Despite the clouds of dust I saw outside, I tried to open the window a little more, but it was quite stuck. Oh well, I thought, getting a comfortable sleep was not why I came here. I took out the clothes I thought I’d wear, now wondering if I would ever show my gala dress to my aunt. It would be a waste of time, I thought, and went down to take my bath. Hazel and my great-aunt were sitting in the living room. The instant Hazel saw me, she rose.
“Let’s see about the water,” she said, and led me to the bathroom.
I did remember the deep zinc slipper bathtub with the hand-painted marble on the exterior. My mother had given me a bath in it, and the image of it was stamped on a wall in my house of memories. Hazel ran some water and shook her head.
“Just as I feared,” she said. “Got to get George Thomas back to fiddle with the burner. I have two kettles cookin’.”
I felt a small panic. What if Garland came soon? He probably knew the train schedule between here and Alexandria and imagined I’d be here by now.
“I’ll start with a washcloth,” I said, and began to take off my clothes.
“That’s all we really do,” she said in a whisper, and left.
She returned a while later with the first kettle. I saw she was struggling to carry it, so I helped pour it in.
“A quick dip will be enough, Hazel. Don’t bother with the second kettle,” I said. She looked relieved.
“You leave your clothes, and I’ll get them washed later tonight,” she promised, and left me.
A quick dip it was, and then I dried and dressed myself. I fixed my hair, brushing it back and tying it. The mirror they had was faded in spots, but I saw enough of myself to be content. When I stepped into the living room, my great-aunt was so surprised to see me that Hazel had to reintroduce me.
“You look a lot like my sister,” she said.
We had only one good photo of my grandmother, and I didn’t think I looked anything like her. She wasn’t ugly by any means, but her face was rounder, her eyes smaller, and her mouth not as feminine as mine. Luckily, my mother looked more like her very handsome father, who had been a colonel in the Confederate Army. I loved the picture of him in uniform. He died before I was born and remained a debonair ghost.
As I sat across from the two of them, I wondered what I could possibly talk about that would make any sense to these two. I found myself babbling about our house and my cycling and then decided to tell them about the Wexler gala. They both sat transfixed as I described the size of the estate, the decorations, and the food. I was tempted to go up and get into the dress. Hazel remembered I had mentioned it in my letter.
“We’d love to see you in it, wouldn’t we, Nettie?”
My aunt nodded but looked like she had no idea why she should.
“Maybe later,” I said.
Finally, I thought I would mention Garland.
“I met a fine gentleman who lives outside of Charlottesville,” I said.
“Oh, did you now?” Hazel asked.
“What?” Great-aunt Nettie asked, and Hazel repeated what I had said.
“She met a fine gentleman,” Hazel said. “As pretty as she is, that’s no surprise, is it, Nettie?” She smiled and nodded at me. “I bet you have quite the full dancin’ card whenever you go to one of those fancy dos.”
I didn’t want to say the Wexler gala was my first big event. I wanted to appear as grown-up as possible so they’d be less concerned about my seeing someone while I was here. I decided to mention it now.
“He might come calling. I told him where I would be,” I said.
“Well, won’t that be somethin’?” Hazel said. “He might come callin’,” she told my great-aunt.
“Who?”
“Yes, who, dear?” Hazel asked.
“His name is Garland Foxworth,” I said. “He’s in business with my father’s bank.”
“Foxworth,” Hazel announced.
“Neal Foxworth?” Great-aunt Nettie asked after a moment of thought.
“No, Aunt Nettie. His name is Garland.”
“Foxworth Hall,” she said. “That’s the grandest mansion in Virginia, right, Hazel?”
“I never saw it myself, mind you, but I did hear a great deal about it. My, my. Will wonders never cease? Well, I should set the table,” she decided, and stood.
“I’ll help,” I said. That wasn’t something I often volunteered to do, but the prospect of yelling back and forth with my great-aunt seemed worse.
