had such a good time in Italy,” Alicia said. When Malcolm rose, Alicia put one arm in the crook of his and the other in Garland’s. I was amazed at how Malcolm permitted it. With her between them, they started for the veranda.

By the time I joined them outside, they were all laughing at Alicia’s description of a ride in a gondola in Venice. She was standing up and imitating Garland.

“‘Sit down please, sir,’ the gondolier pleaded,” she said, lowering her voice dramatically. “But your father had had a great deal of wine and he thought he could walk a tightrope. ‘No problem,’ he said, ‘I’ll be the navigator.’ The other passengers were in a state of shock. The gondolier pleaded again and then the gondola began to rock.” She rocked back and forth on her heels. “And then, what do you think?” she said. “Garland …” She laughed and Garland laughed at the memory. “Garland fell over the side,” she said, and then fell toward Malcolm, who reached up quickly to keep her from falling into his lap. Garland roared, but Malcolm blushed when he saw me standing in the doorway.

“The coffee will be out in a moment,” I announced.

“Everyone was trying to fish him out of the canal,” Alicia went on, ignoring my arrival. “But he refused their assistance, claiming he was all right. It was absolute bedlam until he was finally pulled into the gondola.” She ended by sitting on Garland’s lap and putting her arm around his neck. They kissed again.

“She tells it so wonderfully,” Garland said. “So,” he said, turning to me, “you’ll have to sit down one day and tell me all the details about your wedding, how my son won your heart, what lies he told you to do so….”

There was more laughter, which set Alicia onto another story about Garland in Europe. Before our evening ended, I decided to call it Tales of Garland Foxworth by Alicia Foxworth. Never had I seen or even read about a woman as devoted to a man as Alicia was to Garland. She took note of every little thing he had done. She practically worshipped the ground he walked upon.

Our evening with them ended when they confessed to being tired from all their traveling. Alicia put her head on Garland’s shoulder and he embraced her around her waist. Then the two of them, looking more like newlyweds in their twenties than a fifty-eight-year-old man and a nineteen-year-old pregnant girl, walked into the house and made their way up the staircase.

Malcolm and I had said little after they left us. The light and the excitement had left the veranda along with Alicia.

“She’s rather pretty,” I said.

“Is she?”

“Like a little bird flitting about your father, don’t you think?”

“I’m tired,” he said. “All that chatter has given me a headache.” He left to go to his chambers.

I took my time going up. When I did climb the stairs, I checked on the boys first. They were fast asleep. Their grandfather had entertained them and I must say I thought Mal took to him rather quickly. I imagined that Garland would be a much better father than Malcolm had been so far. Garland, at least, seemed to like children.

When I passed their suite, I heard them still awake. They were talking and giggling like two teenagers. I hesitated, drinking in some vicarious pleasure from their soft, happy talk.

It was the way Malcolm and I should be, I thought. It was the way I had dreamt we would be. Behind the door Garland held Alicia in his arms. He pressed his beautiful young bride to him and made her feel wanted and alive. I imagined his hand on her stomach to feel the life within. Never once did Malcolm show any interest in doing that. During the final months of my pregnancies, when I carried low and heavy, he avoided me.

Why didn’t Alicia’s features widen and thicken the way mine had? If you looked at her from the bosom up, you wouldn’t even know she was pregnant. It didn’t seem fair that these slim, dainty girls never lost their feminine charm.

I walked on. My envy made me sad, not angry. My bedroom was right beside theirs, and the wall by my dressing table was thinner than my other walls. If I stood by it and pressed my ear to it, I could hear them almost as well as if I were in their room.

“She’s exactly what I thought Malcolm would marry,” Garland said.

“She’s so tall,” Alicia said. “I feel sorry for her being so tall.”

“I feel sorry for her being married to Malcolm,” he said.

“Oh, Garland.”

“But he never understood women. He never really had a girlfriend, you know.”

“Poor soul.”

“Poor? That’s one thing he’s not, nor are you, my darling,” he said. There was a silence that I knew was filled with a kiss.

“I was rich the first day you came into our house,” she told him. And then they were quiet.

