Dollenganger 05 Garden of Shadows

by V. C. Andrews

  Christopher smiled, his handsome face filled with love and interest.

  "I wish my mother had never left Foxworth Hall. I wish I had thousands more memories of Mal and Joel. I wish that I had had the opportunity to know them as we all grew up, but I realize all that is in the past and there is no point to resurrect it. My mother told me so little about our life here. But we can make new memories now, can't we, Olivia?"

  Christopher looked down and then up at me with those blue Foxworth eyes, his warmer, deeper, richer. "I'm going to make you so proud of me, Olivia."

  His sweetness, his love; was so moving, it brought tears to my eyes. I had known so little love in my life, but I believed Christopher really did love me, love me as if I were his mother. A lump was lodged in my throat, and I could tell Christopher knew how sincerely he had moved me. I smiled and patted his soft hand.

  "Christopher," I began, "if you achieve what you have set out to achieve, you will bring me the kind of pride and happiness only a mother can have for a son. I feel honored that you have these feelings now." I looked away quickly because my heart was beating fast and I felt my tears about to flow.

  I couldn't help but think of Mal and Joel and the mother-son talks we used to have. All that had been taken away from me, and now, suddenly, some of it was returned. As if to comfort me, the warm breeze caressed my face and the long, billowy cloud that had covered the sun moved on. There was warmth all about me, but most important, there was warmth in my heart.

  "I will do my best," Christopher said. He leaned forward to kiss me on the cheek. The warmth of his lips on my cheek remained after he got up. I swallowed my urge to cry and turned back to him only when he started away. I watched him go to the house and then I looked up and saw John Amos standing by a second story window, looking down at us. He had his hands behind his back and his body seemed to cast a deep, heavy shadow.

  I began to notice how John Amos kept watching Christopher. He would appear out of nowhere, hovering in a doorway, emerging from a shadow. He seemed to be observing him, looking for something in Christopher. With his eyes like inquisitive, probing scalpels, he sought to slice out a hint, a sign, a clue. Whenever Malcolm and Christopher did have a conversation and John Amos was nearby, he scrutinized Christopher like a spy sent from some distant land filled with suspicion. For a while he said nothing about him, and then one day about a week after my conversation with Christopher on the patio, he came to the door of the front salon while I was reading.

  "I must speak to you about Christopher," he said. I nodded and indicated he should come in. He did not sit down, so I knew that his thoughts troubled him He stood for a long moment with his hands behind his back and then turned to me. "There is danger in paradise," he began.

  "What troubles you, John?" I asked, impatient with him. I wasn't happy that he had come to me critical of Christopher. "What has he done?" I demanded.

  "It's nothing that he has done specifically, but I am a cautious man and I want you to be cautious too. I worry that everyone has grown so attached to him so quickly. Even Malcolm appears to have lost his cautious eyes and careful ways. Only you, Olivia, have the insight to see what I am suggesting," he said, and brought his lower lip over his upper, his eyes small. He nodded his head slowly, as though confirming his own statements.

  I considered what he had said.

  "But there is nothing that you have observed . . ."

  "I have seen him with Corinne. They spend a great deal of time together walking through the gardens, going on the swings, talking, laughing," he said as if those were sins.

  "But they are innocent. She follows him about like an obedient puppy dog. You have observed no indiscretions, have you?" I asked quickly.

  "No, and yet . . . as I degsaid, I worry. Corinne is spending a great deal more time and placing a great deal more attention on her appearance. She sits before her vanity mirror and brushes her hair a hundred times before she will emerge from her room," he said quickly. I sat back.

  "You watch her brush her hair? I don't understand," I said. He suddenly looked very flustered. His face reddened and his mouth opened and closed without a word. "Why do you watch her so closely?" I asked. "How do you watch her so closely?"

  "Sometimes she leaves her door open a little and I. . . I do what I can to . . . to keep us aware of whatever troubles may be brewing, Olivia," he said quickly. "You know that is all I want to do."

