CHRISTOPHER BROUGHT A BURST OF LIGHT INTO OUR LIVES again. Corinne, John Amos, Malcolm, and I were drawn to him like moths, to the brightness of his golden hair, to his brilliant, radiant smile.
“Good morning, Olivia,” he would say upon joining me for breakfast, “don’t you look lovely this morning.”
“Don’t tease and flatter an old woman,” I would insist.
“Tease and flatter?” he would say, and his blue eyes filled with the purest light, a blue light found in the freshest mountain lakes. “I meant it from the bottom of my heart.” Then, with a boyish smile and a healthy appetite he would butter his blueberry pancakes and say, “Even as a little boy, Olivia, I remember you were the best cook. You always made cookies, the kind with raisins in them. You were always so kind to me.”
My heart would fill with a joy I’d forgotten could exist in this earthly life.
With Malcolm, Christopher could discuss the most intricate of business plans. “I’m not sure investment in public railroads is going to be the thing of the future,” Christopher would say. “I think it’s time to look to the heavens, sir. I think aviation will be the transportation of the future.”
“You mean to tell me that the common man will go flying around this great land of ours. I find that hard to believe, young man.”
“It’s already happening, sir. Why, look at how many companies are opening public stock options.” And Christopher would open The Wall Street Journal and I would see their blond heads bow over the paper as they read over the stocks.
“Why, son, I believe you might be right,” Malcolm would finally agree. “You have quite a business head on you. Are you sure you want to waste it on medicine?”
“Sir,” Christopher would say, “I want to help people, like my stepfather did.”
Even John Amos was impressed with the boy’s understanding of the scriptures. Far into the night they would go over passages, and discuss various interpretations. Christopher always saw the Lord as forgiving, while John insisted that He was vengeful as well.
But it was Corinne who was most mesmerized by this beautiful young man. She sought every opportunity to be with him. Only when I walked into the room and saw them sitting together on the sofa, whispering and laughing, did Corinne remember to pull away, drop Christopher’s hand, and heed my warning to treat him as she would treat an uncle. But it warmed me to see these two radiant children, children who brought such joy into gloomy Foxworth Hall, and I would fix them a pot of tea and bake them cookies, always remembering to put raisins in. I thought that Christopher had interminable patience when it came to Corinne’s constant questions about his past, even when she asked him things that might bring back painful memories. He seemed incapable of losing his temper. He was full of forgiveness and understanding, warmth and sympathy.
At one dinner Corinne asked Christopher about Alicia. Malcolm was at his usual seat at the head of the table, and I was at mine at the other end. Corinne now sat directly across from Christopher, who sat in what had been Mal’s seat. She had almost been late to dinner, taking so long deciding what to wear and how to fix her hair.
It was one of our warmest evenings of the summer, but Malcolm still wore his jacket and tie, as did Christopher. Malcolm would never admit to any discomfort. He maintained a cool, relaxed appearance, almost willing his body to behave. Although Christopher was uncomfortable, he did not say a word. There was absolutely no breeze outside, so nothing passed through our opened windows. All our ventilation came from the ceiling fans.
Corinne began by teasing Malcolm about his tightly knotted tie.
“Why don’t the two of you loosen your ties and take off your jackets,” she said. “I think it would be romantic.” She rolled her eyes and sighed. I had told Malcolm that she was spending too much time reading the fashion magazines and following the lives of the movie stars. More and more she behaved as if Foxworth Hall were a Hollywood set.
“We are not performing on some stage,” Malcolm retorted, recalling my complaints. I nodded in approval. “This is our dinner. I suggest you concern yourself with other matters than how the men in this house dress, Corinne.”
“Daddy can be so stuffy,” she said, smiling at Christopher, undaunted. He did not smile back, knowing well how Malcolm would have reacted. I knew she was showing off for Christopher. Although there was a look of pleasure in his eyes, he maintained his decorum. “Was it stuffy for you at dinner at your house, Chris?”