“Oh no, missy. You spend the time with your auntie. She doesn’t have many visitors at all these days. That’s why I was so happy to receive your letter.”
Before I could offer another argument, she was gone. I looked at Great-aunt Nettie. What would I tell her now? She was looking at me, but I could see she was thinking of something else.
“My husband didn’t like Neal Foxworth,” she said. She didn’t look like she was talking to me especially. It was more like someone reciting as she remembered. “He said he’d sell his mother for a silver dollar.”
“I never knew Neal Foxworth, Aunt Nettie. I know only Garland, his son.”
Her eyes seemed to click like the eyes of someone who had just woken.
“My mother had hair your color,” she said.
“Did she?”
“So did my sister, but I took after my father. My father died, you know. He fell off a horse and broke his neck. He was only twenty. My grandfather shot the horse. Granger was the horse’s name. What’s your name again?”
“Corrine,” I said.
What would happen to her if something happened to Hazel? I thought. Maybe my mother and father would look after her or see that someone did. It wasn’t a responsibility I’d want.
“Time to have our tea,” Hazel announced from the doorway, as if it were the doorway of a grand ballroom.
“Is it?” Great-aunt Nettie said. “Then come to the table with me, Rosemary,” she said, rising and holding out her hand. I looked at Hazel, who smiled and nodded. It must surely be exhausting telling Great-aunt Nettie the same things all day, I thought, and looked toward the front door.
Oh please, please, come knocking, Garland, I prayed under my breath.
I hadn’t realized how hungry I was until I began to eat. Despite her age and I was sure her failing eyesight and hearing, too, Hazel was still a very good cook. While we ate, Great-aunt Nettie often paused to stare at me, obviously trying to remember who I was every time. Hazel kept me occupied with her memories of when the house was grand and my great-uncle was still alive.
“I made fine dinner parties back then. The best of Charlottesville society came here. I know that’s hard to imagine now,” she added sadly. “You take your time enjoyin’ your youth, missy. It doesn’t last as long as we all hope it will.”
You don’t have to tell me that twice, I thought. I was sure my mother hadn’t intended it to be, but that was the biggest lesson I’d have swallowed and digested when I left this house and went home. I offered to help clean up, thinking that would get back to my father somehow and he’d be very proud of me, but Hazel insisted I take my great-aunt back to the living room and wait for her to bring in tea and her golden rod cake.
Time dripped by like a slowly melting icicle. Every time I heard the sound of people talking on the street or the sound of a horse and carriage, I stared hopefully toward the front door, but no one came knocking. Great-aunt Nettie fell asleep a few times while we had our tea. The golden rod cake was delicious, but soon they were both drifting off. Hazel woke with a start and began to clean up.
“We’ll be goin’ up to sleep soon, Nettie,” she told my great-aunt, who was already half asleep again.
Everything inside me felt tied up with frustration. I began to think up different reasons for why I had to cut my visit short.
“You don’t have to go to sleep with us old birds,” Hazel said, returning.
It was only a little past twilight, and from the view I had of the street outside, I could see there was a full mo
on.
“I might sit a while,” I said. “Maybe take a short walk.”
“Just be careful. The way they go by with their horses and carriages these days, a pedestrian takes her life in her hands crossin’ the street, especially after sundown.
“Come on, Nettie,” she told my great-aunt, and reached for her arm to help her stand.
It was just then that we heard the knock on the door. Of course, I heard it first. I was hearing it in my otherwise silent prayers and for a moment thought I might have imagined it. But I heard it again.
“Someone’s at the door!” I cried, standing quickly, my face full of hope.
Hazel paused to listen. There was another, louder knock.
“Well, I do declare. You’re right,” she said. “It might be some panhandler,” she warned.
“I’ll go see,” I said, and started for it, but I quickly slowed down and pulled myself up. Don’t dare look so anxious, Corrine Dixon, I told myself.
