Chapter 16 insert

(between pages 307 and 308)

ALICIA'S REVELATION

"It's time for you to answer now," the Queen said, looking at her watch: "open your mouth a little wider when you speak, and always say "your Majesty.""
- Through the Looking Glass

"There is nothing concealed that will not be disclosed, or hidden that will not be made known." Luke 12:2

"Mrs. Malcolm Neal Foxworth

5 Mulberry Circle;
North Garden, VA.

February 17, 1939

Dear Olivia,

I suppose you will be surprised to receive this correspondence, and most likely will not be pleased to hear from me. I read in the newspaper about Mal's accident, and I am heartbroken for you. I am truly sorry for your incredible loss. As a mother myself, I understand that your sorrow and loss runs deeper than that of anyone else, for he was your first-born, and part of you, in a way no one but you experienced.

I cried when I saw the article, and I could think of nothing but poor Mal, and you, for weeks after. I remember how bright and sweet he was, Olivia. Please accept my sincere condolences.

Olivia, I would not think to disturb you at a time like this, except that my time is limited. I would like very much to see you, if you would agree, and if you can arrange a day trip to Richmond, and come to my home. I regret to impose on you the trouble of traveling, but I am unable to travel.

I am unwell, and have been, for some months now. I rarely feel strong enough to leave my house.

Aside from this reason, I also assume you would not wish me to come to Foxworth Hall, and I would not want to take the chance of running into Malcolm.

What I have to say, I must say to you alone, Olivia. It is a private matter which I will not write down in this letter; it is of the utmost importance that I tell you, in person. It does concern your family.

Please write to me as soon as you can, and let me know if you can visit. I would appreciate it more than you can know, for I have lived with guilt for years, about this.

Alicia"

Only a few months after Mal's accident, and before we lost Joel, I received the letter from Alicia. The outside of the envelope bore a return address with the name of Althea Corday, the name of Alicia's older sister. I assumed this precaution had been taken so that if Malcolm picked up our mail, he would not recognize that the letter was from Alicia.

Her letter had been written on my birthday, I saw, but it arrived a week later, on what would have been Mal's twenty-second birthday. It was a difficult day for me, but I doubted Alicia knew the significance of her timing.

I read the letter through twice, wincing at her expression of sympathy. I had no doubt that her kindness was genuine, but I was too numb with grief to care, or to be curious about what she wanted to tell me. Why couldn't she simply commit it to paper?

What could be so secret, and why was a trip to Richmond necessary? It would not be easy. I don't drive, and would have to take a train, or hire someone to drive me there and back.

I didn't give it any further consideration, and I did not reply to her letter.

What could she possibly have to impart to me that would matter so much? Was she going to make more confessions about Malcolm, and her part in what had happened? If so, I had no desire to hear it. I convinced myself that was the answer, and I folded the letter back into its envelope to file away in a locked drawer of the desk in my bedroom. I don't know why I saved it, but I came across it again, a month after we got the news about Joel.

Malcolm had become increasingly withdrawn and depressed, and I was growing concerned about him. I knew it was a long shot, but I wondered if Alicia might indeed know something which might prove useful to me. So I dispatched a reply to inform her that I would see her in two weeks' time.

When I announced to Malcolm that I would be going to Richmond for the day, to see Frances Hudson, he barely acknowledged it. That made the lie easier to tell, and I was glad he didn't ask questions then, or upon my return home. He only nodded and asked when I expected to be home. In fact, I did later consider stopping by the Hudsons' house, but that visit never happened because of my state of mind when I left Alicia.

I arrived at the house to which I was directed, outside of Richmond, at noon on a Friday. Alicia herself answered the door, and I quickly discerned that she employed no servants. No one else was home, apparently, so we were able to speak freely.

"Please come in, Olivia."

I stepped forward to speak to this apparition from my past, but no words came. What did one say after so much time, and the peculiar circumstances of our history?

I was spared the necessity of speaking. Alicia invited me into her small sitting room, and then went to the kitchen to make tea.

I noted her appearance, not much changed from the young woman I remembered. Creamy pearl-drops winked from her small ears; her dress was of navy organdy and ivory geometric print, with slim skirt and a flattering bateau neckline, fastened on the shoulder with shell buttons.

