He stood up—shot up was more like it.
“But, Daddy . . . maybe you shouldn’t.”
His eyes softened with confusion. “You really still care about this man?”
“I don’t want everyone seeing you so angry and sad because of me.”
“And him!”
“Yes, I know, but isn’t there some other way? I’ll go away until the baby comes.”
“Just like that? And no one asking questions? And if someone should find out and the story spreads, what do you think our lives would be like here? Just think how your mother would be.”
He paused, nodding.
“For now, I don’t want you telling your mother anything. Say you just had some indigestion.”
“But . . . what are you going to do?”
“I’ll do what I have to do. Say nothing about this to anyone else, Corrine. That’s of paramount importance, and I want you to return to work tomorrow.”
“You do?”
He started out and stopped to turn back. “I’m sorry for you. I’m upset, but I’m not going to stop loving you.”
The moment he was gone, I burst into the worst sobbing I had done since I was a very little girl.
Later, just as he had asked, I complained about indigestion, and my mother said nothing about how I was eating. I had absolutely no appetite, but I forced myself to nibble. My father announced a business trip that had come up at the last minute.
“After I drop you off at the bank, I’ll be taking the train,” he said. He turned away quickly, but I felt my heart quicken its beat.
I tried to approach him alone, but my mother hovered about us almost as if she sensed there was something going on, so I decided to wait until morning when we rode together to the bank. When I awoke, washed and dressed, and then went down for breakfast, I had another surprise, however.
“Your father left early,” she told me the moment I appeared. “Horace Makens will be coming by to take you to the bank.”
“Horace Makens? But Daddy said he was going to take me.”
“He changed his mind. He didn’t sleep well, tossed and turned all night. Something about this business venture has him on pins and needles. He had to leave earlier to make a train. It won’t kill you to go with Horace. He’s a very nice fifty-year-old man. Sad that he never found a good wife after Leona died of the flu. Well, don’t just stand there looking so shocked about something so simple, Corrine. Sit down and eat your breakfast.
“You’ll have to be as good at your job as you are when your father is at the bank, too. You don’t want people thinking you’re only successful because your father is looking over your shoulder and everyone else is afraid to say anything, do you?”
I was half listening to her as she went on and on.
“I must say I’m proud of you, too. I’ve heard only good things from my friends. Your deportment, knowledge, and efficiency tell me you are probably more like your father. I doubt I’d do as well at your age. It’s good to see you have a sensible head on your shoulders.
“A responsible woman attracts only responsible men. And now, with your father building us a new and impressive home and possibly becoming the chairman of the board, you’ll be quite the catch.”
“What?”
“Haven’t you heard a thing I’ve said?”
“Yes, yes.” I looked at my new watch. “I’d better finish eating. Mr. Makens is one of those men who live according to the tick-tock.”
“Live according to the tick-tock?” My mother smiled, and then she laughed. “What a clever way to put it.”
Most of my life, I craved having compliments from my mother, unbeknownst to her, apparently, but right now, her smiling at me, praising me, made me feel absolutely sick to my stomach. The higher up she held me, the worse my fall in her eyes would be once she knew the truth.
I left the kitchen the moment I took my last bite and then ran upstairs to look at myself closely one more time. Although Nurse Rose’s description of the early months assured me no one would guess my condition unless my symptoms suddenly perked up, I was still concerned. What if one of the other women at the bank knew just as much, if not more, about pregnancy? What if one could look at me and see something I could not see in my mirror? All my life, I had been good at hiding or manipulating my feelings. Was this just too much for me to handle? I should have asked my father if I could stop working now. Wasn’t he worried I’d be discovered?
I knew that despite my efforts, anyone who was accustomed to my behavior would wonder why I was quieter than usual. Mr. Makens fortunately never shut up all the way from our house to the bank, so I didn’t have much chance to talk anyway. I think he was nervous about having a young woman sitting beside him.
Perhaps precisely because my father wasn’t present, the other employees were even more attentive. I flashed my smiles, laughed when I could, and treated every new customer as if he would make the bank one of the most important in the country by investing his savings in it or establishing an account. We did seem to be busier than usual, and for that I was grateful. Who wanted to think?
Just before the close of the bank day, my father appeared. He nodded at me and went directly to his office to handle whatever he had missed while away. From the moment he had entered to the moment he began wrapping up to take us home, my heart beat faster and at times fluttered with my anxiety.
“Let’s go, Corrine,” was all he said until we were in the carriage and on our way.
I sat quietly, my hands in my lap, my eyes lowered, waiting and thinking that the next words he uttered would be the most important of my life. When we rounded the turn to take us out of Alexandria proper and onto the road to our home, he finally looked at me.
“I had a message delivered to your mother before I returned to the bank,” he began.
Oh, how I dreaded this, but also how surprised I was that he had chosen such a formal way to reveal it all to her.
“Her heart will break,” I said, now feeling more miserable than I had in the morning or even after I had spoken with Nurse Rose.
“Maybe not,” he said.
I looked up quickly. “Why not?”
