"Is this a playpen or a pigpen?" Malcolm asked.
"If you were here more often, you would understand," I responded. He grunted. I sensed that he wasn't here to discuss the children.
"I have something to tell you," he said, "if you can tear yourself away from those blocks for a moment."
I rose from the floor, straightened my dress, and went to him.
"Well?"
"My father. . . Garland is returning. He will be here in a week."
"Oh."
I didn't really know what to say. All that I knew about Garland I knew from studying his portrait and listening to the odds and ends Malcolm offered from time to time. I knew he had been fifty-five when he left and I knew from his latest pictures that he was a handsome man who didn't look his age. The gray in his hair, what little there was of it, was nearly indistinguishable from the gold. He stood nearly as tall as Malcolm and in his heyday had been quite an athlete, sportsman, and, despite Malcolm's criticisms of his most recent decisions, businessman.
"However, he won't be returning to his room in the north wing. Instead, he will take the room next to yours in the south wing. You'll have to see that the suite is made livable, not that my father really knows the difference."
"I see."
"No, you don't see. The reason he wants a warmer room with an adjoining bath is because he is bringing his bride with him."
"Bride? You mean, your father has remarried after all these years?"
"Yes, bride." Malcolm turned away for a moment, then turned back. "I never told you, but he married before he left for Europe."
"What? Why didn't you tell me?"
"Oh, you'll see, Olivia. You'll understand soon enough," he said, raising his voice.
Joel started to cry. By now both our sons were sensitive to Malcolm's outbursts, and Joel, especially, had an inordinate fear of his own father. Mal was getting to be the same way.
"You're scaring the children," I said.
"I'll do worse than that if he isn't quiet when I speak. Quiet!" he demanded. Mal's face froze and he choked on his tears. Joel turned over and sobbed quietly in his crib.
"Just prepare yourself," Malcolm said, spitting out his words between his teeth and storming out of the nursery.
Prepare myself? I thought. What could he mean? Did he hate his father so much? Did he not want to share Foxworth Hall?
I didn't care about being the sole mistress of this house. There was to be another woman here, the wife of a fifty-five-year-old man Surely, she would be an ally. I would look upon her, perhaps, as the mother who had died too soon for me. I could go to her for advice about Malcolm and myself. Surely, someone that much older would be wiser in the ways of men and women. I was happy at the prospect of Garland-- his wife returning.
"Malcolm," I asked later at dinner, "will we have to leave Foxworth Hall? Do you want a home of your own?"
"Move out?"
"Well, I thought . . ."
"Are you insane? Where would we go? Buy or build a new home and leave all this? I'll take care of my father; his bride is your problem and your responsibility. You maintain control of this house and keep it a respectable, properly run home. Don't tell me you're afraid of her," he added with a sneer.
"Of course not. I just thought since your father is the older man that . . ."
"My father is older, but not wiser," Malcolm said. "He is more than ever dependent upon me. While he was off gallivanting through Europe with his new wife, I was expanding our business empire and seizing hold of all the controls. Our board of directors have practically forgotten what he looks like, and I've added some new blood since he went away. It would take him a year to understand all of the new
developments.
"No," he added more thoughtfully, "don't feel you have to be subordinate to his wife. Remember the kind of woman who impresses my father."
His face drawn and sad, Malcolm walked off, the shadow of his mother's memory over him.
I said nothing more about it. I directed the maids to straighten and clean the suite next to mine and then put off thinking about the arrival of Malcolm's father and his bride.
Perhaps I shouldn't have, but nothing I could have done, nothing Malcolm could have done, would have prepared me for the first shock of their arrival, or prepared Malcolm for an even greater one.
7 Malcolm's Stepbother
. MALCOLM SAT WITH THE NEWSPAPER BEFORE HIM, BUT I knew he wasn't reading it My stomach felt as if I had swallowed a dozen butterflies. We were both awaiting the arrival of Garland and Alicia. Malcolm had left his offices early to be here when they arrived. He snapped the paper viciously and eyed the grandfather clock. They were more than a half hour late.
"Knowing my father," he said finally, "he might very well be arriving at four in the morning rather than four in the afternoon. Important details like that always escape him."
"He would know the difference between night and day, Malcolm," I said.
"Oh, would he? I can remember my mother sitting in this very room waiting for him to pick her up for an afternoon affair and he not coming at all because he wrote it down incorrectly in his calendar."
"You can remember? You were only five when she left."
"I can remember," he insisted. "I would sit with her and she would complain to me. She respected my intelligence, you see. She never spoke down to me the way mothers often speak down to their children. After a while, if he didn't show up when he was supposed to, she would go off by herself. It was his fault, don't you see?"
"He was occupied too much with his business," I said, hoping to make a point about him, but Malcolm either didn't hear me or didn't see the relationship to himself.
"Yes, yes, but he was often careless with business meetings too. He just doesn't have the concentration. He gets bored too easily. I can't tell you how many deals we lost because of him and how many I saved."
"Was your mother involved with the business?"