I went into my own bed, alone, wondering how I would compete with such a beautiful and innocent creature. Every time she spoke it would emphasize my silence; every time she laughed, it would emphasize my sadness; and every time Malcolm looked at her, it would remind me of all the times he avoided looking at me. Her smallness made my size greater.

I hated her, or at least I wanted to hate her.

And yet, how difficult it was to harden my heart against her simply because she had everything I wanted for myself.

• •

Alicia appeared the next morning with the same energy and bubbly demeanor. If anything, she seemed to open to the day the way a beautiful yellow gardenia might greet the sunlight. Never was our breakfast as lively. Garland said they had slept like babies.

“Which proves how important it is for a man to return home,” he said. “To our home,” he added, looking at Alicia. Her rich chestnut hair was pinned up, rather like mine, but hers was glossy and revealed her small ears and soft white neck. I could tell that Malcolm was fascinated with her. I imagined that like me, he had expected them to be somewhat subdued—the early morning hour, their journey catching up with them. But they looked totally revived. Garland must have been right about the importance of home.

He insisted on accompanying Malcolm to the offices and getting right back into the swing of things.

“I know I have a great deal to catch up on. Malcolm never was one to let grass grow under his feet,” he added, explaining to Alicia. “My son might be many things, but one thing he is for sure and that is a financial genius.”

“That’s what he kept saying about you, Malcolm,” Alicia said. “When I asked him how he could stay away from his business so long, he said he had full confidence in your abilities.”

I waited for Malcolm’s caustic response, but he seemed speechless. He shrugged with an uncharacteristic modesty.

“We should be going,” he said to his father.

Garland’s good-bye to Alicia was so long and passionate, I was actually embarrassed for her. She didn’t seem to mind it. However, she saw the expression on my face and, as soon as he left, she turned to me to explain that it was the first time they would be separated since they had embarked on the European journey together. Malcolm’s good-bye to me had been as quick and perfunctory as usual—a slight peck on the cheek and some words about serving dinner at the usual time.

“You must tell me how hard it has been for you to be mistress of such a large house,” Alicia said, and then quickly added, “Oh, not because I intend to take over. It’s just that I find it… so overwhelming.”

I stared at her for a moment. I thought she was sincere, but I couldn’t help having Malcolm’s suspicions. Who knew what things would be like in a week? In a month?

“I have everything pretty well organized,” I said. “The servants have their duties well outlined and my day is well planned.”

“Oh, I’m sure it is. I don’t want to do anything to disturb the order of things. You’ll just have to tell me whenever I do.”

“I will,” I said with definite assurance, but she either didn’t hear or refused to hear any threat in my reply.

“I don’t want to step on anyone’s toes,” she said. “All I want out of life is to make my husband happy. Garland is so wonderful. He has been so wonderful to me and my family, I can never do enough for him.”

“What did he do for you and your family?” I asked innocently.

“Garland was one of my father’s oldest, best friends. Since grade school days actually. My father injured his back in a horseback riding accident when he was younger and that kept him from gaining the kind of employment he needed to support his family. But Garland came along and set him up in his own accountant’s office, for a sitting job was all he could handle. Then Garland began sending people to him. Without his help, I doubt we could have survived.”

I had my own thoughts about altruism, believing the charity was not given without some thoughts of profit in the future. Had Garland Foxworth had his eyes on this lovely girl from the very beginning?

“How old were you at the time Garland began coming to your house?”

“Oh, I remember him coming when I was about five or six. When I was twelve, he bought me this beautiful gold bracelet. See, I still wear it,” she said, holding out her wrist.

“Twelve?”

“Yes. By the time I was fourteen, we were taking walks together. I would chatter away, holding his arm, and he would listen with a wonderful smile on his face. He made me feel so good. It got so I looked forward to his coming more than I looked forward to anything else. He kissed me while I was still fourteen,” she whispered.

“What? You were only fourteen?”

“Yes, and it wasn’t a peck on the cheek,” she added, her eyes twinkling. My face must have been a window-pane. She had to see my utter astonishment. “We knew then, don’t you see.”

“No, I don’t see how a man of his age and a girl of fourteen would know then.”

