Chapter Four
Grandpa Goes Away
Christopher, Joel and I had become like Granny had said brothers. It seemed funny to think of Christopher as my uncle. After all, he was three years younger than me. How well I remember Christopher's third birthday. Granny was excited because Christopher was finally old enough to participate. Truthfully, I would have to say Christopher was more fun to be around than my brother. Father was always quick to point out that he wasn't a true Foxworth; he was only our half-uncle anyway. What fault he saw is Christopher I couldn't say. Even when Father was practically cruel, as I knew he could and would be, Christopher only smiled as if he were humoring Father. He was much more a delight to be around than Joel, who seemed to always scowl, even though he was a baby. The only time he seemed to light up was when we were engaging in something musical, or when Granny was around. He was so quiet. Christopher and I would talk for hours. Joel would simply stare. But I loved Joel, dearly. He was my brother, and he was terrified of Father. Perhaps, that was why he was so quiet.
Papa was there all day, and Father complained that he was spending too much time away from the office. But I don't really think he minded. I didn't like the way he ignored Mother, and concentrated on Granny. Mother didn't like it either. When I watched Granny and Papa, I saw happiness, and a lot of things I never understood. I could tell they were happy in each other's presence. Granny herself began decorating the house as she chattered happily how she would like at least three more children. She wanted a girl, but if she had another boy that would be fine too. I saw Father's eyes light up. "I wanted a daughter too," he said bitterly, "but instead I got a son," he said, glaring at Mother, who was tending to Joel. Granny laughed at him, and picked me up. "You have two wonderful sons, Malcolm," she said. "You should be grateful, they are very bright boys," she said. He glared at me, "Put my son down. He's too old to be carried like a baby. One day he's going to run my empire. I won't have a weak son," he said and walked off. It was as if Joel didn't exist to Father. Granny set me on my feet immediately looking embarrassed. It was a wonderful day. Christopher's birthday brought about all kinds of neighbors. I had seen more people that day than I could ever remembering seeing in my entire life. We played games, and being the oldest child there, I won every single one. I laughed, and clapped my hands eagerly. It was the only day; I could remember when I wasn't looking over my shoulder to see if Father was going to discipline me again, for some trivial thing. Something, unmanly I was most likely doing. I was always doing something wrong, when it came to Father. I wished he would tell me before I did it wrong, so I wouldn't do it wrong. I frowned, thinking this. And there was Father staring at Granny who was in a potato sack, playing the potato sack race. She was winning, but I don't think that mattered to Father. He was looking at her with a small smile on his face. It was a queer smile, one I had never seen before. I wanted to kick Father, but I didn't dare. The memory of that whipping, still etched in my brain. The physical scars had not yet healed. No one knew there were scars, not even Mother.
Soon, oh too, soon Joel, Christopher and I were put to bed. I looked around my room which wasn't done in baby colors like Joel's room. And it wasn't magnificent like the room Christopher shared with his parents. Something else that was different in my parents and grandparents marriage. Mother had a room in the same wing as we did, but Christopher slept in the little baby swan bed, and both of his parents slept on the bigger bed. Father's room was in another wing. There couldn't have been two different marriages than my parents and grandparents. We slept in the East Wing of the house. Our house was more than a house it was a mansion. On all four sides of the house were wings, and they all had zillions of rooms. They all came out at the top of the stairs which led down into our ballroom; above the wings was our attic, which was where Father's private tutor taught my studies. There were two ways to get there. One was through the end of the hall in the North Wing, was a room with cherubs on the wall, and it had double beds and a pretty Oriental rug. There's a door that opens to a staircase that reaches the attic.
Mother never goes up that way, she's claustrophobic. But I like the secret feeling it gives me. Mother once told me about it. "I'll never lock you up anywhere, my darling, Mal," she told me. "When I was a child, my father would punish me, and it was one of his favorite punishments, darling, he used to lock me in a closet," I had been horrified. "Did he hurt you, Mother?" I asked her, she just smiled and stroked my cheek. Someday, Father was going to hurt ten times worse than I did. I would never go into business with him that would show him. Let Joel have it, let Christopher have it, I didn't want it. I smiled to myself that would be a start. A Foxworth who didn't want to be a Foxworth, who didn't care for the Foxworth business and all the money and prestige the came with it. Yes, I might have the Foxworth looks, but I didn't care for the power that came with it. I would carve my own destiny, I would be my own person, and Father would never be able to take credit for it.
