“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.”
18
The Wages of Sin
I WAS BEING PULLED DOWN INTO A WHIRLING MASS OF confusion and terror. I felt betrayed and so angry, hurt and bruised. And yet, there was so much love—oh, but it was a sinful, ungodly love. Who had caused this? Was it my fault? Or was it Malcolm and his lustful lineage coming to its final fruition? One moment I would be overcome with rage, the next I would be beside myself with pity for them. I knew I had to tell Malcolm. It took all my strength to rise to my feet and tell John Amos to go. Then, slowly, clinging to the doorway for support, I entered the Swan Room and in a voice so strange and faint, I barely recognized it as my own, I told Christopher and Corinne to be in Malcolm’s library in fifteen minutes. Corinne was hiding her nakedness behind Christopher, who had draped himself in a sheet. Both of their eyes were already reddened by tears. Then I quietly shut the door behind me and, reeling slightly, went to find Malcolm.
“I want you to brace yourself,” I said, opening the door of his library, “something … something terrible has happened.”
“The children? Oh, God, not again!” Malcolm said, bolting upright.
“Your father’s son has seduced our daughter!” I informed him.
Words cannot describe the torment that twisted Malcolm’s face. As I watched him, I felt I was seeing a mirror of my own feelings, yet, as the rage and bitterness and hatred and love for his daughter all fought for dominance, one emotion showed itself stronger, and banished all the others. Rage. Rage as I had never seen before.
“Now, Malcolm,” I warned, his lack of control helping me find my own. “We must remain calm. We must figure out what is best for us to do. There is too much at stake here, you know it and I know it. They are coming here, to the library, in a moment. Please, Malcolm, please find some strength within you so we can put a stop to this dreadful abomination.”
Just then we both heard the door creak open and Christopher, his arm protectively around Corinne, entered
the library. They had had only a few minutes to throw on their clothes, and some of their buttons were unfastened. Christopher was wearing socks without shoes. Behind them I saw John Amos looming at the top of the stairs, looking down at us with the face of doom. He seemed to grow larger with every passing silent moment, for he had known, he had always known; and I had refused to believe. I heard his prophetic words in my memory.
“There are none so blind as those who refuse to see.”
And I knew the wrath of God had fallen hard and completely on the House of Foxworth. Every shadow, the ghost of every descendant, moaned in the wings. All that was left was to hear the words. Malcolm stepped forward and slammed the doors behind them.
“Daddy,” Corinne began, grasping hold of Christopher’s hand as they moved toward Malcolm. “We are in love. We’ve been in love for a long time. We are going to be married.” She looked at Christopher to gather her courage. He smiled that sweet, compassionate smile that had so charmed everyone at Foxworth Hall these past three years. “Christopher and I have been planning it almost from the day we first met, waiting until I reached eighteen. We were thinking of eloping; we didn’t know if you would approve. But we’d love to have a church wedding, to bless the sanctity of our love.”
Every word Corinne spoke drove the knife deeper and deeper into my heart. She had said everything I feared most. Malcolm looked as though he had heard nothing. He stared at Corinne in a strange way. It was as if he didn’t see her, but instead saw Alicia, or, perhaps, even his own mother. Then his face took on the worst contortion I had ever seen. The rage that built in him swelled up his face, inflamed his cheeks, and hoisted his shoulders until he looked gigantic.
I walked forward quickly to join him.
“We hoped you would be happy for us,” Corinne said, her voice beginning to quiver, “and give us your blessing. Of course, if you want to make us a big wedding and invite hundreds of guests and then have a big party here in Foxworth Hall, we would be thrilled. We want you to be as happy as we are,” she added.
“Happy?” Malcolm said, pronouncing the word as if it were as the strangest one he’d ever heard. “Happy,” he repeated, and then he followed it with a hollow, devilish laugh. Suddenly, he stepped forward, his right arm extended stiffly, forefinger out, pointing accusingly. “Happy? You two have committed a most heinous sin. How can anyone be happy? You know he is your uncle and he knows you are his niece. What you have done is incestuous. I will never give it my blessing and neither will God. You are making a mockery of the idea of marriage,” he thundered, zigzagging with his finger in the air before him as though he were annulling their love then and there.
“It is not incestuous,” Corinne said softly. “And our love is too pure and good for it to be sinful. These are not the laws of God, but the laws of man you quote. In many societies, marriage of cousins and close relatives is even expected. Why—”
“Incestuous!” Malcolm screamed, his arm still extended. His entire body shook with the effort and the blood rushed to his face. “Sinful! Ungodly! Unholy!” he shouted, pumping the air with his arm after each accusation. “You have betrayed me, betrayed me!”
“Please listen, Malcolm,” Christopher began, “Corinne and I have felt this way about each other from the first day I set foot in Foxworth Hall. Surely, it was something meant to be.”
“Judas!” Malcolm retorted, turning on him. “I gave you life; I gave you hope and opportunity. I spent money on you, placed my trust and faith in you. I opened my home to you and you have seduced my daughter.”
“He didn’t seduce me,” Corinne said, quickly coming to Christopher’s defense. She pulled him even closer to her. “What has happened between us I wanted as much as he did,” she said. “In fact, it was I who followed him about; it was I who pursued him and begged him to look at me as he would look at any other woman. I filled his every possible free moment with my presence, with my chatter, with my laughter and my love. He was always the gentleman, always talking about what you and my mother wanted. I was afraid that you might not understand at first, so I waited until I was eighteen. I haven’t betrayed you. I still love you and want to live here with Christopher. We will have our children here and—”
“Children?” Malcolm repeated as if stung by the concept. A cold chill ran up my spine.
