The Legacy of Eden

by Nelle Davy

  She opened her mouth to cry out but she didn’t get the chance to.

  Because I ran.

  We are in her car now. I sit hunched there in my seat, all but screaming for God knows how long, while she sits beside me and waits it out. And then there is silence. The sounds just die away and leave me with nothing. She shifts in the seat and fiddles with the buckle of her seat belt.

  “I’m sorry I came here,” I say at last.

  She sighs.

  “Even now, after all these years, I still can’t get away,” she says more to herself than to me. “When you’d all gone and Mom was sick and we were the only ones left, I saw how much he hated it. He told me how he’d always hated it, loathed every last speck of the place.”

  “I don’t understand,” I say.

  Ava sighs, staring ahead. She looks tired. “She thought he was obsessed with it because he wanted to own it, that’s why she groomed him to take over the place, but that was never his intention. As soon as there was no one left in his way he was always going to rip it apart piece by piece. He blamed it for losing his mother.” She shrugs. “In the end, he always thought it was the preciousness of the family name that made Granddad get rid of her and he never forgave them for it. He never forgave them for taking her. They took her away from him, so he decided to take the one thing away from them that they cared about.”

  “But they were dead,” I say, confused.

  She gives me a rueful look. “It must be nice, not having to know how his mind worked.”

  I look down at my hands.

  “When did you decide to believe me?”

  There is a pause. “I don’t know,” I say. Lie. I knew. I remember that night, remember when I had dreamt it and the next few nights over and over. Each time I closed my eyes the memory switched onto my mind’s projector until I woke up panting and I realized what I had seen. What I had run away from.

  “I went away, I grew up,” I continue. “I started to realize that things like that weren’t just—weren’t always so simple. And slowly I just… I didn’t want to believe it. I wouldn’t for the longest time.”

  She breathes deeply. “You know, for a long time I thought maybe you were the right one. That maybe I had brought it on myself, after everything that happened when I was a kid. But then I would remember that I pleaded with him and even though I said what I said, it wasn’t…”

  “I didn’t understand what I saw.”

  “I know.”

  “Not at first.”

  “I know—” She stops. “But I did tell you.”

  I fall silent again.

  “Please forgive me.” It is only a whisper but it resounds in my ears.

  She doesn’t speak and then she leans forward and holds onto the steering wheel.

  And I stay there beside her and we sit that way in her car, with those words hanging in the air, while the world keeps on running around us.

  Epilogue

  AURELIA WAS SOLD a month later. It was an anonymous bidder who took it. I received a letter from the solicitors a week afterward informing me of the complete dissolution of the farm and all its assets. I put it back in an envelope and stuffed it in the back of a drawer.

  My already messy apartment is now even more so. Boxes from the clear-out with Claudia line the walls of my home in building blocks and towers of brown and beige. I sometimes take down a box and rummage through, lifting out things and holding them in my hand, just staring at them, conjuring up memories that take me through space and time to places of comfort and warmth, before I grow tired and put them back in their box again. I don’t know what to do with them all. I can’t unpack them. I take them out like exhibits from a museum and peer at them, using them as conduits to the past.

  I don’t know what Claudia has done with the stuff she took, or the letters. We haven’t spoken since we met in Iowa. I sense the slight chink in her armor has been hastily soldered shut. We’ll return to our routine of brief and infrequent correspondence over time but in the interim we both need our space. I wonder sometimes how she does it, how she goes about her life of shopping and dinner parties so easily. But I think perhaps I am being unfair. Perhaps she, too, opens her boxes and weighs the objects in her lap, thinking of a time that was and one that could have been with the same sharp slice of regret. How would I know even if she was? It’s not like she would tell me, even if I did ask.

  You know, I once heard that in Greek nostalgia literally means the pain from an old wound. I suppose that makes me a masochist, because every night I unpick the scab and open the veins up, letting the memories pour from the scars there, until they trickle down my face in tears.

  I can’t stop myself.

  I wish I could.

  I wish I could stop thinking of that night in the rose garden, or that day in Ohio. But I replay that moment over and over again in the restaurant, in the street, in the car. I am alone with nothing but my thoughts now for company. They’ve stopped coming to me, my family. Ever since I saw Ava, they’ve gone—descended back into their graves with no warning, as quickly and with as little effort as it took for them to rise out of them.

  But that doesn’t mean I don’t see them.

  Because every night I have the dream. In a way it’s a comfort. Without it I would miss them.

  What do you think that means?