“It was love,” she said, unabashed. “True, unrelenting love. He began to come to my house more and more frequently. We would go for carriage rides through the park, stopping for hours to watch the birds. We talked so much, but I couldn’t tell you about what … our conversation was like one long melody. The sounds linger in my mind, not the words,” she said, smiling to herself. I tried to envision such happiness, but I had no idea what she meant by a melody of words.

“I loved the horsedrawn sleighrides whenever the Virginia winter brought pounds and pounds of snow,” she continued. “We would bundle up in thick blankets, clutching our hands beneath them, and ride into the wind, our faces red from the cold, but our hearts warm with our love. You can’t imagine how wonderful that was,” she said.

“No,” I said sadly, “I can’t.”

“In the summer there were those wonderful concerts in the park. I would pack a picnic lunch for us and we would go off to listen to the music. Afterward we would go boating and I would sing to him. He loves me to sing to him, even though I don’t have a singer’s voice.”

“But didn’t you ever think about his age?”

“No. I thought of him as a wonderful older, but most gentle man. He was always so full of spirit and happiness that age never came into it.”

“But how did you have the nerve to marry a man so much older? I don’t mean to sound coarse, but he’ll be dead before you reach middle age. Didn’t your parents object?”

“My father died a month before Garland proposed. My mother was shocked at first, and at first she was against it. She said the same thing you said, but I wouldn’t be dissuaded, and she adored Garland, you see. Soon she began to realize that I really did love him and that the years didn’t matter.”

“To be honest, my dear, I’m quite surprised you decided on having children, considering Garland’s age.”

“Oh, Garland would have it no other way. He said, Alicia, when I’m with you, I’m only in my thirties.’ And he looks like a man in his thirties, doesn’t he? Doesn’t he?” she demanded when I hesitated.

“Yes, he looks younger than he is, but …”

“That’s all that matters … what we think,” she said. She was positively mesmerized by her romance. Reality, hard, cold facts would never be permitted to destroy her rose-colored world. She lived in the world of my glass-encased dollhouse. Of course, I pitied her for that, realizing reality would have its way eventually; but I also envied her for her happiness.

“Let me go with you. I’d love to watch you with your children. They’re adorable. And I’m sure I could probably learn things from what you do,” she added.

“I’m hardly an expert at rearing children,” I said, but I saw how disappointed she would be if I turned her down, so I let her accompany me.

The children did like her, especially Joel. She brought a smile to his face and he enjoyed being held by her. In a way she got down to their level far better than I ever could. Before long she was playing with Mal’s toys with him and Joel was quietly watching the two of them.

“Feel free to do anything you want,” she said. “I don’t mind staying with them.”

“You’ve got to be more careful at your stage of pregnancy,” I told her, and then I thought, wouldn’t Malcolm love to see her have a miscarriage.

The thought lingered in my mind, clinging to my thoughts like a burr caught on my skirt. I couldn’t shake it off, and the more I envisioned her having a miscarriage, the happier it made me feel.

I couldn’t help being afraid of the child she would have, but not for the same reasons as Malcolm. I didn’t have his greed about money, knowing we had and would always have more than we would ever need. I feared that her child would be far more beautiful than my children. After all, Garland was the father and he was just as handsome, if not more so, than Malcolm; and she was so much more beautiful than I could ever hope to be.

So I fantasized her starting down the spiral staircase. tripping and falling down the steps, the accident resulting in an immediate miscarriage. She was too trusting to see these images in my face whenever I looked at her.

All day long, whenever she saw me, she was filled with questions—questions about Foxworth Hall, questions about the children, questions about the servants, and questions about Malcolm.

“What is he really like?” she wanted to know. “Garland can exaggerate so.”

“It’s better that you find out for yourself,” I replied. “Never ask a wife what her husband is like—you won’t get an honest answer.”

“Oh. How right you are,” she said. It seemed I could do nothing to upset her. “You are wise, Olivia. I’m so lucky to have you here.”

I stared at her. She meant it, the foolish girl. Was there no suspicion in her? Was she satisfied being treated like another child in this house?

I expected, as time wore on, that she and Garland would cool down, that some of the gloom of Foxworth Hall would get to her, that as her pregnancy moved into the ninth month, she would be burdened and irritable. But none of that happened. Our meals were just as boisterous as that first day Garland and Alicia arrived.