I raised my eyebrows. Chris? She caught my look of reprimand. You don’t shorten the Christian names of people older than yourself, I had told her.
“My father wanted us to dress properly for dinner,” he said. “I wouldn’t say he was stuffy, nor would I say your father is either,” Christopher replied diplomatically. Malcolm did not show his reaction, but I knew he was pleased.
“What about your mother? I know so little about her. She left with you shortly after I was born,” Corinne asked. Whenever Alicia’s name was mentioned, both Malcolm and I involuntarily stiffened. Oh, I worried so that somehow the truth would come out, that I would lose forever the love and affection of these two young people, who would never forgive us for the lie we had forced Corinne to live in. But it was for the best, I consoled myself, and there was no way they would ever guess; for indeed, who could ever guess such a deception?
“I don’t think we should be talking about Christopher’s mother over dinner,” I said quickly. “It can’t be very pleasant for him, considering the tragedy,” I added.
Corinne blushed. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t—”
“It’s all right. But Olivia is right,” Christopher said. He quickly asked Malcolm a question about one of his mills and the subject was dropped, but the tension lingered in the air between Corinne and myself for the remainder of our meal. She hated how I had made her look cruel to Christopher, but it was the quickest way I could think of to end the topic. I was just as reluctant to discuss Alicia in front of Corinne as was Malcolm. Later I overheard Christopher assure her that she had not offended him. They were walking in the hallway toward the east patio. She did not know that I was close enough to hear their conversation.
“My mother can be very cold at times,” she told him. “She is so exasperating,” she added, fluttering her eyelashes. Christopher laughed.
“You must not judge your mother so harshly, Corinne,” he told her. “What she said, she said only to protect me. She was concerned for my feelings,” he added in a tone of voice that suggested a teacher-student relationship. I thought he was doing well in his effort to keep Corinne in her place, and I was proud of him for it.
The next morning Christopher came to me on that same east patio. I was enjoying the humid, overcast day because there was a comfortable breeze. As he walked toward me, I saw a look of seriousness furrow his brow, though he smiled and greeted me warmly. “Good morning, Olivia, may I sit down?” I put down my needlepoint as he sat beside me. I knew he had something on his mind, and for a moment I froze in fear, so afraid he would ask me endless questions about Alicia and why she had left here. I hated lying to Christopher, it seemed so unfair; yet what would he think of me, of Malcolm, of Alicia, even of himself if he knew the truth?
“You look like you have something on your mind, Christopher,” I said warily. “What is it?”
“Olivia,” Christopher began, a look of sweetness crossing his face. “I want you to know how grateful I am for what you and Malcolm are doing for me. It’s so wonderful here. I feel as if I’ve found a second home—and so quickly after I lost my mother. And thank you for understanding that it’s difficult for me to talk about her. Last night at dinner, I felt you understood me so well, and then, when I was thinking about it later, I realized why. For you’ve suffered a loss, perhaps even greater than mine. I know children expect their parents to die; but I can’t imagine how horrible it is to lose both your sons.” He reached over and took my hand.
“I have hesitated speaking about Mal and Joel because I know how painful it is for you. But I feel that we can share that pain. Oh, I remember Mal, so serious and so adult. I remember when I was here with them, and they treated me like a brother. And really, when my mom was away all those months, you were a mother to me, and I loved you so. I never forgot that. And now I have lost my mother and you have lost your sons. But we can have each other now, can’t we? I mean, isn’t it as if I have found a mother and you have found another son? Can we be like that, Olivia? I always wanted brothers and sisters and used to complain to Mom about that. But whenever I asked for one, she’d look so upset, and start twisting her fingers. I don’t know why, she’d never explain to me. But I feel as if I’ve truly found a second family. And I adore Corinne, she sure is going to be a beautiful woman! You’ve raised her so well—she’s so sweet and charming, and really fun to be with. You know, I really don’t mind at all the way she seeks me out. It’s very flattering. And nothing would honor me more than to be a real brother to Corinne, and if you’ll let me, to be a son to you.”