“I wanted her to know that we’re having a guest for dinner,” he said. He didn’t smile. He continued to look forward.
“What guest? Nurse Rose?” I thought immediately.
“No.” He turned to me. “Garland Foxworth,” he said.
I didn’t think he was going to say anything more. We rode on for nearly a minute in silence. Was it because it was painful for him to say any more?
“Why is he coming to our home, Daddy?”
“I always imagined that the big things that happen to us in our lives, the directions we take, are as currents in a stream. Sometimes they are smooth, graceful, and gentle, and sometimes they are raging. Wisdom, whatever I possess, tells me that you have to know what sort of current you are in and what exactly you can do about it.
“If it’s the raging current, you can battle it and smash yourself or be smashed against obstacles, boulders, whatever. In the end, the current will have its way anyway, or you can choose to not only let it carry you but swim faster than it can carry you.
“That’s the choice you have now, Corrine. Garland Foxworth has the same choice. I confronted him with all my rage, but I don’t think he was so intimidated that he would make a decision because of me. Actually, surprisingly, he was more upset. He was in tears.”
“Garland was?”
“Yes. I thought at first they were tears of self-pity, but very quickly, they became tears of regret, not for himself but for you. He went on to explain how much he was captivated by your beauty and charm. He confessed to acting like a cad but assured me it was not his intention to put you in this state. He claimed he was himself overwhelmed with too much of his lemon drink, which he says is very subtle but very powerful. Normally, he has only a small amount after dinner.
“That was his defense and his story about your night with him. He then
went on to swear on his life that no woman he has met has had the effect on him that you have had. He realizes, of course, how young you are, but he says he’s been with women years older who have not as much poise and charm. I think he sees himself as the lord of a castle, and to be sure, Foxworth Hall is one of the most impressive properties I’ve ever visited. We both know he is quite wealthy, too.
“He claims that he is ready to have a more significant life, a family, and wants to settle down and build on what he has achieved and inherited. Practically going to his knees, he begged me not to do anything to destroy his child or give the baby away after you went on some mysterious journey. He wants the opportunity to convince you and your mother, especially, of his serious intentions and asked for the audience we’ll give him this evening.
“However,” my father continued, “we both agreed that no mention would be made of your pregnancy. Your mother will not be told of this, nor will anyone else.”
“But—”
“If you decide to swim faster in the current because you do have strong feelings for Garland Foxworth, you will, after a honeymoon of sorts, remain basically sequestered at Foxworth Hall, and your birthing will be advertised as premature. He seems quite clever when it comes to such a deception. Perhaps he’s had more experience than we imagine or care to know.
“Finally, I want you to understand, Corrine, that I left him with only the promise of having him to dinner. This decision will be yours and yours alone to make. I will not, like most fathers in a similar situation, force my daughter to do something.”
Our house came into view.
We were both going to put on an act for my mother, I thought. Whenever we had done it in the past, it was for small, even silly, things. Nothing compared to this.
Lies and half-truths, more than anything else, were what everyone wove between them. We weren’t much different after all. Now I wondered, truly wondered. Did I love Garland Foxworth enough to swim faster in the current?
And if I told myself I did, would that be another lie?
If it was, I’d have to live with it for the rest of my life.
My mother greeted me with “What magic spell did you cast over this very wealthy and accomplished young man at the Wexler gala to bring him to our doorstep so quickly? Or has this something to do with your run for chairman of the board, Harrington?”
I glanced at my father. Apparently, he had told my mother a great deal more about Garland Foxworth than simply that he was coming to dinner; otherwise, she wouldn’t have been sure to say “very wealthy and accomplished.” Frankly, I was still quite surprised at my father for being so understanding when it came to Garland. I had nightmares about my father challenging him to a duel. There was surely much about Garland Foxworth when it came to the business and financial world that I didn’t know, couldn’t have known. Maybe he was very important to my father’s run for chairman of the board, but to think my father would make such a compromise, sacrificing me, was out of the question. Other fathers, perhaps, but not mine.
On the other hand, my father’s willingness to give him this opportunity to impress my mother caused me to question my share of the responsibility for what had happened. Was this how my father was thinking? Men, I thought, did tend to forgive each other faster than they forgave women.
“Me? Cast a spell?” I said, with my best innocent face.
“Oh, please, Corrine. Spare me the blameless look of a confused young girl. This is the same man with whom you dallied at the Wexler gala every chance you had, is he not?” she asked.
“I didn’t dally. We enjoyed each other’s company for a short time during the gala, but his appearance here today is just as surprising to me as it is to you, Mother,” I replied. There was nothing untrue about that.
I was sure that in her mind, Garland Foxworth was simply someone I did flirt with at the Wexlers’ and never saw or heard from again. For a moment, I wondered if my father’s insistence that we not tell my mother anything about my pregnancy was due partly to his wanting to avoid her blaming him for any part of what was happening now.
“Is it?” she asked. She glanced at me with a wry smile across her lips before she said, “Come down quickly after you change your clothes, and help set the table.” She looked at my father. “We’ll be using our best china and silverware. Your father likes to impress his more important business clients and associates, especially those who have a say in his future.”