While waiting for Alicia's return, I looked about. I could see no pictures or mementos, nothing to reveal clues to Alicia's life, and certainly nothing to offer a clue as to why a woman possessed of three million dollars should live in such an economical way. The room, and the rest of the house-from what I could tell-was modest, but comfortable. I recognized furnishings which had been hers and Garland's at Foxworth Hall. The pieces were elegant, and perhaps too large to be comfortably situated in these rooms, but I understood why she wished to keep them.

The interior of the sitting room was dim, lit only by one small lamp. Alicia, I remember, had so admired the Tiffany lamp I'd inherited from my father, that Garland had brought one, of a similar design, for his wife, acquired during one of his business trips to New York City. Its colorful tinted glass cast reflections on the walls; the familiar light and objects revived vivid memories of bygone times, when Alicia shared her confidences with me, thinking she could trust me and that we were friends. On many an occasion, we had sat in the glow of this same lamp, occupied with needlework, and watching our boys play across the room. Now mine were gone, I had only their father left to think of, and the interest I once had in knowing all of Alicia's secrets was gone.

I waited, feeling ill at ease and wondering why I'd come to Richmond at all.

"You take sugar in your tea, don't you, Olivia?" asked Alicia, placing a silver tray nearby on a low table. I was so lost in reminiscence that I hadn't heard her return.

"Yes. How interesting it is, the minor details one remembers, after so many years." I mused, accepting the proffered cup.

She nodded, settling gracefully into the chair across from me, and sipped her tea. I noticed the slight tremble of her hands.

"Thank you for coming all this way, Olivia." she smiled. "You're looking well, much like I remember you."

"It has not been so many years." I replied, perhaps a bit too harshly.

"For me, it has been. The years have taken their toll. I am growing old, so much more quickly than I ever dreamed of, then. Youth and beauty are deceptions. They make you feel powerful and free, but the truth is that they capture you in their grasp, and the power you feel is the power they hold over you. But as you age, and beauty fades, you begin to feel caged. I was sitting alone, engulfed in my own thoughts, when I began to hear the sound of my days coming to an end." she stopped, drifting into thought.

How morbid! Her strange talk reinforced my sense of unease, but I waited for her to continue.

She abruptly straightened her posture, and sat forward, focusing her dark blue eyes on me.

"Don't you sometimes feel that way, Olivia? Oh, never mind. I am sorry; I see I have disturbed you. Tell me, how are things at Foxworth Hall? How is Joel? And your daughter? I don't even know what her name is."

She laughed, and I saw traces of the Alicia I'd known.

"Malcolm named her Corinne."

"Corinne." she echoed, a shadow passing over her face at the mention of that name. But she shrugged it off.

"Corinne Clarisse. She is full of energy and life, as any young girl should be. She attends boarding school." I elaborated on the details of Corinne's accomplishments and her life.

"But since the time I received your initial letter, we have... we have lost Joel, as well, to an accident. That was just a few weeks ago. In March."

I was overcome with emotion for a minute, and couldn't speak. Alicia waited quietly until I composed myself, and went on.

"Malcolm has gone into a sort of decline, since we received the news about Joel. He talks of hiring detectives to find him; he doesn't accept that Joel is gone. It was bad before, after Mal's accident, but now it is worse. It's as if his life, too, has stopped. He is only a shell of himself, now. All of his enthusiasm is gone, it seems. He used to tell me about his work every evening, and now he just comes home and shuts himself in the library. He has no interest, anymore, in going on the hunting trips which he once enjoyed so. His newspapers pile up unread, sometimes for a week at a time. I am afraid for him, and I don't know how to help him."

I was amazed at my own candor. I hadn't planned to say all of this, but it was a relief to express my worries.

"I am sorry to hear he is suffering so. I always thought he loved the boys more than he knew. I always thought he didn't know how to say that to them, and maybe not even to you," then she quickly added, "but I wouldn't presume to know that. Please don't be upset with me, Olivia."

"What was it you wanted to talk about?" I asked sharply, wanting to change the subject. Even now, I couldn't stand listening to her try to make excuses for Malcolm, or trying to defend him, even if what she said was true. I couldn't stand the idea that she would have insight into Malcolm's mind and personality.

"This isn't easy. I thought never to tell anyone, but the present circumstances of my life have changed my mind. I won't go into specifics, for it isn't important, now." She took a deep breath and put aside her cup. "Olivia, I have done you a great injustice."

Why, after so many years, should she say this?

I waited, anxiously, her words leading me back into a past I wanted to forget. The truth was that I was not happy to see Alicia. A part of me still resented her for what had happened between her and Malcolm, although I hadn't thought of it, or of her, in years.