“Thank you, Christopher,” I said. I felt the warmth and respect in his eyes. Oh, this young man touched me more than I could ever tell him. How strange it was, strange and odd that I’d lost my own two children but had been given Alicia’s. And I vowed I would take care of them, and protect them. Even though they were almost adults, we truly were a family, the sort of family I’d dreamed of—beautiful, loving children with the world at their feet. “There is nothing I’d like more, Christopher, than for you to consider yourself my son. I’m honored, really I am.”
Christopher smiled, his handsome face filled with love and interest.
“I wish my mother had never left Foxworth Hall. I wish I had thousands more memories of Mal and Joel. I wish that I had had the opportunity to know them as we all grew up, but I realize all that is in the past and there is no point to resurrect it. My mother told me so little about our life here. But we can make new memories now, can’t we, Olivia?”
Christopher looked down and then up at me with those blue Foxworth eyes, his warmer, deeper, richer. “I’m going to make you so proud of me, Olivia.”
His sweetness, his love, was so moving, it brought tears to my eyes. I had known so little love in my life, but I believed Christopher really did love me, love me as if I were his mother. A lump was lodged in my throat, and I could tell Christopher knew how sincerely he had moved me. I smiled and patted his soft hand.
“Christopher,” I began, “if you achieve what you have set out to achieve, you will bring me the kind of pride and happiness only a mother can have for a son. I feel honored that you have these feelings now.” I looked away quickly because my heart was beating fast and I felt my tears about to flow.
I couldn’t help but think of Mal and Joel and the mother-son talks we used to have. All that had been taken away from me, and now, suddenly, some of it was returned. As if to comfort me, the warm breeze caressed my face and the long, billowy cloud that had covered the sun moved on. There was warmth all about me, but most important, there was warmth in my heart.
“I will do my best,” Christopher said. He leaned forward to kiss me on the cheek. The warmth of his lips on my cheek remained after he got up. I swallowed my urge to cry and turned back to him only when he started away. I watched him go to the house and then I looked up and saw John Amos standing by a second story window, looking down at us. He had his hands behind his back and his body seemed to cast a deep, heavy shadow.
I began to notice how John Amos kept watching Christopher. He would appear out of nowhere, hovering in a doorway, emerging from a shadow. He seemed to be observing him, looking for something in Christopher. With his eyes like inquisitive, probing scalpels, he sought to slice out a hint, a sign, a clue. Whenever Malcolm and Christopher did have a conversation and John Amos was nearby, he scrutinized Christopher like a spy sent from some distant land filled with suspicion. For a while he said nothing about him, and then one day about a week after my conversation with Christopher on the patio, he came to the door of the front salon while I was reading.
“I must speak to you about Christopher,” he said. I nodded and indicated he should come in. He did not sit down, so I knew that his thoughts troubled him. He stood for a long moment with his hands behind his back and then turned to me. “There is danger in paradise,” he began.
“What troubles you, John?” I asked, impatient with him. I wasn’t happy that he had come to me critical of Christopher. “What has he done?” I demanded.
“It’s nothing that he has done specifically, but I am a cautious man and I want you to be cautious too. I worry that everyone has grown so attached to him so quickly. Even Malcolm appears to have lost his cautious eyes and careful ways. Only you, Olivia, have the insight to see what I am suggesting,” he said, and brought his lower lip over his upper, his eyes small. He nodded his head slowly, as though confirming his own statements.
I considered what he had said.
“But there is nothing that you have observed …”
“I have seen him with Corinne. They spend a great deal of time together walking through the gardens, going on the swings, talking, laughing,” he said as if those were sins.
“But they are innocent. She follows him about like an obedient puppy dog. You have observed no indiscretions, have you?” I asked quickly.
“No, and yet… as I said, I worry. Corinne is spending a great deal more time and placing a great deal more attention on her appearance. She sits before her vanity mirror and brushes her hair a hundred times before she will emerge from her room,” he said quickly. I sat back.