"What?" He looked at me as though I had just made the most ridiculous statement. "Hardly. She thought the stock market was a place to buy and sell stockings."
"Oh, come now. You exaggerate."
"Do I? She had no concept of what a dollar was. Why, when she went shopping, she never asked about the price; she never cared. She bought things without knowing how much she had spent and my father . . . my father never chastised her for it, never put her on a budget. Hopefully," he added, "things will be different with this wife."
"Where did your father meet your mother?" I asked.
"He saw her crossing a street in Charlottesville, stopped his carriage, and began a conversation with her. Without even knowing her family background! She invited him to her home that night. Wouldn't that tell you something? How impulsive a person she was?
Would you have ever done such a thing? Well?" he asked when I hesitated.
I tried to imagine it. It was romantic--a handsome young man stops his carriage to start a conversation with a young woman, a total stranger, and their conversation is so good that she is moved to invite him to her home.
"She didn't know of him9"
"No. She was visiting an aunt in Charlottesville. She wasn't from this area and never heard of the Foxworths."
"I suppose he was impressive."
"You would have invited him to your home?"
"No, not right away," I said, but something within me wanted to say I would, wished such a thing to have happened to me, but I knew what Malcolm was driving at, what was right and proper.
"See what I am saying? He should have been able to perceive the kind of woman she was
immediately."
"How long did they court?"
He smirked.
"Not long enough," he said.
"But Malcolm, you and I must have had an even shorter courting period."
"It wasn't the same thing. I knew what kind of woman you were; I didn't need endless examples to demonstrate and support my view. He was blinded from the beginning and rushed right into
a proposal. He once confessed to me that he suspected her aunt had brought her to Charlottesville for the sole purpose of meeting a distinguished gentleman. The guile of women! It wouldn't have surprised me to learn that she had planned crossing that street at just that time, knowing he was coming. He said she smiled up at him so warmly, he had to stop the carriage."
"I can't believe that."
"I do. Women like that are always conniving. They look so simple, so unassuming, so sweet, but they're plotting, believe me. And some men, men like my father, always fall for that type."
"Is that what his new bride is like?" He didn't respond. "Well, is she?"
"I can't see why not," he said, and folded his paper noisily.
I was about to respond, when Lucas came to announce that their car had driven up.
"Go help with the trunks and luggage," I said. I stood up, but Malcolm sat staring. "Well?"
He shook his head to shake away a thought and followed me to the front door as Garland and a young woman who could have been his daughter stepped out of their car. He held her in such a way that I suddenly realized that this child woman was his bride! My entire being was shaken. Why hadn't Malcolm told me? I turned to stare at him accusingly, but the face I saw was hardly recognizable as Malcolm's, so contorted was it with shock.
"My God," Malcolm said, "she's pregnant!" I knew what his concerns were--another heir. His face was bright purple and he clenched his hands into fists. "She's pregnant!" he repeated as if to confirm it for himself.
Indeed she was. The otherwise delicate, slender, and fresh-looking young lady with bright chestnut hair looked to me to be in her final months. Garland saw us in the doorway and waved vigorously, taking Alicia by the elbow to lead her on.
He didn't look as though he had aged much since he had begun his journey. I had photographs with which to judge. If anything, taking such a prolonged trip and marrying so beautiful a young woman had made him look younger. I saw a great many physical resemblances between him and Malcolm, of course, but there was a lightness to Garland's step and a warmth in his smile that Malcolm lacked.
Garland was nearly the same height and had the same broad shoulders. He looked fit, vigorous, energetic. It didn't surprise me that such a young girl would be attracted to him. He looked rather dapper in his light sport jacket and tan trousers.
And his wife was positively radiant. She moved lightly, gracefully, toward us for an introduction.
She had large blue eyes and one of those peaches- and-cream complexions usually found only in magazines. She had a soft, gentle mouth and a small, slightly turned-up nose. I was immediately envious of her delicate, feminine features. Her hands were so small and her neck so smooth and graceful. In many ways she reminded me of Corinne, Malcolm's mother, and I understood why Garland Foxworth would have pursued her and taken her for his second wife. When he had first seen her, he probably envisioned Corinne the way she was when he had first set his eyes on her crossing that street in
Charlottesville.
I turned quickly to Malcolm to see his reaction to her. His eyes grew small, his gaze intense. Although he had prepared himself to be stern and coldly formal when they arrived, I saw his face softening. What kind of a woman had he expected? I wondered. Or was she what he had expected and that was why he looked so affected.
"Malcolm, you look absolutely . . . older," his father said, and laughed. "Alicia, this is your stepson. Malcolm, your stepmother, Alicia."
Malcolm looked at his father. I saw the cold sneer come into his face.
"Mother? Welcome, Mother," he said, and extended his hand. Alicia smiled and took it but let go almost immediately and turned to me, as did Garland.
"This," Malcolm said, pronouncing his words sharply, slowly, "is Mrs. Foxworth, Mrs. Malcolm Neal Foxworth. Olivia," he said.