When I awoke the next day, I went to find Granny. I knocked on the door. "Granny," I called. No answer. Granny never slept this late. "Papa," I called out, and I heard sobbing. I opened the door and peered in a crack. There was Granny on the bed, crying. Oh, what had Father done now! Granny kept crying and I didn't even think what Father would say, I threw my arms around her. "Don't cry, Granny, please. I won't let Father hurt you. Where's Papa?" I asked looking, for him. She held onto my tiny body, and held tightly. She wiped her tears and looked into my face. "Your grandfather would be so proud of you, so very proud. I need you to help me, Mal. Don't hate your father, it isn't right, and it isn't natural. Promise me you won't hate him, that you'll understand that he loves you too. He just doesn't know how to love little boys, even when they are as special as you are. You are special Mal. Promise you will never forget your grandfather. He loved you so. I want to give you something, Mal, to remember him always," she said, and I noticed how, red her pretty blue eyes were. I noticed, too, how limp her hair was. It had always been so pretty, and now it hung it matted strands. She got up and got a picture of him. It was taken with Joel, Christopher, and I around him. I remembered when it was taken. Papa had laughed. "A picture of me and my boys," he had said. She also gave him his watch. Something was wrong, dreadfully wrong, I was so sure. It made fear spring to my heart, as I repeated, "Where's Papa?" I watched as her beautiful eyes filled with tears.
I had to go upstairs to the attic and continue my studies. Joel came up with me, for I hated being with that mean old man alone. He had been Father's teacher and had taught him how to be so mean. Would he do the same to me? I wondered. Was this the man who had made my father what he was today? That horrible man who hated dreams. Who hated me. Had he made my father the successful man he was today? If he was the reason Father was so mean, I hated him too. I think he sensed that about me. He hit me hand with the ruler, and it hurt, but only for a moment. Father had done much worse to me. I was excelling at my studies, and I concentrated on them harder. I would do better than Father had ever done, I though angrily. I was already years ahead of my age in reading and writing, I saw that from the nods of approval from that smelly old man. He had told my father; of course I had heard him. And the stupid man took all the credit, while Father wanted to believe it was his good genes. What was he talking about? Jeans were pants. Stupid, Father. I asked the professor what genes were and he explained about chromosomes. Soon he bored me with his too long explanations.
Granny seemed to spend more and more time in her room, lately. Mother had come to me and told me and Joel what had happened to Papa. "Mal, Joel, my darlings," she had said. "What's wrong?" I had asked immediately. "Your grandfather had a heart attack, he's died," she said. She looked into Joel's small face and as she and I watched, dust must have been floating around for he started coughing and crying at the same time. I felt numb as she explained, "He's gone to be with God, he's called him to him. He's going to take care of him so that he'll never be tired or sick or hungry again," she said, and Joel seemed mesmerized by those words. "He won't like it without Granny," I told Mother. Mother smiled, humoring me. I glared at her, "Granny wants to go too," I said, and she shook her head sadly. "God took your grandfather because he's lived a good long life. Alicia is still young. She has her whole life ahead of her, while your grandfather has lived a long life," she said, softly. "I'm going to miss him too, but God needs him more. God wants to make him happy, because he's made God proud," she said. "He's gone to Heaven, to God's garden," she said, and Joel sat there with a tiny smile on his pale face.
Three months later, Mother and Granny came into the nursery while I was on the floor reading out loud to the two boys I thought of as my siblings. "And so," I said reading, "Hansel and Gretel …..." I stopped when I noticed Mother and Granny. Joel wasn't paying any attention, as he hadn't been paying attention to me either. He was on his hands and knees playing with cars and trucks, "Beep, Beep," he called. "I'm going to run ya over Mal. I am, I am," he stated. I didn't move, but instead looked up at Mother. Christopher was sucking his thumb looking up at us, and he was listening to me. "We have something to tell you," Mother began looking at Granny. Granny was hovering behind Mother on the verge of tears. I wondered what was going on. Granny had been sad a lot lately. I hoped she would be happy soon. "May I tell them, please?" she asked my mother. I wondered what she had to tell us, but I knew I wouldn't have to wait long. "No," Mother said sharply, "I am in charge here." I rolled my eyes; Mother was always in charge, what else was new? Granny sat down in the rocking chair, and held out her arms. I jumped up in her lap, and Christopher and Joel followed suit. She put her thin arms around us, and rained kisses on our faces. Christopher pressed his face to her breasts, as she rained kisses on our faces. I held onto her soft hands. She had very soft hands, they seemed so tiny. So much smaller than Father's hands. Mother's too. She had long white nails, that she painted different colors. Why I should look at her nails, while tears rained down her satin cheeks, I'll never know. Maybe it was because they were so pretty; Mother never had such pretty hands.