  I considered what he had said.

  "Was there anything else you witnessed that you think I should know?" I asked, realizing that John had been doing more spying than I could imagine.

  "Yes. I must confess I followed them about yesterday because I sensed something."

  "What?" I demanded. I was becoming more and more angered at John Amos's suspicions about these beautiful, innocent young people. Was he trying to destroy the peace and happiness that we had at last built at Foxworth Hall? "What did you sense, John Amos?"

  "I followed them to the lake. They were giggling and splashing each other in the water. I stood watching them play, and was greatly shocked when they emerged from the water. They were swimming in their underwear!! Olivia, it was obscene! You could see everything! It was lewd!"

  I must say, I was quite shocked to hear this. I had raised Corinne to be a modest young woman, and I did not approve of her doing this. But, I excused them-- after all, they were young, it was hot, humid summer weather. I'm sure their natural exuberance just got of the best of them. "John Amos," I said sternly. "I don't like your suspicious mind After all, they are members of the same family, and in such situations, people often drop their proper modesty. I know both you and I were only children, but I have heard that siblings and cousins often feel very comfortable being so open and unabashed with one another. Let's not make a mountain out of a molehill."

  The first summer with Christopher drew to an end. Christopher went off to Yale. Corinne, now in the tenth grade, was enrolled in the best girls' school in New England. I wanted her to be exposed to the old traditions of the eastern seaboard. I wanted her to learn about something other than Southern balls and Kentucky Derbies. I wanted her to study Latin, to study ancient Greece, to become more than those pretty, empty-headed mistresses who ran the estates around Virginia. And, a happy coincidence, her school was in Massachusetts, only an hour or so away from New Haven. I was really comforted to know that a member of the family was nearby, should Corinne need anything.

  I was sorry to see them go. They left Foxworth Hall on the same day--they were taking the train up together--and Christopher had offered to see that Corinne was settled in her new school before he went on to Yale. It was so sweet to see how quickly they really had become to each other the brother and sister they truly were. Only they didn't know.

  The big house felt empty without them, and our rather dull routine quickly took over again; Malcolm always at work, John Amos managing the servants and reading Bible lessons with me. But I was comforted by my children. Truly I did think of them as mine

  Just as he had promised, Christopher wrote to me every week. He wrote long, interesting letters, describing everything he was doing and how much he already missed Foxworth Hall and the happy days he had spent during the last half of the summer And Corinne wrote sweet notes, describing her new school and her new friends. She did complain that there were no boys around, and I had to worry some, that she would become boy crazy and get herself into some sort of trouble, but I consoled myself that I had raised her well and properly. I had to trust the fruit of my own child-rearing. I did believe my tutelage could overcome whatever tendencies she had inherited from her mother.

  We all looked forward to the holidays, when Christopher and Corinne would return. Thanksgiving was too short a holiday for them to come all the way to Virginia, but one of Christopher's professors invited both Corinne and Christopher to his home for dinner. I was consoled that at least they were together. We all waited eagerly for Christmas. And the two of them arrived together, looking flushed and happy, as br
ight and expectant as two small children waiting for Santa's arrival. Our Christmas party that year was spectacular.

  Our Christmas tree was forty feet high and reached all the way to the top of the rotunda. Christopher and Corinne decorated it, spending almost two entire days with Christopher up on the ladder and Corinne handing him the bright, gay decorations. They even strung popcorn and cranberries--yards and yards of lively red and white garlands to drape around the tree like dancers dancing around the maypole. By the night of the party, Corinne was beside herself with excitement. Malcolm had bought her an extravagant red velvet gown, and she wore her blond hair piled on her head with ringlets cascading down. I had assented to her wearing some light makeup--mascara and lipstick. She was breathtaking, I have to admit it. She looked like a princess, a movie star, a queen.