Seeing her again brought it all back, as if it had been only yesterday that I'd forced her to confess her story to me. I could still see her sitting there, in the Swan Room, looking defenseless, her eyes cast down so as to avoid my eyes, as she told me the graphic details which-intuition should have warned her-I, as Malcolm's wife, should not have been told. In my memory, I could still hear her voice filled with despair, as she pleaded for help and understanding.

I had understood, to some degre; I understood that Malcolm cared for Alicia even less than I did. He had violated her, and left her to suffer the consequences-left her at the mercy of, and in the hands of his betrayed wife. I understood that Alicia had been a victim, but I couldn't find much sympathy for her, not then, for I had been hurt much more than she, and no one had cared. Those were my feelings, and irrational though they might be, it was difficult to let them go.

It occurred to me, only after it was too late, that I'd completely overlooked options other than what I'd done. Either way, I had to pay for Malcolm's transgression. It would have been worth the loss of some of my own money to get rid of the proof of Malcolm's unfaithfulness to me. I could have given Alicia money enough to take Christopher and leave Foxworth Hall. Would she have taken it? Surely, she hadn't wanted to have Malcolm's baby.

I could have used my knowledge of certain herbs-plants that grew in my kitchen garden-to cause her to miscarry. In the right amounts, and with the proper frequency... What could Malcolm have done? Nothing, of course. But it was all irrelevant, now.

She had given us a beautiful daughter, a daughter I loved well. It wasn't Alicia's fault it would all go wrong. It was not Alicia's fault Corinne would turn out to be spineless, weak, a disgrace to the Foxworth name.

Neither had it been Alicia's fault that my husband couldn't be faithful.

Long before Alicia came to Foxworth Hall, I knew that Malcolm had a sickness in his mind, that in some way-I dared not contemplate-his mother had hurt him, ruined him. Garland had contributed to whatever had damaged Malcolm, too,
but perhaps only by neglect. The impact of that neglect was deeply felt, because Garland had then been Malcolm's only parent. Garland should have realized the extent of the damage he had done. But it had been easy to forget that when I knew Garland; he was a different man, by then, and I had been young enough not to question my own impressions of him. But there had to be some truth in what Malcolm said, a valid reason for the resentment Malcolm harbored against his father.

Thoughts of Garland returned me to the present, and Alicia. With the exception of a few lines in her face, she hadn't changed very much, though her complexion was a bit sallow, and she was too thin.

The passage of time had been relatively kind to each of us, I reflected, remembering my own mirrored image.

Why was I classing myself with Alicia, anyway? We were not alike, and never had been, and I had left my insecurities behind long ago-or so I believed.

Yes, Alicia was still beautiful, but beauty did not guarantee happiness and freedom. Perhaps it even brought more problems than joy to its possessor. Was that what she'd been trying to say?

A sudden coldness filled me. What would be Malcolm's reaction, if he ever saw Alicia again? It was unreasonable, but I felt threatened merely by the thought of their meeting, although I assumed Alicia must still despise him.

Surely, she could still capture the attention of any man she cared to attract. But Alicia's motives and plans didn't concern me; it was Malcolm's that I questioned. I didn't want Malcolm thinking of her. The very idea was intolerable! I was glad I'd agreed to come here, rather than have Alicia visit the Hall.

I wondered if life had taken away Alicia's naive outlook. Had it made her stronger, colder, or had it been kind to her? Did she often think of and miss Garland, after all this time?

Garland's death had left a void in our family, if not for me, then certainly for the children. Garland had naturally spent more time with Christopher, but after Garland died, my boys had missed him, tremendously. Joel, especially, had mourned the loss of his grandfather, since Joel had even less of Malcolm's attention and approval than his brother.

Despite my mixed feelings about Alicia, now that I'd seen her, I was curious about her life. I wondered how she could even care enough to ask about Malcolm. Didn't she hate him for what he had done to her?

But I thought I understood. She had always been gullible. She had a childlike way of forgiving. For Alicia, the unpleasantness had been short-lived. It had not begun on the first day of her marriage, shattering her cherished dreams of what love would be. Her first day-all of her days-had been full of sweetness and flowers, I was sure-"moon and June nonsense," Malcolm would call it, which was how he always referred to the romance novels Corinne read.

