“Hey,” he said. “Busy?”
I put down my history book. “No, just tinkering,” I said.
He came in and looked around my room. “I thought teenagers were supposed to be messy.”
“Not with a father who was in the navy,” I said, and he laughed.
“Don’t let him fool you. He was like that before he entered the navy.” He sat at the foot of my bed. “So my brother says you’ve been reading some sort of diary discovered at the Foxworth foundation.”
“Christopher’s diary, yes.”
“Christopher? One of the children who was locked up in the house for years?”
“Yes. What’s Dad been telling you about it?”
“He’s worried you’re getting too involved in some very messy things, terrible things done to children who were betrayed by people who should have loved and protected them. I told him you were too smart to be harmed by such stories and that worse things were being made and shown on the screen these days, but he’s feeling like . . . well, things are tougher, because there’s only him, and he’s always worried he’s not doing what a parent should do.”
“It’s not going to hurt me to read someone’s diary, Uncle Tommy, even someone who was imprisoned with his brother and sisters. I want to understand what happened, and not only because they were distant cousins of my mother and me.”
He nodded. “I can’t blame you for being curious.”
I didn’t want to tell him that it had gone way beyond curiosity. Then he would worry along with my father.
“It was always a fascinating tale for people here,” he added.
“You once spoke with someone who knew more about what really happened there, didn’t you?”
“Someone who wanted to pitch it to Hollywood. He said he knew the truth, but you have to remember that it was third-hand information. I don’t doubt there were some pretty nutty people living in that original mansion, cruel, in fact, but what actually did happen has been so distorted and exaggerated it’s beyond reality, probably. What’s the diary like?”
“I think it’s honest. I’m only about halfway through it. It’s like taking bitter medicine sometimes. But I can handle it,” I added firmly.
He nodded. “I’m sure it is.”
“What do you really know?”
“Really know? I wouldn’t say I really know anything. As I said, I was told some things by . . .”
“Someone who was friendly with a servant. Dad told me that.”
“Oh, he did. Well, what we can be sure of was that the kids were kept up there for years,” he added. “That’s true. Whether someone deliberately was poisoning them or they just happened to ingest some rat poison is unknown. The only thing I can tell you is that this servant came to believe that their grandmother had told their grandfather that they were there, and he had insisted on their being kept locked away. This servant did not like their mother at all and believed she went along with everything knowing those kids would not be freed so easily. But that’s just this man’s opinion about it. I guess the point is, what difference does it make now, Kristin? Actually, don’t you have better things to read?”
“No,” I said firmly. “I need to read this to the end.”
He nodded. “Okay. But don’t ask him any more questions about it. He feels like he . . .”
“Would be betraying my mother, who never wanted to talk about it?”
“Exactly.”
I looked away. “Somehow I believe she would want me to read it, but it would probably have been our secret.”
He stood up, smiling. “Maybe. Everyone has a few. Look, if you get confused or too deep into it and need to talk to someone, call me. Will you?”
“Sure,” I said.
“Who knows? Maybe there is a movie in it.” He held up his hands instantly. “Just kidding. Although kidnapping people and holding them hostage for some reason is always a Hollywood possibility.”
“I’m sure Christopher didn’t write his diary for that purpose,” I said. “Do you know if he’s still alive or where he would be today?”
“No,” he said quickly.
“Could you find out for me? Ask a detective to locate him?”
“I live in the make-believe world, Kristin. The only detectives I know are Philip Marlowe and Sam Spade. Get a crush on some boy, and forget about all that,” he advised. “That’s what I do whenever I confront something unpleasant. I fall in love . . . for five minutes,” he added, and laughed. Then he hugged me. “Let’s have a great dinner and work on getting your father to let you come see me in Hollywood.”
“That,” I said, “frightens him the most.”
He laughed and kissed me again and went out.
I stood there in silence for a moment, and then I whispered, “Don’t worry, Christopher, I won’t leave you.” Almost the way someone would swear on a Bible, I had to touch the diary after saying that, and then I went to shower and dress for dinner.
Nothing was mentioned about Foxworth or the diary after that. Uncle Tommy worked on getting my father to let me go to Hollywood during one of my school vacations. I could see how hard it was for Dad to be apart from me for even a short time. He had been just like this when I had gone to visit Aunt Barbara. I dreaded how terribly traumatic it would be for both of us when it came time for me to leave for college.
Reluctantly, though, he promised to think about it. He even vaguely suggested that he might go, too. The rest of the evening was given over to their memories and talking about Aunt Barbara. Plans were vaguely made for a real get-together in the near future, maybe to celebrate Aunt Barbara’s next birthday. Dad said he would relent and go to New York for that, and Uncle Tommy often traveled to New York on business.
I had driven us to the restaurant and drove us home. Both of them had had a bit to drink, and I thought they were funny, especially my father, who was fighting not to appear even slightly drunk. He didn’t have to tell me—I knew he was like this only because he was with his brother and they had not seen each other for so long. The love they had for each other was palpable. At times, it brought tears to my eyes. I could only imagine my mother sitting there beside me, smiling.