  Malcolm, Christopher, John Amos, and I, as well as the servants, all turned as she drifted down the stairway. Oh, we all felt so much pride; Malcolm was beaming fit to burst and I heard Christopher let out a sigh almost of wonder as Corinne reached us, gaily said, "Happy Christmas, Daddy," and threw her arms about Malcolm, and then, as she was hugging him, gave Christopher a sly wink. Only John Amos looked on with a tight expression. And suddenly it dawned on me, as I watched him watching her. Why, John Amos was jealous of Christopher! That was the spring of his suspicions. I took his arms and led him into the grand ballroom. "Come, John Amos, let's make certain all the preparations are perfect. Our guests will begin arriving any moment now."

  Our party was a grand success. Corinne, quite the sophisticated young lady and well-schooled in etiquette, played the hostess more than I did. I saw how proud of her Malcolm was, how he sat back or stood to the side and watched her move about the great foyer greeting people, laughing with this one or that, saying the right things, charming older people as well as younger. I saw the smiles on their faces and the enchantment in their eyes when she greeted them. And I didn't even mind so much that they had never responded to me in such a way. I was not that type of woman. But my Corinne was, and reflected glory was certainly more sweet than no glory at all.

  She had Christopher on her arm, introducing him as her long-lost uncle who was on his way to becoming a famous physician and telling them how proud of him she was. She was positively radiant as they flitted from this person to that, like a sparkling wind bringing Christmas joy to everything it touched.

  Christopher was, as always, perfectly charming, complimenting the women, making them feel pretty and attractive. He had a kind word for everyone, and it always sounded sincere, never phony. He sought and found in each person he met their best quality, and then brought it to the fore. Everywhere I turned guests were talking about him and Corinne, how impressed they were with both of them.

  I did overhear Mrs. Bromley tell a group of women that it was difficult for her to believe anyone as energetic and charming as Corinne could be a daughter of mine.

  But this time I felt no need to cut in and answer her back as I had done at previous gatherings. I knew she spoke out of jealousy, and I felt proud. There wasn't a finer, more handsome young man or woman in the community. I had succeeded at last in my role as Malcolm's wife.

  We had survived our disasters and tragedies, and like the great house, we now stood at the pinnacle of the community. We were people to be admired and envied.

  As the band struck up the dance music, Christopher led Corinne out onto the dance floor. It was a waltz, and their dance was breathtaking. Christopher spun Corinne around the floor as if they were born dancing together. Everyone turned to watch, no one else wanted to dance, happier to watch this gorgeous couple glide across the floor like happy snowflakes in a friendly wind. Then Malcolm, tall and dignified, came and cut in. Corinne smiled at Christopher as he took his place in the circle about the dance floor to the applause of the guests, and Malcolm danced on with Corinne. But somehow he had broken the spell, both of them appeared stiff and slightly uncomfortable; it was as if Malcolm were trying to compete with Christopher and prove he was just as accomplished a dancer--but he wasn't. At that moment I really realized how old Malcolm had become. His youthful vigor was gone; dancing with Corinne, he looked like a foolish old man.

  Christopher came up to me, smiling. "Dare I cut in, Olivia? Malcolm looks like he's tiring out."

  I smiled and patted his hand. "You go right ahead, Christopher," I encouraged him.

  Christopher walked out onto the floor, and as he tapped Malcolm's shoulder, and Corinne floated into his arms, the guests broke into another round of applause.

  It was then I saw John Amos looking at me, looking at me as though he were some angry God trying to wreak vengeance on my happiness so lately found. He looked back at Christopher and Corinne dancing and raised an eyebrow in alarm and

  suspicion. "There are none so blind as those who refuse to see," he intoned. Why did he have to make beauty seem so sordid? Why did he resent Christopher so?. Did he feel that since he was a member of the family he should have the benefits Christopher had gotten rather than being merely a butler? I pushed the thought away. This was the best Christmas party we had ever given, and I was having a wonderful time glorying in' my children. I wasn't going to let John Amos's suspicions ruin my happiness.