“You watch her brush her hair? I don’t understand,” I said. He suddenly looked very flustered. His face reddened and his mouth opened and closed without a word. “Why do you watch her so closely?” I asked. “How do you watch her so closely?”
“Sometimes she leaves her door open a little and I … I do what I can to … to keep us aware of whatever troubles may be brewing, Olivia,” he said quickly. “You know that is all I want to do.”
I considered what he had said.
“Was there anything else you witnessed that you think I should know?” I asked, realizing that John had been doing more spying than I could imagine.
“Yes. I must confess I followed them about yesterday because I sensed something.”
“What?” I demanded. I was becoming more and more angered at John Amos’s suspicions about these beautiful, innocent young people. Was he trying to destroy the peace and happiness that we had at last built at Foxworth Hall? “What did you sense, John Amos?”
“I followed them to the lake. They were giggling and splashing each other in the water. I stood watching them play, and was greatly shocked when they emerged from the water. They were swimming in their underwear!! Olivia, it was obscene! You could see everything! It was lewd!”
I must say, I was quite shocked to hear this. I had raised Corinne to be a modest young woman, and I did not approve of her doing this. But, I excused them—after all, they were young, it was hot, humid summer weather. I’m sure their natural exuberance just got of the best of them. “John Amos,” I said sternly. “I don’t like your suspicious mind. After all, they are members of the same family, and in such situations, people often drop their proper modesty. I know both you and I were only children, but I have heard that siblings and cousins often feel very comfortable being so open and unabashed with one another. Let’s not make a mountain out of a molehill.”
The first summer with Christopher drew to an end. Christopher went off to Yale. Corinne, now in the tenth grade, was enrolled in the best girls’ school in New England. I wanted her to be exposed to the old traditions of the eastern seaboard. I wanted her to learn about something other than Southern balls and Kentucky Derbies. I wanted her to study Latin, to study ancient Greece, to become more than those pretty, empty-headed mistresses who ran the estates around Virginia. And, a happy coincidence, her school was in Massachusetts, only an hour or so away from New Haven. I was really comforted to know that a member of the family was nearby, should Corinne need anything.
I was sorry to see them go. They left Foxworth Hall on the same day—they were taking the train up together—and Christopher had offered to see that Corinne was settled in her new school before he went on to Yale. It was so sweet to see how quickly they really had become to each other the brother and sister they truly were. Only they didn’t know.
The big house felt empty without them, and our rather dull routine quickly took over again; Malcolm always at work, John Amos managing the servants and reading Bible lessons with me. But I was comforted by my children. Truly I did think of them as mine.
Just as he had promised, Christopher wrote to me every week. He wrote long, interesting letters, describing everything he was doing and how much he already missed Foxworth Hall and the happy days he had spent during the last half of the summer. And Corinne wrote sweet notes, describing her new school and her new friends. She did complain that there were no boys around, and I had to worry some, that she would become boy crazy and get herself into some sort of trouble, but I consoled myself that I had raised her well and properly. I had to trust the fruit of my own child-rearing. I did believe my tutelage could overcome whatever tendencies she had inherited from her mother.
We all looked forward to the holidays, when Christopher and Corinne would return. Thanksgiving was too short a holiday for them to come all the way to Virginia, but one of Christopher’s professors invited both Corinne and Christopher to his home for dinner. I was consoled that at least they were together. We all waited eagerly for Christmas. And the two of them arrived together, looking flushed and happy, as bright and expectant as two small children waiting for Santa’s arrival. Our Christmas party that year was spectacular.
Our Christmas tree was forty feet high and reached all the way to the top of the rotunda. Christopher and Corinne decorated it, spending almost two entire days with Christopher up on the ladder and Corinne handing him the bright, gay decorations. They even strung popcorn and cranberries—yards and yards of lively red and white garlands to drape around the tree like dancers dancing around the maypole. By the night of the party, Corinne was beside herself with excitement. Malcolm had bought her an extravagant red velvet gown, and she wore her blond hair piled on her head with ringlets cascading down. I had assented to her wearing some light makeup—mascara and lipstick. She was breathtaking, I have to admit it. She looked like a princess, a movie star, a queen.
