(page 221)
FACETS OF TRUTH
If affection be not the governing principle in a household, domestic life may be the most intolerable of despotisms. - A. R. Calhoun
Everyone seemed drawn to Alicia; men, of course, were captivated. The women became her instant friends-those same society women with whom I'd been unable to cultivate more than acquaintanceships.
Everyone Alicia met seemed to find her charming, yet I simply couldn't bear her naive ways, and her uncultured manners often embarrassed me. Alicia's temperament and mine were like oil and water-simply not compatible, although friendly overtures were made on both sides, for I didn't dislike her-not always, not from the start. It is difficult to remember that now, so difficult to reconcile all the threads that unraveled our lives through those three years, hundreds of seemingly insignificant incidents which added up to such a tangled tragedy.
Each of us had his own internal battle: Garland with his health concerns that he kept secret from all of us, Malcolm grappled with his obsession with Alicia,
which he let get out of hand, and with my own private discontent, the atmosphere was growing strained. None of us would have wished events to turn as they did, though something was bound to change. Tensions were numerous, and present, but not always as evident as on one particular late March evening, several weeks prior to the night of Garland's heart failure.
Malcolm and I were sitting in the parlor, following our dinner out. The heavy meal and the wine, which we chose to enjoy at home, lulled me into a pleasant half doze, disturbed when Alicia wandered in. Malcolm and I had not been speaking, and so she couldn't have known anyone occupied the parlor.
"Oh!" she exclaimed in what I thought was genuine surprise. "I wonder when Garland will be home. It's not like him to be so late."
Alicia perched on a chair, prepared to wait.
"Did you enjoy your dinner? I didn't know you were going out. Was this a special occasion?"
It was an occasion of sorts for Malcolm, but neither of us wanted her to know it, and make a fuss over what didn't concern her.
"Not really." I said, when it was evident that Malcolm wouldn't answer.
"How is poor Joel faring?" she asked me, in a further attempt at conversation, though she knew very well the answer.
Joel had been quite ill, lately. For a week, I'd sat by his bed, feeding him broth and then milk from a teaspoon, when he wouldn't take any other nourishment,
and conferring with the doctor, each afternoon. I was grateful to Alicia for looking after Mal so I could devote my attention to Joel. I was relieved that he seemed to be mending.
"He is much better." I said, with a reproving look toward Malcolm, who had not asked after Joel, that evening.
"Then he ought to be able to resume going up for classes, with Mal." said Malcolm, who did not know that I now only allowed Joel to attend Mal's classes twice weekly.
"Alicia," I said, hoping to avert a discussion of Joel's lessons, for Simon Chillingworth was still a sore point between Malcolm and myself. Had it been in my power to do so, I would have gladly discharged the man from our employ. "speaking of that, Mr. Chillingworth says he is perfectly willing to teach Christopher, as well. He's a bit young yet, I realize-"
"The boy isn't too young to begin learning. He needs discipline. Joel is just three, and it hasn't done him any harm." put in Malcolm, as if the matter of Christopher was his business.
Alicia stammered in confusion. She couldn't bring herself to criticize Mr. Chillingworth's methods before Malcolm, I knew, for she never seemed able to cross anyone, and she particularly would not risk inciting Malcolm's anger in any situation pertaining to the children. Her deferential manner irritated me to the point of deliberately baiting her.
"But surely, having both Joel and Christopher present would be a distraction to Mal, as he studies." said Alicia.
Malcolm didn't reply.
We lapsed back into silence, until she began talking about random, inconsequential matters-the same unimportant things she'd been gabbling about, all day.
First it was Christopher's upcoming birthday, then Garland's vacation plans for the summer, which included a long overdue visit to Alicia's ailing mother.
Alicia couldn't cope with silence, and in her stubbornly cheerful obtuseness, wouldn't leave. I sensed Malcolm's irritation, and I could have left then,
and no doubt Alicia would have followed me upstairs. But I felt disinclined to do so. Why should Malcolm's evening be peaceful when my day hadn't been?