  I am walking the road that takes me to Aurelia. It is night and the road is silvered by the moon. I find myself back at the entrance, to the sign in curlicue black lettering that I cannot read but whose ends look like tails swinging in the dark and I make my way up the gravel path, winding my footsteps to a house so white it shines. The lights blaze from the windows, the open air carries voices from inside, voices I recognize and long to hear again. I walk up the porch steps and knock on the door.

  He opens it.

  Behind him I can see the opening of the hallway leading to the living room and I know they are all in there, all waiting for me to join them. I want to, so much, but I have to get past him first.

  “So.” He leans against the door frame, a grin spreading across his lips. I look behind me but the world is black. The moon has gone.

  “Can I come in?” I ask, peering over his shoulder. I can hear my father’s laughter drift out into the hall.

  “Sure,” he says conversationally. “What’s the password?”

  “Password?”

  “Hmm…” He pulls out a cigarette and lights a match.

  “Go on,” he says reasonably, “say it.”

  I stare at him.

  “Say it.”

  “Say it.”

  “Still playing games?” I ask. “Aren’t you too old for that?”

  “You’re never too old, girl,” he says through a mouthful of smoke rings. They wobble in the air and melt near my face.

  “Cal Jr., who is it?” my grandmother asks, but I can’t see her because the door is pulled, blocking her from view.

  “Well?” he asks.

  I pause, but only for a moment.

  “I love you,” I whisper.

  And just like that, he pulls back the door.

  And I go home.

  * * * * *

  Acknowledgments

  While writing in itself may be a solitary act, the process of getting published would not have happened without the following people: to my amazing agents Sallyanne Sweeney and Beth Davey, without whom this literally would not have happened; to my editor, Krista Stroever, who was the first person to take a chance on an unknown, and I hope this repays your efforts; to Juliet Mushens for all her amazing support throughout; to my English teacher Mrs. Wells, who was the first person to ever encourage what was before just a shameful habit; and to my husband, Jack Davy, who held me together with tape and glue and who was this book’s biggest supporter, counselor and defender.

  Questions for Discussion

  How much is Lavinia the architect of her family’s downfall? Is she the cause of their destruction, or had they already willingly created the sit
uations that would ultimately lead to their ostracism and exile?

  What do you make of the role of mothers in the novel? Lavinia, Julia and even Antonia all have devastating impacts on their children. What do you make of their approaches to motherhood and their relationships with their children?

  Meredith faces a heartrending and difficult journey back to Iowa to confront her family’s past. How much do you empathize with Meredith’s place in her family’s history? What do you make of the final reveal of her betrayal of Ava? Do you agree with the reasons for why she fled and her need for self-preservation or do you find her ultimately as selfish and as cruel as the other members of her family?

  What do you make of Piper’s relationship with Lavinia? Why do you think Lavinia cries when Piper dies, but doesn’t when she discovers Cal Sr., dead in bed next to her? How much of an adversary is Piper to Lavinia?

  Is Julia a victim or does she deserve her exile from the farm? Is she the cruel, spoiled, capricious monster Lavinia portrays her to be, or is her character poisoned and influenced by the jealous influences of her stepmother? What effect does her abandonment have on Cal Jr.? And why do you think she never comes back for him?

  Forgiveness is a running theme through the novel. To what extent, if any, do the characters deserve forgiveness or sympathy for their actions?

  To what extent are the men passive participants in the novel? Are they merely puppets manipulated and controlled by the female characters in the book or do they willingly and actively participate in the family’s politics?

  To what extent can it be argued that Aurelia is the central character of the novel? What do you make of the bloodletting ritual of the Hathaways and the notion that the farm was a world in its own right? What do you make of the portrayal of the outside world compared with that of Aurelia?

  How do you interpret the ending of the novel and the last line “And I go home”? Do you think this means Meredith has accepted her past or is unable to escape it?

  What do you make of the relationship between Meredith and her sisters? Do you agree with her assertion that they never really knew each other because of how much they hid from one another? Was their relationship doomed because of the effects of Lavinia’s machinations or were Meredith, Ava and Claudia the cause of the break in their sisterly bond?

  A Conversation with Nelle Davy

  Set on a magnificent stretch of farmland in Iowa, The Legacy of Eden has a quintessentially American sensibility, so it is especially surprising to learn that you were born and raised in the U.K. What drew you to this time and place, and what were the challenges of writing about it? What kind of research did you do?

  When I set out to write The Legacy of Eden, I wanted a location that had great swathes of space, and I was intrigued by Iowa’s moniker as the American Heartland and its huge agricultural presence. I knew this would require a lot of internet and book research on farming techniques, as I am a resolute city girl from London, but I did not let that daunt me. Imagination has no boundaries or maps, nor should it.