“If you will just listen,” Corinne said.
“There is nothing to listen to,” Malcolm said. “You talk of having children. Your children will be born with horns, with humped backs, forked tails, hoofed feet; they will be deformed creatures,” he pronounced, his eyes hateful. Both Corinne and Christopher retreated from his accusing words. Corinne took on a look of terror and clung harder to Christopher’s arm.
“No,” Corinne said, shaking her head. “That’s not true; that won’t happen.”
“Beguiler,” Malcolm said. “Delilah, deceitful, lustful creature, cunningly beautiful, evil thing,” he continued, driving her back farther and farther with every pronouncement. “I want you both out of my house, out of my life, and out of my memory,” he said. “Go from this house,” he said, pointing to the door, “and never set foot in it again from this day forth. You are dead to me, as dead as …” Malcolm looked at me, and my eyes restrained him from saying anything more.
“You can’t mean this,” Corinne cried, the tears streaming down her cheeks, her chin quivering. Christopher looked to me for rescue, but I looked away. I felt almost as betrayed as Malcolm did. I had loved him as my own, and now he had betrayed me. Those happy years, when I believed in his devotion and love for me, it wasn’t for me at all, but for Corinne. He was as trapped by beauty as Malcolm was. Oh, it was true, all men were alike. I returned his look with a stare so cold, I hoped it froze his heart. Then and there I wanted to destroy them with the truth, but the new coldness and clarity I felt told me that I would destroy only myself.
“I mean every word,” Malcolm finally responded, his voice dry, cold, and as brittle and sharp as ice. “Go from this house and know that you are disinherited. Neither you nor your Judas shall receive one penny from me. I curse you; I curse you both and condemn you to a life of sin and horror.”
“We shall not be cursed,” Christopher stood tall as he defied Malcolm. “We shall go from your house but we shall not carry away your curse. We will leave your curses at the door.” As he spoke, he looked more like Malcolm than Malcolm looked himself.
“These are not Malcolm’s curses.” I finally spoke up. “They are the curses God Himself will lay on you for what you have done. It is incestuous and you will breed only horror,” I predicted. Christopher looked at me with great pain in his eyes. Now it was he who felt betrayed by me.
“Then we will go,” Christopher said. He turned Corinne from us and the two of them walked to the front door. He looked back once, defiantly. Corinne, still crying, looked lost and frightened.
After a moment they were gone.
Malcolm’s fury burst. He lifted his arms toward the ceiling and released a howl that emerged from the deepest recesses of his being. It was the howl of a beast in fatal agony, a howl that shook Foxworth Hall, echoing down the corridors and through the shadows, seemingly gaining volume and intensity as it traveled. Perhaps the ghosts of all his ancestors howled with him. For a moment there was a chorus of Malcolms crying their pain and torment.
The scream that had emerged suddenly died quickly. Malcolm turned toward me, his eyes bulging, and he grasped at the air, churning at it to bring oxygen to his face. He clutched his chest and his legs crumpled. As he fell to the floor, I heard John Amos behind me.
“God’s wrath has come to this house today,” he muttered. Then he joined me at Malcolm’s side.
Malcolm was sprawled on his stomach, his right arm under his head. John turned him over and we saw the distortion in his mouth. The right side of his face was collapsed. The corner of his lips dipped, revealing his clenched teeth. His eyes were turned upward as though he were trying to see into his own head. He made an effort
to speak, but nothing could be heard or understood.
“Call the physician,” I shouted.
The doctor insisted Malcolm be taken to the hospital. I saw the resistance in his eyes; he shook his head and begged me silently to oppose the doctor’s orders.
“Of course, Doctor,” I said. “I want only what is best for my husband. Call for the ambulance.” Later I would learn that the doctor told people I was one of the strongest women he had ever encountered in the midst of a terrible crisis.
The ambulance attendants came and took Malcolm, speeding him off to the hospital, where he remained for nearly a month in a private room with round-the-clock personal nurses. Every time John Amos and I visited him, he pleaded with us to take him home. At first he could plead only with his eyes, for he had experienced a stroke as well as a heart attack and the entire right side of his body was paralyzed.
By the time we brought him home, he had regained some of his muscle control and he could make distorted sounds that resembled words. Sometimes I thought I heard him calling Corinne.
The days dragged by monotonously. It was as though time itself had weakened and could barely move on from hour to hour. Malcolm remained confined to a wheelchair and could not go to his offices. All his work was brought to me. And I was thankful for every bit of it because while I had things to occupy my mind I did not wander through Foxworth Hall, torturing myself with memories, wondering how I could have made things end differently.
The house seemed like a giant tomb. Our footsteps echoed through the emptiness. The clang of dishes and utensils could be heard from the kitchen across the great foyer.
The servants traded information as each learned another tidbit, whispering, listening eagerly. None of them would ask anything about Corinne or Christopher directly, but I knew John Amos gave them just enough information to fan the embers of their curiosity.
Our dinners were mime shows. From the moment Malcolm was wheeled up to the table, not a word was spoken. He ate mechanically, his gaze ahead, looking through me, looking, I was sure, at the pictures he saw behind his eyes. His daydreams were like cobwebs, easily torn to shreds as he muddled through the memories, groping for some understanding of Corinne’s betrayal.
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