"Alicia is going to leave us," Mother said. I turned to stare at Mother. What had she said, I wondered, feeling Granny clutch my back, pressing me closer to her. "Alicia is going to leave us," she repeated. Joel was the first to speak, "I don't believe you," he whispered in a small voice. Christopher looked at us and spoke in a smaller voice, "Me too?" he asked staring wide-eyed at Granny. Why? I wondered. Why would she leave? This was her home, and it was Christopher's too. I didn't want either one of them to leave. I loved Granny almost as much as I loved Mother and Christopher too. "Why?" I asked. Mother would know, Mother always knew. "Why. Is she mad at us?" I asked, staring into Granny's face, "Granny, are you mad at us?" he asked her. Christopher was upset and he had buried his face in Granny's breasts sobbing, but I barely noticed. What I did notice when I climbed down from Granny's lap was my brother, putting his hands over his ears and screaming, "Alicia can't leave, she's gonna play piano today. She promised," he stressed. I stood in front of Mother patiently waiting the answer I knew would come. For everything that happened there was always a reason. "WHY?" I screamed at my beloved mother.
She spoke kindly, and softly, "If it were up to me Alicia could stay forever. Mal, your father doesn't want her too," Mother said. I hated Father, why did he do this? Anything or anyone we cared about he sent away. When I was four I had a kitty named Cotton. It chewed on Father's socks, so he sent it away. It was just like that only magnified one thousand times worse. He was a sick man, taking away Alicia and Christopher. This was there home; it was the only home they had. Tears rained down my face like rain on a windowpane. But who notices rain on a windowpane when there were so many more important issues to think of. I screamed out, not caring if Father were listening, not caring if he heard. "I HATE HIM, I HATE HIM! HE NEVER LETS US HAVE ANYTHING WE WANT," I said beginning to cry, with pain and also with rage at my father. I hated looking like him. I wished I could cut off my hair and poke out my eyes, so I would never resemble my father. How I hated to look into a mirror and see my father's eyes staring back at me. I hated seeing his face staring back at me. Joel was so hysterical he began coughing. I tried to calm down, for Joel I had to be strong and pretend like I didn't care if Granny came or went, or if I never saw her again. "Please," Joel choked, between coughs, "Can't we go with her." Mother looked horrified and I knew what she was going to say before the answer left her lips. "What about Christopher?" I asked. If Granny was going would I loose my best friend too? Mother answered but I didn't hear her answer, I knew she said he would stay, but I didn't listen to the rest, I just looked up at Granny and Christopher. "I'm not coming with you," he cried. I was touched, and I felt bad for him, and even worse I felt that maybe I caused it, wishing to have his parents. Now his father was dead and his mother was leaving him here with us. "Olivia is going to take good care of you," Granny told her son. I glared at her. She was leaving me, I loved her. How could she leave me? Couldn't she reason with Father? If anyone could, it was her. She turned to me, "I know you are angry and hurt, but always remember I'll always love you," she turned to my brother and scooped him into her arms. "You'll always be in my heart, in my heart I'll always be with you. Listening to the wonderful music you make, watching out for you, watching the wonderful drawings you make, and protecting you from….," she didn't finish, but she didn't have to. She would protect us from Father. I frowned. "Only angels watch over people. And Angels are dead, I don't want you to die," I said, before she hugged me close too. I turned around and ran to my room, throwing myself on my bed and sobbing, I heard her say she would be kissing me in my dreams, when I was running. That was all she would be a dream. No wonder father hated dreams so much. Dreams that were made of such airy fabric. Dreams that faded away when reality came crashing down chasing away all the magic from life. Fairies, Ghosts, and Spirits that made life magical all disappeared leaving only death and now loss. How much more loss would I experience? How could I keep believing when I only kept losing? I wondered who else I would loose before I was grown. I didn't want dreams; I didn't want promises that disappeared at my feet. I knew that living here, in this mansion, that money came first. Since the beginning of time money was the reason to do almost anything. People stole for money, and they killed for it. Money meant more to father than we did. Although we could roam the world as we pleased we were all prisoners of something. Mother, Joel, and I were prisoners of Father. And Father was a prisoner of greed. Money meant more to father than we did. At the end of the rainbow was the pot of gold, but rainbows were made of faint and fine gossamer silk and gold weighed a ton, and since the beginning of time gold was the reason to do almost anything. Men had died for it, Father had told me the old lore legends of Foxworths of how they made their fortunes, and they always made their fortunes. Foxworths had fought in every major battle and had made their fortunes on them. Some had been blockaders; some had run off with the Confederate gold. They had all stolen and killed for money, they had conned those less intelligent than themselves. And if a Foxworth had a conscience, he had never heard of it.
Hope blossomed in the youth and underneath all the hate and fear he felt for his father, he wanted his father to accept him as he was. He was a musically gifted little boy, as was his brother. He wanted praise, he wanted to hear his father praise him as a son, as he had heard Grandpa praise Christopher.
Alicia was gone, and Mother had decided I would begin a public school, I had sat in wonder as Mother described it. Finally, I had been allowed at the adult table, to listen to adult conversations. While both Christopher and Joel were fed separately, and I worked on my studies without distraction.