  During his second year at Yale, Christopher did more than simply .establish himself as a promising student. His professors found his papers to be extraordinary. As a sophomore, he was already doing senior work. Credit limitations were waived for him; and Malcolm and I received his excited letter announcing that he would be graduating in three years instead of four. Medical school was just around the corner.

  I was delighted to learn that he and Corinne kept in contact with each other. Christopher had even taken a ride or two to her boarding school to pay her a visit. Corinne must have been so proud to show off her handsome stepuncle to her girlfriends. I

  envisioned her sitting on the bed in her dormitory room, the other girls gathered about her to listen to her descriptions of Christopher and the Christmas parties and Foxworth Hall. I was sure she made them all envious, promising to introduce this one or that one to Christopher. When he arrived, she probably displayed him like a precious jewel.

  John Amos, however, never let up his suspicions and jealousy of Christopher. "It's unnatural, Olivia; even siblings aren't that close at their age."

  "Really, John," Malcolm would say, "can't you let Corinne alone." He remained enamored of her.

  By the time she was seventeen, Corinne was a stunningly beautiful woman. Her golden hair never had more of a sheen or looked as soft. Her eyes were brighter and a deeper blue, the cerulean blue of Christopher's eyes. She had Alicia's slim, very feminine figure, with a graceful neck, small round shoulders, a firm, full bosom, a narrow waist, and small hips. Her legs were long, and she moved with a confident grace that would make angels envious.

  Now twenty-one years old, Christopher, too, had filled out. His shoulders became wider and more muscular from his athletic activities at Yale. He was the champion rower on his scull team. He was at least an inch taller than when he had first arrived at Foxworth Hall, and I thought his maturity made him even more handsome. There was a great deal of Garland in him now. I heard him in his laugh and saw him in his happy strut.

  It was heartwarming to watch them rush about the great house, going from one activity to the next. One afternoon they were off to sail on the little lake, another afternoon they were going out to hunt for wild flowers or spy on bees so Olsen could steal the honey. At dinner they chattered incessantly about their lives at school.

  Malcolm looked from one to the other, doting, of course, on Corinne. Something was happening to the granite in his face. It was beginning to be chipped away until he no longer looked as though he carried a stone bust of a head on his shoulders. Occasionally, even he would burst out in laughter at the table when Corinne would describe some silly thing she had done or said.

  Christopher was full of stories about her, too, loving to repeat things she'd said or done
when he visited her at school. They were becoming so close that it finally began to concern me. One afternoon, when the two of them came back from sailing, I realized what was bothering me about their

  relationship.

  Corinne's arm was laced through Christopher's, her hair bouncing gently on her shoulders as the two of them crossed the lawn toward the patio, where I sat looking off at the Blue Ridge Mountains.

  They looked so much like brother and sister now that I was almost sure they sensed it. For a few moments I was plunged back into the memory of my own sons, and I imagined that if Mal or Joel were alive and walking with Corinne, either of them would look as wonderful. Such was the power of her beauty that any man standing in the reach of that beauty would be enhanced by it himself, the same way a woman's hands could be enhanced by jewels and her wrist and neck by bracelets and necklaces.

  I heard their laughter first. Their voices, still a bit far off, were indistinct. When they drew close enough to see me, they stopped and looked at each other as though they had been caught doing something illicit. I felt myself tighten. A moment later they were walking toward me, moving faster and not standing so close to each other, even though Corinne still had her arm in his.

  "Isn't this a magnificent day, Olivia?" Christopher said. "There was just enough breeze to move our little sailboat," he added. "I wish you would permit me to take you for a boat ride on a day like this."

  Corinne looked at me with a teasing expression; she couldn't envision me in a sailboat.

  "I have been on a sailboat many times," I said. "When I lived in New London, sailing was as common as walking."

  "Really?" Christopher said. "I have been down to New London and it is a rather beautiful harbor." "Yes," Corinne said. "It is."