My father’s face reddened.
“Our future,” he corrected.
I hurried up to my room. No matter what I decided later, right now I had to tread over the truth as softly as someone walking over hot beach sand, hotter than the sand Garland had described in Spain. My first challenge was dressing correctly. I didn’t want to look like I was trying to overwhelm Garland with my beauty again. My mother would surely notice. Despite my situation, I hoped to avoid looking too anxious, too inclined to accept any offer he made. Even now, I would cause him to wonder if I cared enough about him to become the mother of his child, the mistress of his great house. Was it too late to follow what I thought was my guiding principle, never to let a man take anything for granted? Had I given that up and placed myself helplessly on his doorstep?
Of course, I wanted to see for myself how remorseful he was for what he had done. Despite my father’s willingness to permit him to present himself properly, I imagined it still would be difficult for him to come into our home and face my mother and especially me. How much did he believe she knew? Did my father tell him she knew nothing? If she asked either of us any questions about my trip to Charlottesville, we’d have to be very careful with our answers. It would be like walking over broken glass for both of us. We’d be tiptoeing through this dinner, wondering if at any moment he or I was about to blurt something that would set my mother’s eyes on fire.
I found myself rehearsing answers to probable questions. It was truly like being in a play. The curtain was soon to be raised, and when it came down at the end, there would either be just thunder or thunderous applause. I think I was still in too much of a daze to realize how much of my future, my life, depended on how this all went.
I brushed my hair and chose a deep-pink blouse to wear with an ebony skirt. The bodice was narrow in the shoulders, with thick gathered pleats over my bosom. I checked myself from all angles and slipped on my newest black shoes. On my way down the stairs, I overheard my mother questioning my father about Garland as if my father was on the witness stand in a courtroom.
“What do you mean, he suggested you invite him to dinner at our home? That sounds quite forward. One doesn’t suggest it; one gets invited. Truthfully, I wasn’t happy about his spending so much time with Corrine at the gala without first being properly introduced to us. That didn’t make a good impression on me, and I am surprised you’re not as upset about that. Besides, since when do you jump so quickly at the command of another businessman, Harrington Dixon? No matter what influence he might have on the board of directors?”
“I told you I knew him from previous business dealings, Rosemary. He’s a very successful young man, and all I’ve heard from businessmen who have anything to do with him are good things. You have a terrible habit of prejudging someone before he has a chance to breathe the same air.”
They both turned to me when I entered the kitchen. My mother’s eyes flooded with new suspicions.
“Have you had correspondence with this man since the Wexler gala? Don’t dare lie to us, Corrine.”
I looked at my father, who nodded slightly.
“Yes.”
“To what end?”
“I saw him in Charlottesville. He visited me at Great-aunt Nettie’s.”
Again, I wasn’t telling a lie. I was just not telling everything.
My mother slapped her hands together like she would if she was trying to kill a mosquito. “How did he know you were there?” she asked.
“He saw me crossing the street and had his carriage follow me to Great-aunt Ne
ttie’s house. Naturally, I invited him in for a cool drink.”
Her eyes didn’t lose their look of suspicion. “Why is it that I have to dig like a coal miner to get the whole truth out of you, Corrine? It’s not natural for a daughter to keep so many secrets from her parents, especially when it comes to men and especially from her mother.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean it to seem like a great secret.”
She sighed. “So you’ve given him encouragement? This dinner isn’t exactly something plucked out of the blue?”
“We’ve given each other encouragement,” I said. “I can’t check every word, every look I’ve had from every gentleman with you first, Mother. You’d hardly have time for anything else during your day.”
That sarcasm she missed. If anything, her day was so empty to me that she really had the time to work a coal miner’s shift.
She stared at me a moment, the frustration exhausting her. “This isn’t the time for any argument. Let’s just get this done properly now. I will not have someone come to dinner in my home and leave with a bad taste in his or her mouth.”
“I’m sure it’s delicious.”
“I don’t mean just the food. Don’t pretend to be dumb, Corrine. Fold the napkins properly, and be sure whatever you put on the table is immaculate.”
“Yes, Mother,” I said, and began.
My father slipped out to go change his shirt and suit, gliding away softly like someone escaping a church sermon. At the moment, I was feeling sorrier for him than I was for myself. Eventually, somehow, some way, she’d find reason to place most of the blame at his feet.
At precisely seven p.m., a horse and carriage pulled up to our house, and Garland Foxworth, carrying two gift-wrapped presents, came to the door. My mother and I stepped out of the kitchen to greet him. He was wearing a suit similar to the one he had worn to the Wexlers’ gala, only a lighter shade of gray, a beautiful new pair of black leather boots, and a black derby. When he took it off, I saw that he’d had his hair trimmed quite a bit since I had last seen him. His complexion looked ruddier, which emphasized his eyes. Despite my plan to appear as aloof as possible when I first confronted him, I couldn’t help thinking he somehow looked even more handsome than the first time I had seen him and since.
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