I opened the door slowly and looked out at Garland Foxworth, whose smile was bright enough to light the whole house. He immediately took off his black derby hat. He wore a suit, a tie, and high black leather boots. The splash of moonlight turned his hair a yellower gold than I remembered.
“Why, hello there, Corrine,” he said. “I do hope I’m not calling too late on you fine ladies. I just returned from a business trip and thought I’d stop by on my way home.”
Hazel and my great-aunt Nettie appeared in the hallway.
“Good evening,” he said, nodding at them. “I’m Garland Foxworth.”
“Yes, we heard you might be callin’,” Hazel said. “I’m afraid I have to get Mrs. Lloyd up to bed. Might be a good idea for me as well.”
“I apologize for the lateness. As I was just telling Corrine—Miss Dixon—I’m on my way home from a business trip and had to go by your home.”
“Yes, well, you can offer him some of the golden rod and make some tea, if you like, Corrine,” Hazel said.
My great-aunt was simply staring at him.
“I know you,” she finally said. “Neal Foxworth.”
“Oh no, ma’am. That was my father. I’m Garland Foxworth.”
“Foxworth’s Foxworth,” Great-aunt Nettie replied. She was actually scowling.
“Oh, it’s time for bed, Nettie,” Hazel insisted. She turned her toward the stairway.
“I know him,” Great-aunt Nettie told her as they started up the stairs. “That’s Neal Foxworth.”
“You haven’t said a word,” Garland said, smiling at me as soon as they were gone.
“Well, come on in, and we’ll see what you get out of me then,” I said.
His smile nearly exploded off his face. “A better invitation I never had,” he said, entering.
I closed the door and nodded toward the living room.
“It’s not quite the house it was,” I said. I was actually embarrassed by it.
“With you here, I’m sure it’s more than it ever was,” he said.
It was as if his smile and his words were the magic I had been dreaming really existed. I was so stirred that I could have been stark naked and not a bit more excited.
But of course, I’d have to wait to find out if that would be true or not.
And there wasn’t a teaspoon’s worth of doubt that I soon would.
“Don’t fuss over any tea and cake,” Garland said immediately after we had entered the living room. Without waiting for me to sit first, he dropped to the sofa, leaned back with his arms across the top of it, and looked up at me. “I ate more than any man should today. Wined and dined, as they say. Everyone wants some of my money, including, of course, your father’s bank.”
“Well, I don’t,” I said sharply, and sat across from him. “I don’t worship money.”
“That’s because your family has it,” he said. “Although you might become converted for other reasons.”
He smiled, but I wasn’t sure I liked it. Sometimes when a man smiles at you, you can tell that he merely thinks you’re cute or adorable, some sort of compliment that belongs tagged onto a little girl, not a woman. A woman is attractive, beautiful, pretty. That’s the smile I wanted, more of a look of wonder and, most important, desire.
The look on my face changed his expression instantly. “No offense. Actually, you are surprising. I’m impressed,” he said.
“Why?” I asked sharply.
“It’s very nice to see a young woman who cares enough to visit old relatives and not simply put them off on some shelf to be forgotten.” He squinted. “Or am I seeing something that is not?”
Did he want me to come right out and say I came here mainly to see him?
“Do you doubt that was my intention, sir?” I asked instead.
“Long ago I decided not to ponder too long on the way a young woman thinks. Too many forks in that road.”
“So you’ve had a number who confused you? Now I’m the one truly surprised. Something like that happening to a man of worldly experience.”
He threw his head back with a laugh and slapped his knees. “I do say you are the most challenging young woman I’ve met, Corrine. Are you a good student? Do you intend to be a teacher, a nurse, or someone’s secretary?”
“Hardly,” I said. “I don’t intend to work. I’m not one of these radical women looking to establish a career. And I’m not a good student. I despise being forced to do numbers, even though my father would appreciate it. History bores me, not to mention science. I simply don’t have the patience for lectures and taking notes, as well as reading assignments.”
