Secrets of Foxworth

by V. C. Andrews

  It took a while to fall asleep again, and then I did something I hadn’t done since I was a little girl. I overslept. Dad was knocking on my door and poked his head in.

  “Kristin, are you sick?”

  “What?” I sat up quickly and looked at the clock. “Oh.”

  “You should have set your alarm,” he said.

  “I haven’t done that for so long.”

  “Um. Maybe you’re going to have to start again. I saw your light was on late,” he said, shaking his head. Then he backed out and closed the door.

  I hopped out of bed. No matter what, even if I skipped breakfast, I was going to be late for school for the first time. Dad was waiting for me when I came down the stairway.

  “I don’t want you driving fast, now, Kristin. You’re going to be late. I’ll write some excuse for you, say we had a problem at the house or something.”

  “No need to lie, Dad. It’s my first time. I’ll get a warning, but I shouldn’t get any punishment. I’ll just tell the truth. I overslept.”

  “Why did you stay up so late?” he asked. “I thought I saw your light on. It was that diary, right?”

  “Yes,” I confessed.

  He shook his head. “I’d like you to give it back to me, Kristin. I’ll keep it somewhere safe and return it to you later.”

  “Why?”

  “Look at what it’s doing to you now.”

  “It’s not doing anything to me. I lost track of time. That’s all, Dad. It’s not a big deal. I’ll be more careful. Promise. I won’t be late again, ever.”

  “I have to go to work,” he said. “Think about it. And remember, no fast driving. You get a ticket, you go to court here first, and the judge is merciless. You’ll lose your license in a heartbeat and have to go to months of traffic school.”

  I watched him leave and then went to drink some orange juice and have a piece of toast. Right now, I had little appetite. As I ate my toast, I looked up and thought about the diary. I didn’t want even to consider it, but once again, I did. It was hard to believe that my father would go into my room and take it away from me, but it occurred to me after seeing his reaction this morning that he just might.

  He had seen me intent when reading novels or even textbooks, so it wasn’t just that. There was something more here. I felt certain now. My father knew something that he had never told me, and seeing me reading the diary so intently resurrected that memory. He was surely afraid I would read about it. Perhaps he had made some sort of promise to my mother. Whatever, I thought he never believed I would find a way to discover what he knew. I was confident that this was what was bothering him now, and it wasn’t simply my oversleeping.

  Rather than driving me away from the diary, it only stirred my curiosity about what I would read and learn. As far as I could remember, our family, even before my mother died, did not hoard secrets. Everything about my grandparents, uncle, and aunt was openly discussed. My parents were people who never hid anything from each other and, I thought, surely not from me.

  Corrine and Christopher Sr. had a deep and serious secret to hide not only from their own children but from everyone who knew them. That was why Christopher Sr. had created their new surname, Dollanganger. A family born out of a lie couldn’t end up well. Of course, it was understandable that neither would tell Christopher Jr. the truth and certainly not Cathy, not while they were still so young, and maybe they had thought they never would have to tell them the truth. Christopher Sr.’s fatal accident made it almost impossible to keep the big secret. Up to where I left off, I had the impression that Christopher was hoping his mother would come up with some other explanation. Maybe their parents weren’t related by blood or something.

  I should have been more concerned about being late for school and my first class of the day, English with Mr. Stiegman, but my mind was totally absorbed by what I had read in the diary. I was almost surprised to find myself pulling into the student parking lot. I would have to go directly to the principal’s office and get a pass to enter school and my class.

  Our principal, Mr. Market, was a very easygoing forty-five-year-old man. He had been principal of our school for nearly eight years now and was very well liked because he was always fair. I sensed that he was fond of me and impressed by my grade point average. I didn’t like to believe that I was treated with any more favor because I had lost my mother at an early age, but sometimes I felt it. There were many other students who lived with one parent, but that was because of divorce. Many of them had behavioral problems, and few were doing anywhere nearly as well with their grades as I was.

  My father was never really on my back when it came to schoolwork. He was very proud of my achievements, but he never pressured me the way some parents pressured their children. I think what made me work so hard was my fear of disappointing him, even though he always made it seem like he would love me no matter what. Maybe that was why I worked so hard. He cared so much about me.

  Did Corrine care as much for her children? She should have thought ahead and prepared for disasters. That was what adults did.

  Mrs. Grant looked up from her desk with surprise when I entered the office. She was Mr. Market’s secretary, and, like him, she took personal interest in many of the students.

  “I’m late,” I announced.

  She stared at me a moment as if to confirm that I had said it and that I was really standing there. “What happened?” she asked, her face folding and crinkling as if it was composed of aluminum foil.

  “I overslept. My father thought I was sick or something, but I forgot to set my alarm. I haven’t done that for a long time, and I overslept.”

  She nodded and buzzed Mr. Market.

  “Late arrival,” she said. “Kristin Masterwood. No, no written excuse. She says she overslept.”

  She listened and then hung up the receiver.

  “I have to give you a demerit and a pink warning slip,” she said, as if she was having a toothache. “Next time, it’s a week’s detention.”