Breakfast was quick the following morning. I had to get to school, and Uncle Tommy was off to make a flight. All three of us refused to say good-bye. It was reduced to a simple “See you soon.”
Kisses and hugs, Uncle Tommy’s whispers of how proud of me he was, and his offer always to be there for me followed me out to my car and traveled with me all the way to school. I tried to keep my tears buried under my eyelids, but some escaped. I sat in my car in the parking lot to catch my breath and get my eyes to look less bloodshot. Kane saw me and lifted his hands to ask why I was just sitting there. I got out and went to him quickly.
“What?” he said.
“Nothing. Just hold my hand for as long as you can.”
“Ask me something hard to do,” he said, and we walked into the school.
I did my best to concentrate on my work and participate in conversations with Kane and my girlfriends, but anyone probably could see that I was preoccupied.
I knew that the mood in our home would be darker when I returned from school, but my father did everything he could to push it away. He made his special meat loaf for us and talked incessantly about the job. It was smart. Get busy, I thought. Get so busy you don’t realize why you were even sad for a while. And then push back into hope and dreams as soon as you can.
I did.
And I didn’t even read any more of Christopher’s diary until the following night, when my father had gone to bed and I had done all my homework, spoken to Kane, and gotten under my blanket. Then I reached back for the diary and whispered, “I’m still here, Christopher. Still listening.”
Fall came rushing down around us, a cold season unlike any I could remember, perhaps because we were trapped in such a cold place. Without a stove or even an electric heater in the attic, we could sometimes see our own breath. Momma was afr
aid of bringing an electric heater, afraid of fires, and there was no way to have a stove without a chimney. Her solution was to bring us heavy underwear.
It was getting more difficult to find new ways to amuse the twins. I came up with hide-and-seek, and that became our main distraction. The attic actually provided many hiding places. The twins loved the game, but one day, Carrie became bored and despondent. She could be very moody, and she just decided to go back down to the small bedroom. When all of us were in it, it was claustrophobic. We needed the attic.
After she left, we called to Cory. We wanted to end the game, but he didn’t come out, and we couldn’t find him. At first, I thought it was funny. My little brother had outsmarted us. But gradually, I began to get more frightened. He wasn’t capable of holding out this long. He wouldn’t stay in the game without Carrie, anyway. I came up with a frightening possibility. He must have gone into one of the trunks and the lid got stuck.
I called for Carrie, and she came back up to the attic. In a frenzy, we began opening trunks, and I finally found him locked in one. He was blue from lack of oxygen and ice-cold. My heart pounded with the possibility that he would die right there and then. I remembered what to do and got him into a warm bath quickly. Gradually, he became more and more conscious. I felt like I was resurrecting him. Once he realized what had happened, he began to cry for Momma, just the way any child would. Cathy looked at me. Now I was the one who was desperate. I couldn’t get Momma for him.
And then my sister suddenly, instantly matured in my eyes. “I’ll be your momma,” she told Cory. He clung to her, accepted her, as she sang “Rock-a-bye Baby” to him just the way Momma used to sing it. I saw the calmness return to his face. As I watched them, I felt a great longing inside me, something I had not felt for a long time, a longing for family, for love, and for protection.
I sat in the rocker, and the others joined me. I held them close. Cathy rested her head against my shoulder, and the twins clung to each other and to me.
“We’ll be fine,” I whispered. “Our time will come.” I recited from Ecclesiastes: “There is a time for everything and a season for every activity under the heavens.”
“For us, too?” Cathy asked.
“Yes. We’ll put in our sacrifice. We’ll get through this, and then we’ll live and enjoy a bountiful life, full of all the things we dreamed of having.”
I rocked on.
The twins were asleep.
Cathy closed her eyes, and before she dozed off, she whispered, “But we have to wait for an old man to die. We have to wish for it.”
Of course, she was right. It seemed wrong, but as I caught the reflection of the four of us clinging to one another, I thought it wasn’t wrong to want someone as dark and hateful as him to die.
I put the diary away and went to sleep wishing that the old man would die soon, too. It was really the first time I had wished anyone any harm. It frightened me a little. Was my reading of the diary turning me into someone I didn’t want to be? Were my father’s fears justified?
I knew I was becoming as moody as Cathy in the diary. I couldn’t help it. Every time there was a lull in classwork or I was alone, even for a minute or so, the vision of those children shivering, clinging to one another, withering away like the flowers they were given, would return. I felt so frustrated for them.
Of course, my friends had no idea that I had a black cloud hovering over me. The problem for me was the contrast between feeling the pain in the diary and seeing my lucky classmates giggling over the silliest things, arguing over trifles, and growing impatient with me because I didn’t laugh at the things they thought were funny and I didn’t have the same excitement about the fun they were expecting on weekends.
No one was more tuned in to my growing depression than Kane. Even so, for days, he tried to ignore it, telling jokes, and then one day, he surprised me with a ring to match the ruby necklace Uncle Tommy had bought me. I had told him how Uncle Tommy had presented it.
“Found this on the sidewalk,” he said when we had a few moments together at lunch.
“Oh, Kane.” He watched me as I unwrapped it.