"Well, well. How do you do, Olivia," Garland said. Coldness filled my chest. I could tell from the look on Garland's face that Malcolm had never written him to tell him he had gotten married. Which meant, he didn't even know he had two grandchildren!
"Why didn't you tell me?" Alicia asked Garland. She had such an innocent, simple way about her. Garland, knowing his son well, would rather have ignored this embarrassing moment. I could sense that. Later on, in private, he might discuss it with him and voice his unhappiness about such a surprise. "Garland?"
"Simply because I didn't know, my love," he said, staring at Malcolm. I could see that self-satisfied expression around Malcolm's eyes, the expression he usually took on when he had gotten the better of someone. "How long have you two been married?"
"Well over three years'," Malcolm said.
"We have two children," I said, impatient with the way Malcolm was stalling them in front of the house and rationing the news. "Both boys."
"Both boys? Well, what do you know! Alicia, you're a grandmother before you are a mother. Boys!"
Alicia smiled warmly as Garland embraced her, pressing her to him with such force, I thought he might endanger the pregnancy She was so fragilelooking.
"Well, let's get on with this homecoming," Garland said, moving forward. Malcolm stepped aside and I accompanied them into the house. "I see there have been some changes made," Garland said. He was referring to some of the things I had done to warm up the foyer--the addition of some new, brighter landscapes and pictures of other country-type scenes, and some colorful rugs. "All good things," he added for my benefit, winking as he said so.
I couldn't help but like him He was so bright and happy. There was a positive energy around him that was contagious. Alicia beamed.
"It's everything you promised it would be," she said, and she kissed him on the cheek, but the kiss was so much more affectionate than the kisses Malcolm gave me that I was envious. It was nearly passionate.
"Your suite is in the south wing, next to Olivia's," Malcolm said, sounding more like the manager of a hotel than a son welcoming his father and his father's new bride home. "It's the one you requested."
"Good. Well, let us get settled in and then I want to see my grandsons, eh, Alicia?"
"Oh, yes, I can't wait."
"And dinner. We're both absolutely famished. The food on these trains leaves much to be desired. Have you done much traveling, Olivia?" he asked me. "Or is Malcolm keeping you a prisoner in Foxworth Hall?"
"Well, I haven't really done much traveling, no, but we traveled on the train right after we were married."
"She's from New London, Connecticut," Malcolm said. "Her maiden name is Winfield. Her father was in the shipping industry--unfortunately he passed away recently--"
"Oh, a Yankee, eh?" Garland said. "Alicia's from Richmond, Virginia, so let's not have the war between the states," he added, and laughed
vigorously. Malcolm, standing behind me, scowled, but Alicia smiled at me.
"You'll find no fight in me," she said, squeezing my hand. I must say I was taken with her warmth and her gregarious ways. She was as uninhibited as a fouryear- old. Although I told myself it was just a lack of good breeding, I couldn't help being fascinated by her openness. True she was only nineteen, but she had traveled most of Europe and been with a very sophisticated man. She should have had a rapid maturing, yet she didn't seem affected by the traveling or by the realization that she was a very wealthy woman and the wife of a distinguished man.
"Ah, Mrs. Wilson and Mrs. Steiner," Garland said, seeing them standing to the side. Mary Stuart stood behind them shyly.
"Welcome home, Mr. Foxworth," Mrs. Wilson said warmly.
"Welcome home," Mrs. Steiner said. He took both their hands and kissed each. They were obviously embarrassed by such a greeting.
"I've become the Continental," he said, "traveling through Europe. You two degbetter be on the lookout for me." The two giggled like schoolgirls. I thought it was absolutely uncouth to behave like that with the servants, but I did see how much more they admired him than they admired Malcolm. He looked at Mary Stuart, the maid hired after he had left. "Hello there," he said.
"Olsen is in the gardens, working," I said. "You may resume your duties," I told the maids, and they quickly left. Garland lowered his chin to his chest and peered at Malcolm.
"Are we pressed to economize?" he asked.
"Of course not," Malcolm said. "We're just practicing good economic behavior. What you do at home carries over to what you do in business."
"I see. Well, with the addition of another child and the two of us, we'll have to look into additional help, eh, Alicia?" he said.
"Whatever you say, my darling."
I saw Malcolm grimace as if in pain.
"Onward and upward," Garland announced, and led his bride up the dual staircase, pointing things out to her as she giggled and exclaimed her admiration. Malcolm and I remained below, looking up at them. I felt as if a wild but warm wind had come crashing through the front doors of Foxworth Hall, awakening things that had been asleep for two centuries. It was all quite breathtaking.
"Now you see how ridiculous he is," Malcolm muttered. "Can you understand why I feel the way I do about him?"
"Why didn't you ever write him about our marriage or about the birth of the children?" I demanded.
"I didn't think it necessary," he said.
"Not necessary?"
"No, not necessary. And as for her . . . remember, you were here first and you are older. You treat her like a child, and never give the servants the chance to take any orders but yours," he commanded.
"But what if it's something Garland wants?" I asked.
Dollenganger 05 Garden of Shadows Page 8