"I've left that blue sunshade I borrowed from you somewhere, Olivia. You haven't seen it, have you?"
Malcolm set aside his glass and folded his paper, and I expected to see him go off in a temper to the library, as often he did.
"Perhaps," he said, "having little more to do with your days than listening to nursery rhymes, has dulled your ability to concentrate so much that you cannot perform a task as simple as keeping track of what belongs to you."
My stomach clenched in anxiety. Living with Malcolm made one feel constantly on edge. He was adept at voicing the most crushing of personal remarks. I was glad that, for once, these were not directed toward me. I kept my eyes on my book, as if I hadn't heard. Alicia went from the room.
"Was that necessary?" I asked quietly, my question sounding dispirited, to my own ears.
"Her constant chatter gives me a headache. I am entitled to a little peace, in the evenings." he retorted, as he walked with me to the foot of the stairs.
"I should think you have enough of her company during the day."
"Try to think of how she must feel."
"Why? Do you suppose she ever thinks so much of you? Do you imagine she cares for your feelings, or mine?"
"I don't know. But that doesn't mean you can't-"
"My father and she have certainly never shown any restraint or courtesy in the presence of anyone. You can't deny that. Always forcing others to be witness to their private exchanges. It's unseemly. Inconsiderate. They have no sense of propriety. Surely, Olivia, you won't disagree."
"No." I said quietly.
"I'll be up, soon." he told me.
I made no reply, but climbed the stairs slowly, wearily. I rounded the corner to the south wing, and there stood Alicia, clutching a towel, pink soap,
and bundle of clothes, looking flushed and embarrassed.
"What are you doing?" I asked crossly, abashed, myself, and too irritated that she'd overheard a private conversation, to begin to go through the motions of making apology for Malcolm. What he'd said was true, anyway.
"I-I found your parasol."
"Keep it."
"I'll talk to Garland tomorrow." she said in a hoarse, timid voice. I wondered if she would cry. I had no patience for that.
Of course I wished her distress would be incentive enough to prompt Garland into moving his family out of Foxworth Hall, but as soon as the thought crossed my mind I realized that she must not speak to Garland. If he should become angry enough to leave, and possibly change his will to exclude Malcolm, I did not want to contemplate what effect such a decision would have on Malcolm. I would not like to see him lose what mattered so much to him.
"Did you want the bath?" she asked hesitantly. I glared at her, and she hurried into the Swan Room.
Two families cannot share a house comfortably, no matter the size of the house. Why did Garland not recognize this fact? Why did Alicia, so much in love as she was, not wish for her own home with Garland and their son? If just one of us had pressed for some sort of change, things might have been so very different.- - - -
I was shaken from a fitful repose by the oath that Malcolm muttered upon entering my room, as he stumbled over a trailing electrical cord. He did not put on a light, and the fire had long since burned down to embers. It was well into summer, but there was a chill in the air, the same chill that seemed to pervade my disturbed dreams.
I pulled the covers more tightly about my shoulders, and sat up enough to see the clock, across the room.
"What is it? It's a quarter past two!"
Malcolm was a chronic insomniac, but did that mean my rest had to be interrupted, as well?
"My dear Olivia," he said in a conciliatory tone, as he caressed my cheek in a parody of affection. I wanted to fling his hand away; his touch was repulsive!
I sensed a tension in him that was dangerous, and I wanted to get him out of my room, at once.
I was startled, but not altogether surprised to see him. Earlier in the evening, we'd argued over a rumor I'd heard, which concerned his recent activities in town. I imagined somewhere, there was a woman involved. Alicia's imprisonment had begun, and combined with that trouble with which I was still dealing,
I was furious.
Although I lacked concrete proof, or details, I had, once again, stormed into his study, lashing out, relentlessly accusing.
"You have compromised me in so many ways; you have robbed me of my dignity-"
"No one can do that, Olivia. You do that yourself. You degrade yourself by being typical, by indulging in this common, female behavior."