I couldn’t help it. As soon as I saw what it was, I started to cry, and I cried so hard I had to jump up and run to the bathroom. Lana and Suzette came after me. I was sitting on the toilet in a stall and sobbing as I looked at the ring in my palm.
“What’s going on?” Lana asked. She tapped on the door. “Kane is in shock. He thinks he did something terrible.”
I bit on my lower lip and tried to swallow back my tears before I dabbed my face with tissues and opened the stall door. The two of them stood back as if they thought I might explode or something.
“What happened?” Suzette asked.
Of course, I would never tell them why I was crying. I wasn’t completely sure of the reason myself, but I opened my palm and showed them the ring.
“That’s beautiful,” Lana said. “Why did you get so hysterical?”
“My uncle Tommy bought me this,” I said, lifting the necklace. “It was my mother’s favorite jewel. Kane bought the ring to match.”
They both stared at me.
“So?” Suzette finally said, after looking at Lana.
“It’s hard to explain. I don’t have very much family,” I added.
That seemed to satisfy them. They both moved forward to hug me, and for a few moments, the three of us just stood there clinging to one another.
Maybe we were all shut away in some sort of attic, I thought. Maybe we were all terribly alone at times.
“Thanks,” I told them. “I’d better get back and thank him.”
“He might have committed suicide by now,” Lana joked.
“I doubt it,” Suzette said. “He’s not the type. He’d just say, ‘Next,’ and move on to someone else.”
“How do you know?” I asked her. “I wouldn’t bet on it.”
Their eyes widened.
“You didn’t cross the Rio Grande?” Lana asked. “Did you?”
“Only my hairdresser knows,” I said.
“What?” Suzette asked.
I laughed. “My dad has this book about old commercials and advertisements, and that was a line in one selling hair color, but it got to mean more, if you get my drift.”
“Drift? Did you sleep with him or didn’t you?” Suzette demanded.
“Figure it out,” I said, and started to leave.
They both were stunned, I was sure. They caught up before I reached the cafeteria.
“You’d better tell us,” Lana warned. “We’re your best friends.”
I just smiled at them and hurried to join Kane, who still did look shocked.
“Sorry,” I said, sitting beside him. “Help me put it on.” He slipped the ring onto my finger. “Thank you. It’s beautiful, Kane.” And then I kissed him, but not quickly and not like you would kiss a relative. I could hear the conversations around us pause.
He smiled.
Neither of us said anything else. We ate and talked to our friends. For me, it was like coming up out of the cold, dark, deep water for a little while. But it wasn’t long before I was thinking about poor Cathy. She probably never got to experience this sincere feeling. Even after she got out of that attic.
Later that day, just before dinner, I showed my father what Kane had given me. I could see how surprised he was, and impressed.
“First ring I gave your mother was out of a Cracker Jack box. It was a joke, but she kept it a long time. Might still be in a drawer.”
“It’s what it says, not what it is,” I told him, and his eyes widened.
“Your mother wouldn’t have said it any differently.”
I looked away quickly. No tears, not tonight, I told myself.
Dad was working very late every day now, so I prepared our dinners. Twice during the week, however, he had to have dinner with the owner and the architect. He wanted me to come along, but I told him I had to do my homework and not to worry, because I didn’t mind
eating alone. The second night, however, I asked him if I could invite Kane.
“Sure,” he said. “Used to be that you could win a man over through his stomach, but it looks like you’ve done it already.”
“Never hurts to be sure,” I told him.
He laughed, but I could feel the hesitation in the laugh and in his voice. I imagined that it seemed to him like Kane and I were moving too quickly in our relationship, and although he probably wouldn’t ask, he had to be wondering just how far had we gone.
These days, if you were with the same boy for two dates, it was assumed you had had sex. I wasn’t going to tell anyone, especially my girlfriends, but I was impressed at how Kane wasn’t demanding. At first, I had told myself that he really respected me, but lately, I was telling myself he had deeper feelings for me than he had ever had for other girls he had dated, and that was the real reason for his patience. Nevertheless, a part of me remained suspicious. I couldn’t help feeling that Kane was much more sophisticated than I was when it came to sex. He was very bright and very perceptive, but then I reminded myself that he wasn’t conniving, devious, or sly. At least, he wasn’t to me.
He came over right after school and watched me prepare a vegetarian lasagna. He sat in the kitchen, entranced, as if I were doing an amazing chemistry experiment.
“I don’t think—in fact, I know my mother can’t do what you’re doing,” he said.
“I’m sure she could if she wanted to.”
“I’m not.”
“Maybe I should have said if she had to.”
“Maybe.”
I paused and looked at him sitting there with admiration so clear in his face. He smiled softly, his eyes warm and loving. “My girlfriends think you’re going to break my heart,” I said.
“Hand me that knife.”
“Why?”
“I’ll sign a pledge in blood.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. He rose and came over to kiss me and then brushed back my hair.
“I really like you, Kristin. I’ve never liked any girl this much. I want to say ‘love,’ but I’m afraid you’ll doubt me.”
Christopher's Diary: Secrets of Foxworth Page 25