“Well, that’s not a tragedy for a woman these days.”
“Maybe. But I do pride myself on being a good student in the world. In that way I am more my father’s daughter.”
“Probably so,” he said, nodding and looking more thoughtful. “Are you free tomorrow? May I show you and your aunt Foxworth Hall? I promise to go easy on the history.”
“I am not sure my great-aunt’s up to it,” I said. “You saw her. To be honest about it, I am not sure she’ll notice if I’m here or not. In the morning, I expect Hazel will have to reintroduce me to her.”
“I see. And your parents gave you no restrictions, instructions?”
“I do not think of myself as someone who still needs her parents to give her instructions,” I said. “I thought I demonstrated that at the Wexler gala.”
His eyes took on a new intensity, his face almost vibrating with delight and exhilaration. He looked at the doorway and then toward the kitchen like someone afraid to be overheard. For a moment, he tapped his derby against his leg as he pondered. I don’t know why, but my anticipation of what he would say next kept me from taking a breath.
“I imagine, then, that they wouldn’t notice if you were gone now,” he said.
“Gone now? You mean go to Foxworth Hall now?”
He took out his pocket watch, snapped it open, and then nodded. “It’s not that late. You must have had your dinner early, which makes sense considering your aunt’s age.” He paused, smiled, and sat back. “You’re not Cinderella in disguise, are you? If we should violate midnight, my carriage won’t turn into a pumpkin, will it?”
“No, I am not Cinderella, and I don’t have a curfew, sir.”
“Not that I won’t get you back by midnight. Do you want to see Foxworth Hall now? You should see it both at night and during the daytime. It’s a mansion with its own special personality. It changes when the sun goes down. Sometimes I think of it as being alive. It’s well over one hundred years old, but between some of the improvements my father had made and ones I’ve been making, it’s . . .” He looked about the living room. “It’s not suffered like this, although there are rooms, places, that no one’s paid much attention to for some time, decades, in fact.
“Let’s just say it will be an experience to remember, night or day,” he concluded.
The idea of sneaking out of my great-aunt’s house seemed thrilling. This was just the sort of excitement
I had hoped to have.
“With such a promise, how can I refuse?” I replied.
His smile burst like a firecracker on his face.
“You don’t need anything. There’s just a slight chill in the air, but I have a new horsehair blanket, specially made for me recently. I’m experimenting with emblems for the Foxworth family. I’d love your opinion of this one. Shall we go? I have a driver waiting just outside.”
He stood.
Now that I had bragged so much about exercising my freedom, actually doing it took on another meaning, however. I listened for any sounds indicating that either Hazel or my great-aunt was still awake. It was very quiet. They really wouldn’t know I had left, I thought. There was no danger of that.
“Very well,” I said, standing. I was trembling a little, knowing how upset both my parents would be when and if they learned about this evening escapade unchaperoned. I smiled immediately to prevent him from seeing the fear and hesitation in my face, but he was apparently good at reading me.
He put his right hand over his heart and recited, “I promise I’ll get you back well before midnight, and no one will be the worse for it, including you.”
“Then we should get started if I’m to have the time to see anything,” I said, washing away any hesitation. The longer we talked about it, the more frightened I became.
He nodded. “Absolutely,” he said, and went to the front door, holding out his arm.
I took it, and we stepped out. I had never seen a carriage like his, parked in front of my aunt’s house. It looked like it belonged in a fairy tale. It was no wonder he had referred to Cinderella. There were four beautiful large horses, each at least seventeen hands, all coal black. The carriage had an enclosed black body with gold trim. There were two doors and a glazed front window.
“It’s beautiful,” I said.
“It’s imported from England,” he said. “I have four different carriages. This one is a brougham. You’ll see that I had the seats re-covered in new leather.”
Beneath the Attic Page 8