"My behavior?" I pressed my lips together, trying to modulate my voice. "My behavior. No, we are talking about your behavior, Malcolm. You thrive on conflict,
which is why you don't make much of an attempt to conceal what you do. Don't tell me I am mad. You see, you are also ineluctably predictable."
"Unlike YOU, of course." he said with a smirk. I ignored that.
"And don't tell me again that you were tempted. I don't want to hear how, unlike everyone else, you can't be held accountable for your own actions." I stepped back, scrutinizing him, as if just discovering some new facet of truth.
"I expected better of you." I said quietly, as though all I felt was extreme disappointment.
"We had a contract," I continued, careful not to talk of feelings-I did not need another rebuff, on that score. "I thought you could keep your word, if nothing else. You dishonor yourself with this-this tawdry business, and you have dishonored me."
Malcolm just stood there; there was nothing he could say.
"I won't tolerate this, Malcolm! Do you understand? I will not stand for it!" I had raged, despite my resolve not to give into hysterical ranting.
He seemed to shake himself out of his temporary paralysis, and regarded me with an amused, cool look.
"Then do something about it, Olivia." he whispered into my ear, taunting. He tried to grasp my arm, but I swiftly stepped aside, just out of reach.
"I mean it, Malcolm. I won't permit this." I said warningly. "You think this is a game."
He shook his head.
"Has it ever occurred to you," he said with an air of forced patience one uses with a slow-witted child, "that what you hear might be gossip-just mean-spirited,
unfounded gossip?"
"Unfounded? I doubt that."
"Who came to you with these tales? Colleen Demerest and her set? Unscrupulous harpies, all of them, as you well know. They are jealous."
I was so taken aback that I laughed.
"Don't patronize me, Malcolm. Jealous?" I scoffed. "Of what?"
He shot me a hateful look.
"I will not permit this pattern of irresponsible behavior you've fallen into to continue. You have no right to-"
"No right? In Foxworth Hall, I can do whatever I wish."
"So can I," I said softly, "and you'd do well to remember that."
We glared at each other, and then he turned away, refusing to continue the argument. But now, he was here, apparently more prepared to finish it.
"Why are you here?" I asked.
"Olivia," he said in mock surprise, "I thought you'd be more welcoming. I thought you'd be happy I'm here, at home."
"Why would I be? It's not in my nature." I said snidely, repeating his cruel words of months before, with undisguised bitterness.
"By your own choice, Olivia."
"No, by your own design, Malcolm. I think you want it that way so you'll have an excuse to do what you know you shouldn't."
"That's ridiculous." he said, but his protest lacked conviction.
"Please leave, Malcolm. There is nothing more I wish to say on the subject."
That was the moment to have moved, to attempt to divert Malcolm's intention, but I did neither. I could not scream. I could not scratch his face, or knock a lamp over as Alicia had done, trying to fight him off. I was his wife.
Although our relations had never been what I'd hoped, I could not recall ever feeling as desperate to avoid an encounter. There is quite a difference between the suspicion of infidelity, and knowing beyond doubt that the ignominy has occurred.
Alicia's confession kept replaying ceaselessly in my mind, like a scratched phonograph record, as well as Malcolm's response to my confrontation. I felt sickened by what he'd claimed, although I rejected much of it as lies, lies which reinforced the deceit of which I knew he was capable, lies that revealed unsavory truth that I was pained to know, about my own husband.
"You're looking very well, for a woman in your condition." he said, his gaze sliding down to my flat stomach.
I couldn't believe Malcolm could be insensitive and brash enough, even now, to ridicule me, for after all, his selfish lust had led to this situation!
I was outraged, which was clearly what he intended.
"You see, Olivia, there are advantages to this arrangement that I hadn't realized, before."
"Take your hands off me this second, and get out! You're contemptible!"
Disregarding this, he twined one hand into my loose hair, roughly forcing me to look up at him. I recognized that quick, knowing look. His confident, possessive gaze, by which I had been so entranced upon our first meeting, swept over me. Such a look left no place for questions, and no choice.