Alicia had suffered, I didn't doubt that, for I knew what it was to live with the physical and emotional pain of bringing into being the child of an abusive man, a man who showed no remorse for the unhappiness he caused. Still, it was different for Alicia, I rationalized. Two husbands had loved her; she flourished in the sunny center of the garden, while I only visited it, now and then.

I lived with the utter hopelessness of knowing that the only man I would ever have, found me to be a disappointment. Although Malcolm's actions later belied his words, those words were no less crushing, and painful to recall.

Alicia had never been cut to the core, so cruelly. She had known love and tenderness in ways I never would know. Even with the small progress I'd made in my efforts to salvage and make the best of my marriage, I never felt as though our days were like "one long melody," as Alicia had described her relationship with Garland. A melody? Mine had been a cacophonous nightmare of discordant notes, from the beginning, once I realized the seeds of my future had been planted even before I first walked into Foxworth Hall. I'd had no choice but to gather my strength and tend them, and try to forget that I'd ever wanted anything more-try to forget that by entering the Swan Room that first day, I'd revived memories of Malcolm's mother.

But forgetting wasn't easy, and if I couldn't purge my memory of such an atrocity, how much harder must it be, for Alicia? She didn't have an ounce of affection for Malcolm, to counteract the humiliations and abuse she suffered.

Perhaps that is why Alicia did what she confessed to have done; perhaps it was a form of revenge for the unfairness of long ago.

"Olivia, what I'm going to tell you may anger you. It will shock you, and you will probably not understand why I did it. You won't understand, because you have always been strong. I am not strong, and I never was. Not even for my own children could I be strong. I am ashamed, and I feel so much guilt that I can't bear it any longer. My family knows nothing of this. They would hate me, if they knew."

"You may make sense to yourself, but it's gibberish to me, Alicia. If I am to understand, you must be direct."

"It's just that it is so hard to say." she bowed her head for a moment, then went on, not meeting my eyes.

"Olivia, I have done myself an injustice as well, but at the time, I believed I had no other choice. I was so angry at Malcolm. I was so afraid of him, too. I believed him when he said he would turn Christopher and me out, without a penny. That morning when I confessed to him that I was pregnant, he called me a... a whore. He said I'd been irresponsible, that I was not worthy to be a Foxworth, and more that I can't remember now. He called me a tramp. I hated him, Olivia. I wanted him to suffer, because I had suffered! I wanted him to suffer more than I had. Olivia-"

There was a long pause when her frantic speech stopped, and before she whispered her next words.

"What? What did you say?" I asked, forcing her to repeat what I thought I surely had incorrectly heard. I put my tea cup down into the saucer with a loud clatter.

"I said that Corinne is not Malcolm's child. She is... she is Garland's."

For a moment, I was stunned and speechless.

"G-Garland's? Garland's?" I stammered.

My mind worked rapidly to calculate, to remember the details of that time. It was certainly possible, I realized. Why had I never before thought of the possibility? Garland had died in April. Corinne had been born in December, and there was no indication that she had been born prematurely.

I felt ecstatic and angry, simultaneously, but over all, I felt relieved. Somehow, though Malcolm's infidelity was still an indisputable fact, the severity of my humiliation lessened, with this new knowledge.

It had hurt so much to know another woman had given Malcolm the daughter he'd wanted, and loved so boundlessly. But she hadn't been his, after all. Corinne wasn't his daughter! I was elated.

"Why didn't you tell me this, before? It would have meant so much to me to know it. Do you realize what that whole debacle did to me?"

With the incipient stage of shock abated, my anger returned in full force. I was almost screaming at her, as I shot out my questions.

"Alicia, have you no sense of decency, whatsoever? Have you no consideration for my feelings? Have you no morals? How could you let me believe you carried my husband's baby? And how could you hoist off your responsibility onto us? How could you abandon the child of a man you claim to have loved, so deeply? How could you look into my face and lie, as you did, saying the child was Malcolm's, my husband's? You are the most deceitful, despicable human being! This is unforgivable!"

When I looked at her again, she had a mad glint in her eyes. It was a frightening look which I recognized; it was the same look she'd often had during the months when she'd been sequestered in the north wing.

"I hate him, Olivia. I hate that man you call your husband. You say the words with such misplaced pride! How can you feel anything but loathing for him?"

So, revenge was her reason for revealing this, now, expecting me to carry the truth-if truth it was-back to Malcolm.

"And I hated you, all those months I was locked up." she intoned.