Malcolm, Christopher, John Amos, and I, as well as the servants, all turned as she drifted down the stairway. Oh, we all felt so much pride; Malcolm was beaming fit to burst and I heard Christopher let out a sigh almost of wonder as Corinne reached us, gaily said, “Happy Christmas, Daddy,” and threw her arms about Malcolm, and then, as she was hugging him, gave Christopher a sly wink. Only John Amos looked on with a tight expression. And suddenly it dawned on me, as I watched him watching her. Why, John Amos was jealous of Christopher! That was the spring of his suspicions. I took his arms and led him into the grand ballroom. “Come, John Amos, let’s make certain all the preparations are perfect. Our guests will begin arriving any moment now.”
Our party was a grand success. Corinne, quite the sophisticated young lady and well-schooled in etiquette, played the hostess more than I did. I saw how proud of her Malcolm was, how he sat back or stood to the side and watched her move about the great foyer greeting people, laughing with this one or that, saying the right things, charming older people as well as younger. I saw the smiles on their faces and the enchantment in their eyes when she greeted them. And I didn’t even mind so much that they had never responded to me in such a way. I was not that type of woman. But my Corinne was, and reflected glory was certainly more sweet than no glory at all.
She had Christopher on her arm, introducing him as her long-lost uncle who was on his way to becoming a famous physician and telling them how proud of him she was. She was positively radiant as they flitted from this person to that, like a sparkling wind bringing Christmas joy to everything it touched.
Christopher was, as always, perfectly charming, complimenting the women, making them feel pretty and attractive. He had a kind word for everyone, and it always sounded sincere, never phony. He sought and found in each person he met their best quality, and then brought it to the fore. Everywhere I turned guests were talking about him and Corinne, how impressed they were with both of them.
I did overhear Mrs. Bromley tell a group of women that it was difficult for her to believe anyone as energetic and charming as Corinne could be a daughter of mine.
But this time I felt no need to cut in and answer her back as I had done at previous gatherings. I knew she spoke out of jealousy, and I felt proud. There wasn’t a finer, more handsome young man or woman in the community. I had succeeded at last in my role as Malcolm’s wife.
We had survived our disasters and tragedies, and like the great house, we now stood at the pinnacle of the community. We were people to be admired and envied.
As the band struck up the dance music, Christopher led Corinne out onto the dance floor. It was a waltz, and their dance was breathtaking. Christopher spun Corinne around the floor as if they were born dancing together. Everyone turned to watch, no one else wanted to dance, happier to watch this gorgeous couple glide across the floor like happy snowflakes in a friendly wind. Then Malcolm, tall and dignified, came and cut in. Corinne smiled at Christopher as he took his place in the circle about the dance floor to the applause of the guests, and Malcolm danced on with Corinne. But somehow he had broken the spell, both of them appeared stiff and slightly uncomfortable; it was as if Malcolm were trying to compete with Christopher and prove he was just as accomplished a dancer—but he wasn’t. At that moment I really realized how old Malcolm had become. His youthful vigor was gone; dancing with Corinne, he looked like a foolish old man.
Christopher came up to me, smiling. “Dare I cut in, Olivia? Malcolm looks like he’s tiring out.”
I smiled and patted his hand. “You go right ahead, Christopher,” I encouraged him.
Christopher walked out onto the floor, and as he tapped Malcolm’s shoulder, and Corinne floated into his arms, the guests broke into another round of applause.
It was then I saw John Amos looking at me, looking at me as though he were some angry God trying to wreak vengeance on my happiness so lately found. He looked back at Christopher and Corinne dancing and raised an eyebrow in alarm and suspicion. “There are none so blind as those who refuse to see,” he intoned. Why did he have to make beauty seem so sordid? Why did he resent Christopher so? Did he feel that since he was a member of the family he should have the benefits Christopher had gotten rather than being merely a butler? I pushed the thought away. This was the best Christmas party we had ever given, and I was having a wonderful time glorying in my children. I wasn’t going to let John Amos’s suspicions ruin my happiness.