Every evening Alicia insisted that Garland tell her about his business day in detail.

“You must never think I’ll be bored by it,” she said, “because it’s your work and whatever involves you, involves me.”

Such gibberish, I thought. She will never understand the details of business.

“Well, today I went over Malcolm’s investment in two hotels in Chicago. He has an idea about catering to businessmen, making the rates more attractive for them.”

“What do you call it, Malcolm?”

“Call it?”

“The special rates?”

“Business rates,” he said dryly.

“Why, of course. How silly of me to ask. It’s such a delightful idea,” she said. Delightful? I thought. I waited for Malcolm to explode, but his tolerance grew every day.

A number of times I was tempted to tell him about my fantasizing Alicia’s miscarriage. I wanted to see how he would greet such a possibility, but the closest I came to saying it was when I told him I thought she was far too active and wild for a woman in her ninth month.

“She’s running up and down the stairs, holding her stomach as though she had a balloon under her dress. Sometimes she’s outside with Olsen talking to him about flowers, and occasionally I see her digging alongside him. I saw her lift a large potted plant yesterday. I wanted to warn her, but I didn’t. She insists on carrying Joel up to the nursery, and if I merely mention something, she’s up after it, no matter how heavy or bulky it might be.”

“It’s none of your affair,” he told me, and walked away before I could discuss it any further. Perhaps he was unable to see the possibility or perhaps he had been so charmed by her innocent beauty, he was blind to his own interests.

One day, two weeks into her ninth month, Alicia asked me about the attic.

“It’s rather an interesting place,” I said. I began to describe it and then stopped. “But really, it’s something you’ll have to see for yourself,” I said. I thought about her walking up those shaky little steps and wandering through the huge attic, things strewn about, presenting the possibility of her tripping and falling.

“I was tempted to go through those double doors and go up the stairs.”

“Oh, there’s another way up,” I said. “A secret way.”

“Really?” She was intrigued. “Where?”

“It’s through a doorway in a closet in the room at the end of the north wing.”

“My goodness, a doorway in a closet. Do you want to go up with me?”

“I’ve been there,” I said. “I’ll show you the way and you can amuse yourself going through the old things.”

“Oh, I’d love it,” she said, so I led her down the north wing to the end room. She was fascinated by the room. “It’s like a hideaway,” she said.

“Yes.”

“This house is so exciting, so mysterious. I must ask Garland about this room.”

“Do that,” I said. “And tell me what he says,” I added.

I showed her the closet doorway.

“Now you must be careful,” I said when she looked back at me. “There’s a cord just above the first step. Pull it and it will light the stairway.”

She did, but it didn’t turn on the bulb. I had unscrewed it earlier.

“Must be blown,” I said. “Forget about it.”

“No, that’s all right. I can see fine.”

“Remember,” I said. “I told you not to go.”

“Don’t be an old fuddy-duddy, Olivia. It’s nothing.”

“Go on, then,” I said. “I’ll be down in the front salon, reading.”

She started up and I closed the door behind her. I heard her gasp and then laugh. My heart was pounding in my chest. The dark, the darkness, those creaky steps and floorboards—all presented a terrible danger to a woman close to her delivery date. What a trusting young fool she was, I thought, and turned away. If anything happened to her, I would be too far away to be of any help. I had warned her. No one could blame me.

I rushed out of the room and down the north wing. I settled myself in the salon and began reading, just as I told her I would. It was difficult for me to concentrate on anything. Every once in a while I looked up at the ceiling and imagined her tripping and falling, perhaps banging her head against one of those trunks or armoires, and lying there in the throes of a miscarriage.

Afterward, when I told Malcolm how it had happened, he would thank me. Not in so many words, perhaps; but the thanks would be there. And maybe she wouldn’t go flitting through this house bringing smiles to everyone’s face. Maybe the miscarriage would affect her beauty, and darkness would cloak her eyes. Despair would wash the radiant colors from her face forever. Her voice would change and deepen, losing its melodious tones. Malcolm would no longer be enchanted by her chatter and wheedling charms. When we all sat around the dinner table and she spoke, it would be as if we had no ears to hear.

I didn’t realize how much time had passed, but when Garland and Malcolm arrived home, she was still not down. Of course, Garland inquired about her.