  “I know. There won’t be a next time.”

  She smiled and gave me the slip, and I went to my first class. Everything stopped when I entered and handed Mr. Stiegman my slip. He shook his head, looking glum, and I took my seat. I didn’t look at anyone, even though I knew all eyes were on me. I realized quickly where we were in the reading of Macbeth and turned to the page in my textbook. When the bell rang less than fifteen minutes later, I was barely out of my seat before Lana and Suzette pounced. Right behind them was Theresa Flowman, gloating. She was my competition for class valedictorian. If we were neck-and-neck after this semester, behavior would play a role in the faculty’s choice.

  “What happened to you? Why did you get a pink slip?” Lana asked quickly. I knew she was wondering why I hadn’t come up with an excuse for lateness that would have avoided a pink slip. Everyone else managed to get their parents to concoct something. No one seemed to believe what my father believed, that little lies were like plaque in your arteries, building up until you had a ruined reputation that would destroy you. In his business, where trust was essential, that was, he said, equivalent to a heart attack.

  “Overslept,” I said as casually as I could.

  “Maybe you’re trying too hard to be valedictorian,” Theresa said, intending her words to be little pins aimed at my self-respect.

  “Theresa, you’ve got to stop thinking everyone is like you,” I replied.

  Lana and Suzette laughed, and Theresa sped off.

  “That girl is so horny I wouldn’t lend her a pencil,” Lana said.

  “Stop,” I ordered, even though I couldn’t help smiling under my disapproval.

  “Speaking of which, Kane was looking for you in homeroom,” Suzette said. “Each time he appeared, he looked at your empty desk as if he had lost his best friend or something. Actually, I never saw him like that. He looked like a lost puppy. You know about his party, of course?”

  “Yes.”

  When we started down the hallway
to our next class, Kane suddenly appeared right behind me.

  “Where have you been, stranger?” he whispered. “Foxworth?”

  “What?” I said, stopping and spinning on him. It was frightening for a moment, as if he had somehow found out about the diary.

  “Just kidding. I saw you were missing in homeroom.”

  “I overslept. It looks like major news around here.”

  “Shows you how boring it is otherwise,” he replied, and shrugged. He walked along with me. “My dad told us that Foxworth is being sold.”

  “How did he know so fast?”

  “He’s on the bank board, one of the directors. Your dad’s going to do a lot of work there.”

  “He told me.”

  We paused outside my next class. My girlfriends were watching us and giggling.

  “You know, I’ve never really been out there in the daytime,” Kane said. “Maybe you can give me a tour this week after school, before it disappears.”

  “It wouldn’t be much of a tour,” I said.

  “Any excuse to be with you works for me,” he replied, giving me one of his dazzling smiles, and he went on to his own class.

  I watched him walk away and thought about how I would feel returning to Foxworth now that I was getting so deeply into the diary. If anything, it made the property seem more forbidden. While I had read how Corrine brought her children through the darkness from the railroad stop, I was envisioning the path they took that brought them to the rear of the mansion. Now that it had been abandoned, that route was very overgrown, but I was already toying with the idea of walking it, bringing that whole scene to life for me.

  Could I do that?

  I hurried into the classroom. All I needed to do now was be late for my next class. That would really get me into hot water.

  Before the day ended, Kane again suggested we go to Foxworth, maybe to watch some of the removal of debris.

  “I’m sure your dad will think it’s nice that you’re interested in his work.”

  “Why is this suddenly so important to you?”

  “I’m just interested in what you’re interested in,” he said.

  “How do you know I’m interested in that?”

  “I could tell. How about tomorrow? I’ll pick you up for school so you don’t have to worry about your car after.”

  “I’ll let you know later,” I said.

  “Complicated?”

  “I’ll let you know,” I repeated with more firmness. He gave me that famous shrug again and walked off. How could I explain why I had any hesitation? It wasn’t only because I was reading the diary. I was afraid that my father would think I was so obsessed with it that I had talked Kane into going to Foxworth to watch the work. He might also believe I had disobeyed him and told Kane about the diary. I had to work that out without making Kane suspicious, too.

  I had made up my mind before I left school for home that I was not going to touch the diary until much later, if at all today. I thought I should do that to ease my father’s concerns. Besides, I had a lot to do at the house, and I did have more homework than usual.

  When Dad came home, he found me vacuuming the living room.

  “What happened at school?” was his first question.

  “Pink slip warning. I’ll set the alarm. Don’t worry.”

  “Got a lot of homework?”

  “Yes, why?”

  “Herm Cromwell wants to take us to dinner.”

  “He wants to take you, Dad, not us. Don’t worry about it. I’ll make a turkey burger and sweet potato fries. I’ve watched you do it enough times.”

  He nodded.

  “Oh, Kane Hill knows about the sale of Foxworth. His father . . .”

  “Is on the bank’s board. Figures.”

  “He wants to look at the property when you start working on removal,” I said. “I didn’t say yes or no. I didn’t mention anything else,” I added quickly. “He’s never been there in the daytime, and he has this nutty idea that some famous local site is about to disappear.”

  “What do you mean, in the daytime?”