- • •
During his second year at Yale, Christopher did more than simply establish himself as a promising student. His professors found his papers to be extraordinary. As a sophomore, he was already doing senior work. Credit limitations were waived for him; and Malcolm and I received his excited letter announcing that he would be graduating in three years instead of four. Medical school was just around the corner.
I was delighted to learn that he and Corinne kept in contact with each other. Christopher had even taken a ride or two to her boarding school to pay her a visit. Corinne must have been so proud to show off her handsome stepuncle to her girlfriends. I envisioned her sitting on the bed in her dormitory room, the other girls gathered about her to listen to her descriptions of Christopher and the Christmas parties and Foxworth Hall. I was sure she made them all envious, promising to introduce this one or that one to Christopher. When he arrived, she probably displayed him like a precious jewel.
John Amos, however, never let up his suspicions and jealousy of Christopher. “It’s unnatural, Olivia; even siblings aren’t that close at their age.”
“Really, John,” Malcolm would say, “can’t you let Corinne alone.” He remained enamored of her.
By the time she was seventeen, Corinne was a stunningly beautiful woman. Her golden hair never had more of a sheen or looked as soft. Her eyes were brighter and a deeper blue, the cerulean blue of Christopher’s eyes. She had Alicia’s slim, very feminine figure, with a graceful neck, small round shoulders, a firm, full bosom, a narrow waist, and small hips. Her legs were long, and she moved with a confident grace that would make angels envious.
Now twenty-one years old, Christopher, too, had filled out. His shoulders became wider and more muscular from his athletic activities at Yale. He was the champion rower on his scull team. He was at least an inch taller than when he had first arrived at Foxworth Hall, and I thought his maturity made him even more handsome. There was a great deal of Garland in him now. I heard him in his laugh and saw him in his happy strut.
It was heartwarming to watch them rush about the great house, going from one activity to the next. One afternoon they were off to sail on the little lake, another afternoon they were going out to hunt for wild flowers or spy on bees so Olsen could steal the honey. At dinner they chattered incessantly about their lives at school.
Malcolm looked from one to the other, doting, of course, on Corinne. Something was happening to the granite in his face. It was beginning to be chipped away until he no longer looked as though he carried a stone bust of a head on his shoulders. Occasionally, even he would burst out in laughter at the table when Corinne would describe some silly thing she had done or said.
Christopher was full of stories about her, too, loving to repeat things she’d said or done when he visited her at school. They were becoming so close that it finally began to concern me. One afternoon, when the two of them came back from sailing, I realized what was bothering me about their relationship.
Corinne’s arm was laced through Christopher’s, her hair bouncing gently on her shoulders as the two of them crossed the lawn toward the patio, where I sat looking off at the Blue Ridge Mountains.
They looked so much like brother and sister now that I was almost sure they sensed it. For a few moments I was plunged back into the memory of my own sons, and I imagined that if Mal or Joel were alive and walking with Corinne, either of them would look as wonderful. Such was the power of her beauty that any man standing in the reach of that beauty would be enhanced by it himself, the same way a woman’s hands could be enhanced by jewels and her wrist and neck by bracelets and necklaces.
I heard their laughter first. Their voices, still a bit far off, were indistinct. When they drew close enough to see me, they stopped and looked at each other as though they had been caught doing something illicit. I felt myself tighten. A moment later they were walking toward me, moving faster and not standing so close to each other, even though Corinne still had her arm in his.
“Isn’t this a magnificent day, Olivia?” Christopher said. “There was just enough breeze to move our little sailboat,” he added. “I wish you would permit me to take you for a boat ride on a day like this.”
Corinne looked at me with a teasing expression; she couldn’t envision me in a sailboat.
“I have been on a sailboat many times,” I said. “When I lived in New London, sailing was as common as walking.”