He kissed me then, forcefully, toying with my lower lip with his teeth, his mouth harsh and bruising. Unbuttoning my gown, he pushed the sleeves from my shoulders.
"Malcolm, wait. I can't." I said, trying in vain to twist away, but I could not get free of him.
He ignored my sibilant protests, and finished undressing me. He always insisted on doing so himself, needing to dominate every situation.
"Can't? Don't try to tell me it's your monthly-"
I flinched.
"It makes no difference to me... but I know that was weeks ago, so do what you must." he said, releasing my arms. I didn't move.
"Your husbandly considerations are truly admirable." I said caustically, my cheeks burning.
"Go on-unless you're willing to take a chance." he said, grasping my shoulder roughly. "Hurry."
I hesitated, staring into his stormy blue eyes, challenging. Some foolish part of me wanted to rebel, to be reckless and do what would put an end to this absurd arrangement, this charade we were playing out with his father's wife.
If I really were pregnant, Alicia would be obliged to leave, to face her hard luck and deal with the consequences of what she had allowed. Malcolm would have no use for her then; he had already lost his fascination with her-or so I hoped.
The source of his peculiar obsession had never really been with Alicia, but with his elusive mother. He loved his own idea of her. In Malcolm's mind, Alicia was very much like the mother he remembered-someone forbidden.
Children gravitate to the forbidden, and act on impulse; in many ways, Malcolm was emotionally immature. I knew this; I did not need to react in kind.
I was tempted to abandon caution, but some thread of self preservation asserted good sense into my thinking, once again. I could not endanger my health just to gain the upper hand. There were better ways to accomplish that, so I reached for the bedside table, and found my diaphragm.
"You'll stay." he said, pushing me back onto the pillows, as I started to get to my feet. I wanted so to cry; he knew just how to humiliate me!
He enjoyed watching this ritual of preparation, which I preferred to undertake in privacy. He lay next to me, his hand on my knee, while his fascinated gaze followed my movements, as I lay back on the bed.
He handled my breasts, caressing, kneading, sparking tendrils of heat and sensation with the pressure of his lips that drew, persistently, to stir in me a response. but I was determined to lie as passively still as if I were asleep. I would not beg him, either to go on, or to stop.
"This is what you need, isn't it?" he whispered, his warm hands moving over my body, his words pouring into my ear, into my mind, as close and secret as my own thoughts-falsely soothing. And they were like salt on a wound.
"No." I said icily. "I never-"
"Don't," he said viciously, "lie to me!"
At first I struggled, but these were futile gestures. The awareness that he degraded me only served to increase his pleasure. To my dismay, my body responded to this savagery, and carefully calculated gentleness. The knowledge shamed me. Mine was a response of senses, no more, and I loathed myself for such weakness.
I closed my eyes and at first, I clutched at the quilt, rather than putting my arms around Malcolm. I must not allow myself to be overcome. I would not help him reach his release, although it would mean having this finished, that much sooner. He held me tightly; his movements were quick, deep, and almost painful.
I tried to control my erratic breathing. Let him have what he believed to be his right; let him exercise the only power he had over me now, but I would not give him the satisfaction of knowing its effect.
But of course he knew. He knew exactly what tangle of confused feelings were mine, I suspect, just as he knew my fears well enough to use them to hurt me, that horrible day in his study.
"What would your servants think if they knew-"
I tried not to hear him, to let my imagination create a very different scenario, thinking-not for the first time-how the words and sounds of pain and pleasure are alike. No doubt, Malcolm had thought it, too, though he would not care from which extreme they came.
"I mean to have you whenever and wherever I choose-do you hear me?-In the library. Would you like that, Olivia?"
I made some sound, neither confirming nor denying.
"During the next party we give. That's not so predictable, now is it, Olivia? In my mother's room-again. God, you were so... Do you know how often I think of it? Nothing is forbidden."