  “He probably made some visits on Halloween.”

  Dad nodded. “He can come whenever he wants.”

  “Tomorrow?”

  “We’re starting tomorrow, yes.”

  “He’s picking me up for school. We’ll show up after school.”

  Dad stared at me a moment. “A famous thing might be removed? I don’t consider it a historical site,” he said between his clenched teeth. “Best thing that was ever done for this community is getting rid of that wreckage and selling the property,” he added, with such firmness and anger that I held my breath. “Let’s get it out of our lives once and for all,” he said, and went upstairs to shower and change for dinner.

  I watched him go up and then finished vacuuming and started to prepare my dinner. Rarely did I see Dad that red with anger. Sometimes he’d bring home some frustration because of work, but he usually dropped it quickly when he saw me or, more likely, thought about my mother.

  “Your dinner smells good,” he said from the doorway when he had changed and come down. His tone was calmer.

  “You’ll have a good dinner, Dad, I’m sure.”

  “Yeah. Sorry I exploded out there over this Foxworth thing. I’m just tired of hearing about it. I get an earful at Charley’s Diner from whoever hears about the job. They start talking about the nut who rebuilt it and all that. Makes me almost wish I didn’t take the job. I’ll be home early,” he said, and kissed me before he left.

  After I ate, I sat there for a while thinking about the last few pages I had read in the diary. This was a mystery wrapped in a mystery, I thought. They were only children. Why was it so important to my father to get them gone and forgotten?

  I changed my mind. Maybe I would rush my homework, but I would be back in the diary tonight.

  An hour and a half later, after making certain to set my alarm, I settled back against my pillow and opened the diary to where I had left off. I felt like Alice falling into a dark Wonderland.

  From the moment they woke up, the twins complained. Cathy was just as vocal, which wasn’t helping matters. While I went to the bathroom and washed myself, the grandmother from hell came in with our tray of food, along with a specific list of rules we were to obey. She ordered me to read them aloud to my brother and sisters, and before she left, she told us to beware, that God saw all and would see the evil and sin we were prone to commit. The only positive thing she told us was that we could go up to the attic, where we would have more room, but only after ten a.m.

  I took one look at Cathy’s face and saw that she was going to do or say something to show her defiance, maybe by pounding on the door. She surprised me with her suggestion, a fantasy that would take more root in reality as time went by.

  “Okay,” she said. “Since we’re being deserted by what family we have, we’ll form our own. Christopher, you’re now the father. I’m the mother.”

  I looked at Cory and Carrie and saw how the idea gave them some relief. There was a chance to have fun after all and get their minds off this dreadful situation. Our grandmother had typed out a list of rules for us to follow, and it was pretty clear from them that she was either a nutcase or simply sexually repressed. I found them so ridiculous that I read them aloud, imitating her voice and growly face.

  “No being undressed in front of each other.”

  “Boys and girls cannot use the bathroom together.”

  The one that got me most was “No handling or playing with private parts.”

  The most ridiculous one was “Do not look at the opposite sex unless absolutely necessary.”

  I could see I was going to have a time of it explaining to Cory and Carrie what private parts were. Cathy had that self-satisfied grin on her face, enjoying my efforts to make it sound more scientific than sexual.

  There were actually twenty-two rules, mostly to do with cleanliness and obedience. She threatened to add more as time went by
. Despite my satire and my imitation, Cathy stopped smiling. She looked around and then burst out with all her pent-up frustration, bemoaning how much we were hated for something we didn’t do, whatever it was, and declaring that this was all going to be a disaster. I remained calm and assured her that our mother would look after us and our demented grandmother would settle down.

  She calmed. “You’re right,” she said. “Momma won’t let this go on much longer.”

  I breathed a sigh of relief, but something inside me warned that this was only the first of many crises to come.

  I set the diary aside for a moment and thought about their grandmother’s rules. Christopher had suspected early on that his grandmother was sexually repressed. I knew what a sexually repressed person was, but I doubted, even from the little I had read so far, that Cathy would have known at her age. Their grandmother would probably cut herself off completely from the outside world if she were still alive today and saw how we all dressed, what we read, what we watched on television, and how many of us were sexually active, not only before we had graduated high school but also in middle school. For sure, there were still people like her, who thought a liberated woman was simply promiscuous.

  How did Christopher’s mother grow up in such a household? Was she permitted to go on dates at least by my age? What kind of clothes did they force her to wear? What books and magazines were forbidden, and what about movies and television? Was makeup forbidden? Was she permitted to go to parties? Who wouldn’t understand why she had an affair and ran from the world she was in? I was sure she felt more like a trapped animal.

  Despite my aunt Barbara’s willingness to teach me the facts of life when I was younger and her occasional phone calls, without a mother or an older sister, I had to fend for myself when it came to what I would call street sophistication. Aunt Barbara wasn’t around every day or even every month, and I felt funny as time passed and I got older calling her for advice or intimate talk. I think she knew that, too, and during one of our last talks, she said, “You’re pretty sophisticated for your age now, Kristin. I have faith in you always doing the right thing.”