“Really?” Christopher said. “I have been down to New London and it is a rather beautiful harbor.”
“Yes,” Corinne said. “It is.”
“You have been to New London?” I asked her quickly. She looked at Christopher furtively and then nodded.
“I picked her up at school and took her for a ride one Saturday,” he confessed. “We knew it was your birthplace and we wanted to see it.”
“It’s such a lovely place,” Corinne said.
Then Corinne and Christopher looked into each other’s eyes in a way that excluded everything else in the world. And I felt a sharp pang of terror grip my heart. It was as if the two of them were living under a veil, a veil that let nothing and no one else into their secret world.
- • •
The next year sped by, and quickly enough it was summer again. This time Malcolm and I traveled to New England, first to attend Corinne’s graduation from high school, then to attend Christopher’s graduation from Yale. Christopher was the valedictorian of his class. People nearly wept at his moving address. He spoke eloquently about the idea that just when you think you’ve lost something—a hope, a dream, or someone you love—you can stick to your dreams and make them come true again. I knew in my heart he was talking about our family, with its bitter tragedies, the loss of Alicia for him, and then his finding a home at Foxworth Hall. When he stepped down from the podium, even Malcolm was moved, and we rushed toward him, our arms outstretched. Corinne ran up to him first and they embraced for a long while. Malcolm and I, growing a little impatient, waited for our turn to hug him. But when he finally took us in his arms, sweeping us both into his embrace, I cried tears that burned from happiness. Then all of us together touched his cap and as a family we threw it into the air. The sky was almost black with graduation caps spinning higher and higher. A cheer of thousands of young male voices filled the air.
We drove home in the graduation car Malcolm had given Corinne. It was a cream-colored convertible Cadillac. We took turns, sometimes Malcolm driving and me riding beside him in the front seat while Christopher and Corinne rode in back. Then Christopher would take a turn at the wheel, then Corinne. For children who’d just proudly graduated, both Christopher and Corinne were oddly subdued on the long two-day drive back to Virginia. We stopped for the night in Atlantic City, New Jersey, and Malcolm wanted to take us all out for a night on the town.
“Have I got some places to show you kids,” Malcolm declared. “There’s a ballroom here that has gold embedded in its tiles. Why, it even puts Foxworth Hall to shame!”
“Oh, Daddy, that’s so sweet of you,” Corinne sighed. “But I’m so exhausted. All this excitement with my graduation and Chris’s has left me feeling like I could sleep for a year.”
“Boy, I know what you mean,” Christopher agreed. “That speech yesterday really took it out of me.”
“Well, if you kids don’t want to go out and celebrate, I guess we’ll just have a quiet evening at the hotel.”
“Oh, no, no, Daddy,” Corinne insisted. “You ought to take Mother out. Why don’t you pretend you’re graduates and we’ll stay home and wait up to make sure you get home at a decent hour. And boy, are you going to be in trouble if you’re late,” Corinne teased.
I understood their exhaustion and insisted that Malcolm take me on his tour. After all, didn’t I deserve some celebration for the great job I’d done raising his child and his father’s child? We left Christopher and Corinne in their respective rooms, dressed in our Sunday best, and went to the restaurant overlooking the ocean. It was filled with newlyweds and youngsters headed for senior proms. We felt rather uncomfortable and out of place surrounded by so many young people. We barely touched the expensive champagne that Malcolm had insisted we order.
“Let’s have a toast, Olivia,” he said, trying to add cheer to our rather silent meal. “Here’s to our wonderful daughter, coming home again, to be with us forever.”
I gave him a stern look. Did he really think Corinne would never leave him? He had to let her have her own life, meet some nice young man and marry and raise a family of her own. That’s what every girl wanted, and I didn’t want Malcolm to continue to make Corinne feel guilty about her quite normal dreams and desires.
“Let’s toast to Corinne finding everything she wants from life and love,” I corrected him.