  What inspired your idea for the story and characters in The Legacy of Eden?

  I fell in love with the story of family politics and the cruel machinations of an amoral matriarch when I read Robert Graves’s I, Claudius. I could not stop thinking about what it would be like if this was transported from ancient Rome to modern day and to a family people could empathize with. Katherine Anne Porter once said that “In the nicest houses, in the most comfortable homes, the best people do the worst things to each other.” I am paraphrasing, but that notion really intrigued me: the idea of not knowing what goes on behind closed doors. And I wanted to create a story of hubris and ambition, but one with real devastation. These are people who start off loving one another, but in the end they sacrifice each other for their own ends.

  You’ve created such a complex and memorable cast of characters in this novel, particularly the matriarch, Lavinia. When you started the book, did you have her story and personality already mapped out, or did she reveal herself to you over the course of writing? What surprised you the most about your characters along the way?

  I plotted an initial arc for all my characters, but some things revealed themselves when I was writing. For example, I didn’t initially plan for Lavinia to be married to someone else with a different name… I firmly believe that you can make a character as hideous as you want to, just as long as the reader can understand why they behave the way they do. Although Lavinia does horrendous things, it is clear why she does them. In the end, she triumphs, but the reader knows that the farm fails. All the sacrifices and devastation is ultimately all for nothing, and Lavinia never knows it.

  Aurelia comes to life in the novel, almost as if it’s a character itself. Why did you choose to focus the story on a farmhouse in Iowa? What about the rural setting appealed to you, and how did it inform and enrich the novel as you were writing it?

  I love novels in which the setting becomes a character in itself. The best example of this I can think of is Manderlay in Rebecca. I wanted to create a place that was vast and alluring, but that also had an unbreakable hold on the characters. When I travelled to America, I was struck by the sprawling farmlands full of crops, and I thought that it must be incredibly rewarding to start off with a blank piece of land, cultivate it and, in the end, yield enough crops to feed a family and make a living. The idea really seduced me, though obviously I romanticized it even more so for the book.

  Aurelia is an unusual name for such a sprawling rural estate. What is the significance?

  This is going to sound strange, but I think it was divine providence. I thought I had made up the name when I began writing. But then I discovered that there actually was an Aurelia in Iowa. After researching it further, I discovered that Aurelia means golden, and everything came together. It was so organic, yet so perfect.

  The Legacy of Eden is divided into sections for each of the four leading female characters: Meredith, Lavinia, Julia and Ava. Why did you choose to structure the novel in this way, and why these characters?

  I chose to structure the novel this way because ultimately this is a tale about the women, and each of them has a pivotal role in their family’s history. Meredith’s acknowledgment of the past and her resolving of her family’s dissolution are crucial to the story; Lavinia marks the beginning of the family history; Julia’s breaking of her father’s heart leads to horrendous consequences; and what happens with Ava is the final nail in the family coffin. Though the farm is governed by men, it is the women who make this story, who guide their present and who are instrumental in shaping their history.

  Can you describe your writing process? Do you outline first or dive right in? Do you write the scenes consecutively or do you jump around?

  Writing is hard. It takes so much patience, and drive and constant revision. I always start with the characters, plotting out every detail from their backstory to what they look like to what they eat. Inevitably (and this is when I know the story is working) they will take on a life of their own; my initial kernel of an idea will develop into fully fleshed characters that feel like real people, and the story will grow from them. I always write chronologically. I’m a traditionalist in that way.

  Aside from being a writer, you also work in publishing, so you must find yourself having to read quite a bit of other material while you are writing. Do you find this distracting or does it help to inform your own work?

  It is never distracting. My writing style is my own; I have my own voice, and reading another person’s work does not make me insecure. In fact, I know how personal writing is and I am always so excited to find fresh new talent. I love being able to give others the same chance I have been given. I know how much writing and publishing means to them because of how much it has meant to me.

  Can you tell us about your next book?

  I am loving writing my next book. It is set in Louisiana in 1963 and charts the civil rights movement and Martin Luther King’s nonviolent protest as seen through
the eyes of a white child from a middle-class family and the black son of her family’s maid. The two form a beautiful and loving friendship, but the racial politics of the day threaten to pull them apart and destroy everything they have known. Once again, a character I did not intend to be major has completely taken over, but that is why I love writing. Even though you start off in one place, something unexpected yet so exciting comes out without you ever intending for it to happen.

  ISBN: 9781459220362

  Copyright © 2012 by Janelle Davy

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.