“Oh, dear,” I said. “I’ve been sitting here entranced with this book. She went up to the attic a while ago.”

“The attic? Whatever for?”

“To explore. She was bored.”

“The attic?” Garland repeated. His face turned dark. “She shouldn’t be up there.”

“I told her that, but she positively insisted. She called me an old fuddy-duddy for warning her against it and went up anyway.”

He rushed out and up the winding staircase. Malcolm stood in the doorway watching him and then turned to me. Never did I see such a cold look in his eyes. It was an odd look, a mixture of fear and anger, I thought. It was as if he had just discovered something about me that he had never before realized.

“Perhaps you should go along with him and see if anything happened,” I said. Suddenly a wry smile came to his face and he turned and left me.

Not long afterward I heard Garland’s voice and I went out to the foyer.

“Is everything all right?” I asked. He was hurrying on toward the south wing.

“What? Oh, yes. Can you imagine? I found her standing before the dusty mirror, trying on Corinne’s old dresses. I must say, she did them justice.”

Malcolm appeared behind me as though he had been waiting in the wings. I could see that he was boiling with rage, and yet … yet … I saw that faraway look in his eye, a look, that if I didn’t know better, I would have called love.

• • •

Two weeks later, almost to the day, Alicia gave birth. Dr. Braxten was there to deliver the child. Malcolm and I waited in the foyer. Garland came to the rotunda and shouted down to us.

“It’s a boy! A boy! And Alicia is just fine! Why, she’s ready to go dancing.”

“That’s wonderful,” I said. He clasped his hands together and raised them in the air before returning to their suite. Malcolm said nothing, but when I turned to him, I saw the rage in his face.

“I was praying if a child had to be born, it would be a girl,” he said.

“What difference does it make now? Come, let’s see the child.”

He hesitated, so I started up without him. The new baby, when I first saw him cradled in his mother’s arms, did take my breath away. He had my sons’ blond hair and blue eyes, but this infant radiated a quiet and a beautiful peace such as I had never seen in a child. He looked directly at everyone with clear, understanding eyes—and I knew newborns just didn’t do that.

“Isn’t he beautiful?” whispered Alicia, snuggling him protectively closer against her side. “I’m going to name him Christopher Garland for his father.”

Garland stood by, looking as proud as any young papa. At that moment I thought he did look twenty years younger. Were they a magical couple? Could they turn back time? Had they found the Fountain of Youth, or was this what true love could do for people? Never was I as envious and as jealous of anyone as I was of Alicia that moment. She had everything—beauty, a loving and adoring husband, and now a beautiful child.

“Congratulations, Father,” Malcolm said, appearing in the doorway.

“Thank you, Malcolm. Come on in and take a closer look at your stepbrother.”

Malcolm stood beside me and looked down at Alicia and the child.

“Good-looking. A true Foxworth,” he said.

“You betcha,” Garland said. “We’ll be handing the cigars out tomorrow, eh, son?”

“Yes, we will,” he said. “You did it, Father.”

“Oh, I don’t know if he did it alone,” Alicia said. It even made me laugh. Malcolm’s face reddened.

“Well, I meant… I … of course, congratulations, Alicia,” he said, and knelt down to brush a kiss across her cheek. From the way he closed his eyes, I knew he wanted that kiss to last longer.

What a hypocrite he could be, I thought. I knew he hated that baby, and yet he could mouth all the right words, and do all the correct things.

He stood up quickly and backed away from the bed.

“Well, I’d better let you rest,” he said. He and I left the room. Garland had hired a nurse for the first few weeks, something Malcolm had not thought of doing for me. We joined Dr. Braxten in the hallway, preparing to leave.

“So, Malcolm,” he said, “you can be proud of your father, eh?”

“Yes,” Malcolm said dryly.

“Looks like I was wrong,” Dr. Braxten added.

“Pardon?”

“There was to be another Foxworth born in Foxworth Hall after all, eh?” he said.

For a moment Malcolm didn’t respond. His lips whitened and he looked toward me.

“Yes, Doctor,” he said, “you were wrong.”

He followed the doctor down the staircase. Their footsteps sounded like thunder, the thunder that comes to warn us of an impending storm.