- • •
We returned to Foxworth Hall late the next night. I let the children sleep as late as they wanted in the morning; after all, come fall, both of them would have to begin taking up adult responsibilities. Christopher was still waiting to hear where he would be accepted into medical school. He was on the waiting list at several Ivy League schools, and had already been accepted to his stepfather’s alma mater in Georgia. Corinne had wanted to go to Bryn Mawr, but I had insisted that she apply to Vassar and Connecticut College for Women in my own hometown of New London. She had been accepted at both but had not yet decided which she most favored.
In the morning, after checking in with John Amos and the cook, I went to my room and sat down at my desk to go through the mail. There was a large manila envelope addressed to Christopher Foxworth, Jr., and the return address was Harvard Medical School! I was so excited to see that, and I knew I shouldn’t open it, but I just had to know. I told myself I wanted to be able to help Christopher to cope with whatever news it contained, good or bad, but in my heart I knew the news would be good. How could any intelligent college turn Christopher down? My fingers trembled as I tore open the envelope.
Dear Mr. Foxworth,
It is with great pleasure that I inform you of your acceptance to Harvard Medical School. As Dean, I am happy—
- • •
I couldn’t read any further. Tears of happiness filled my eyes and the letter blurred before me. Clutching it to my breast, I bolted up the stairs like a young woman and pounded on Christopher’s door. He wasn’t there. I tried Corinne’s room next, thinking that she might know where he was. But she wasn’t in her room either. Suddenly I heard a muffled noise. I couldn’t imagine where it was coming from. I moved toward the sound. For a moment my heart beat so loudly, I could hear nothing else. The noise grew louder. It sounded like laughing, but very strange laughing, like laughter being muffled in a pillow. A light was on at the far end of the corridor and I began to creep toward it.
“Corinne,” I heard a voice whisper, “what would I have done if I never found you? How would I have lived? You are my life. You are the sole reason for my existence. You are—”
“Shhh,” Corinne said, “someone might hear.”
“I don’t care if they hear. I love you. I want the world to know it.”
The light was pouring forth from under the double doors to the Swan Room. Clutching Christopher’s acceptance letter from Harvard, I nudged the door open an inch or two. Sprawled on the swan bed, half undressed, limbs entwined, clutching and clawing passionately at each other, were Corinne and Christopher. Her head was thrown back, her lips, blood-red, were slightly parted. Christopher was kissing her exposed breasts!
Without thinking, I almost slammed that door shut. My mind was dizzy with rage and terror. My heart beat in my chest like a wild bird before a fox. Christopher and Corinne! They were lovers! Lovers! My God, they were brother and sister! Oh, God, what had I done? What had we all done? I sunk to the floor, my head spinning, feeling as if all the life in me were being turned to poison. My mind searched frantically for what to do. Should I confront them? Should I tell them the truth? Would God strike them dead for what they had done?
Just then I felt a dark shadow fall over me. I looked up and there stood John Amos, looking down on me with a cold dismay.
“Olivia, what are you doing stooped on the floor like a beggar? What’s happening here?” And then his beady eyes turned to the door to the Swan Room. I could hear a rustling inside. Quickly John Amos grasped the door and swung it open, and there, revealed in all their naked glory, were Christopher and Corinne on the swan bed. He was lying on top of her. They were entwined in the union that should exist only in marriage.
John Amos seemed to embody all the wrath of God, and as he stood there staring at them, he seemed to grow taller, darker. He seemed an avenging angel sent down from heaven. “Sinners! Fornicators!” he thundered. “How dare you disgrace this house. You will bring the wrath of God down on you. This is incest, lustful unholy incest. May God damn your souls to everlasting hell!”
I tried to stand up, to pull John Amos away from the doorway and close the door on their shame, but he ruthlessly pushed me away. “You stupid woman,” he sneered, “I told you, I told you what was going on right under your nose, but you wouldn’t listen.
“You have harbored the devil in your house, woman, do you hear me? You invited him in, and fed him, and cosseted him, and now he has come to claim your life.”
