“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 Malc
olm’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.
Garden of Shadows (Dollanganger) Page 10