There was such fury in her voice! It sent chills through me, and I decided it would be best to depart, as soon as I could.

"I think you've said quite enough!" I managed.

"I'm sorry, Olivia." she blurted, flinching when she saw my enraged expression.

"Don't write to me, or try in any way to contact me, again. You have caused enough damage. I am not here to ease your conscience, Alicia. No one is responsible for your bad choices but yourself."

I took up my handbag from the end table, and rose to leave.

She followed me, still pleading for my forgiveness, asking me to listen, but I walked swiftly away, determined not to care and not to hear her voice. When I reached her front door, I turned one last time to fling an insult I couldn't-in the end-bring myself to say.

"Alicia, all I can think is that, perhaps, Malcolm was correct in his assessment of you, and what you are."

That evening, full of nervous energy that I hoped to work off, I dismissed the cook, and made dinner. As I worked, I thought over what Alicia had said, and my impressions of the visit.

I did not know, of course, that Alicia was terminally ill, and that when I saw her, she had only two months left to live.

Perhaps Alicia had no logical reasons for what she had done, I concluded. Perhaps she had always been insane. Garland's death had irrevocably changed her. I believed what she confessed to be true, but I didn't begin to understand her twisted logic, and reasons for doing it.

I did not excuse Malcolm's behavior in this matter, but I'd had years to mull over the whole sordid business in my mind. My conclusions about Alicia were quite different, less forgiving than those I'd drawn, a decade earlier. What happened with Malcolm was partially Alicia's own fault. Even if she hadn't encouraged his attention, she'd been given ample warnings of what would happen, yet she stayed on at Foxworth Hall.

She told me that Malcolm had been coming to her room off and on for about a month! What kind of fool lets that continue for a month?

She claimed Malcolm threatened to hurt Christopher. Shouldn't that qualify as incentive enough to leave, immediately, no matter how difficult leaving may have been? Alicia did have family in Richmond she could have gone to, so there was no good excuse for her to remain at Foxworth, allowing herself to be victimized. It happened because she refused to take responsibility, and act like an adult.

At the very least, why didn't she move out of the Swan Room? Why didn't she tell me about it the first time Malcolm came to her room? How long would she have let it continue, and why did she only speak up when she discovered she was pregnant?

It seems clear to me that the money she stood to inherit after Garland's death was more important to Alicia than her own and her child's safety.

Furthermore, Alicia did not have to agree to the admittedly peculiar plan I invented. If, as Alicia claimed, she truly was afraid that Malcolm might harm Christopher, did it make sense for her to leave the child, for months, in our care? Being afraid of Malcolm was a poor excuse, and I no longer believed it. I could not find sympathy for her, because she didn't do anything to try to prevent or stop what happened.

I was glad to know the truth at last, however. I loved Corinne as my own daughter, but now I could love her more, perhaps. And in a few years when she betrayed us, I could, with a clearer conscience, withhold that love.

Since the weather was just turning pleasantly warm, we decided to eat outside, dispensing with our usual mealtime formality. It would be another quiet evening, and for once, I didn't mind this. Corinne would have pressed me for details about my trip. Fortunately, her summer break from school wouldn't begin for several weeks, so she wasn't at home. Malcolm seemed satisfied with my vague answers, and didn't question me further, when his few attempts at conversation fell upon deaf ears, and brought no response.

Malcolm quite enjoyed dinner, but I ate mechanically, not tasting any of the chicken fricassee I had prepared in the same absent-minded state I brought to the table. I was too preoccupied to notice anything around me.

I wanted only to blend, unobtrusively, into the descending twilight, and enjoy the serene view from the east patio. Long after Malcolm had gone into the house, and until the night chill restored some sense of reality to me, I remained on the patio, wondering how I would deal with such an enormous secret.

Alicia's revelation left me in a daze, absorbed in my own thoughts for days afterward.

I decided that I would never tell Malcolm. In days past, I would have relished delivering news of such magnitude. I would have loved to see his shocked expression, thinking he deserved whatever personal pain resulted.

Perhaps he had deserved that once, but not now. He had lost so much when we lost Mal and Joel, and he was already a tormented man. I couldn't add to the weight of his torment. Like myself, Malcolm was alone in the world. We had no descendants, only Alicia's children, but I could not tell him so.

I didn't even share the secret with John Amos, and indeed, I didn't reveal it to Malcolm, until twenty years had passed.