"You want to hurt me." I accused. I shouldn't have spoken. He seemed to interpret it as encouragement.
"Nothing is forbidden." he said.
He was saying these things consciously, to upset me. Afterward, did he remember all he said, as he babbled out his fantasies? At least Corinne's name was not mentioned. I was spared that.
Malcolm, rarely silent when in one of these moods, kept up a dialogue; I was never sure precisely what provoked this strangeness. Fortunately, I did not see his violent side often, yet when I did, I knew I was seeing his insecurity. I loathe it, and more than that, I pity it.
Was this what we had come to? Was this what we would put each other through, rather than communicate as a husband and wife ought to? Were we so indifferent,
or afraid to talk about what engendered our disharmony, that we would give in to this heated, grasping contact that, though intense, could not wholly satisfy?
"Have you quite finished?" I demanded, though certainly, he had.
"Have you?"
"Get up!" I said harshly, emphasizing each consonant in the words, placing in my voice all the venomous hatred I'd stored up in these last months since finding out about his betrayal with Alicia. I spoke the words slowly, dropping them as heavy weights into the night, words I'd never said before. In the past, I'd only chosen to endure, but now self-loathing mingled with my injured pride. I could not tolerate his presence a second longer than was necessary!
"Don't ever... ever do this again!" I said, trembling. "Just get up and get out of my room now. Just go!"
Still, he did not move. I had the odd feeling that we'd played out this scene before. In his eyes was a maddening look I tried to understand. Anger. Fulfillment.
Triumph. Satisfaction.
"Let me go! You're a vile, cruel man."
My words finally frayed his control, and he shoved me, not forcibly, but I was on the edge of the bed, and it was enough to cause me to lose my balance.
I fell, striking my arm against the cold radiator.
I stood up quickly, and wrapped my dressing-gown tightly around myself, a blue satin armor against the barrage of whatever his next words might be, uselessly trying to hide what I could not hide. A strange hollow sensation spread through me, as if I was made of thin glass. Malcolm had always seen through me easily-something which time would never change.
"Go then!" he snapped, as if my wanting to leave was an affront. "I'm sure you want to have your bath, as usual. Scrub, rinse, and let it swirl down the drain with the water. But you can't. Tomorrow it will still be-"
"Don't be coarse." I interrupted, but my voice lacked the biting edge I'd hoped for. I could not stop him.
"Try to wash the proof away. You can never do so, Olivia. You can't wash away who you are."
I wanted no reminder that we had a shared identity, for the thought of Alicia was a torment that made any marital obligation intolerable.
I slapped him, hard. He pulled back. Our eyes met, but I did not flinch away, though I was inwardly afraid, shocked that I had done it. Seconds went by,
and then incongruently, he smiled.
"I always knew you could do that. Try it again. You might feel better."
I gasped, bewildered. He leaned toward me.
"I know you want to," he said very softly. "because I know that secretly, you crave power."
I pressed my lips together, my fingernails digging into my palms, forcing back my confusion. It was best not to show it.
"As do you." I stated in a clipped way. "All this-this madness you invent is only what you see in the mirror. You are speaking of yourself, Malcolm."
"Then we are well matched, are we not?"
"I-I don't understand you." I said, repulsion choking my voice.
"Yes, you do." he said quietly, as if we were conspirators who shared a secret. "I've been waiting for you to realize it." he added.
Before this, hints of Malcolm's twisted nature were evident. I remember how Malcolm looked, on that first night of Alicia's confinement, after carrying her suitcases up to the north wing, his humiliation, the way he had waited on my next command, that element in his manner which I couldn't read. I had blithely dismissed him as I would dismiss any servant. There had been a measure of satisfaction in seeing Malcolm humbled, knowing that I humiliated him at least as much then as he had done to me.
Was this to be the reprisal for the way I'd handled that, and the scene in his study? Was this the price I must pay for trying to hold on to the remnants of my dignity? I had no dignity that night, as the summer rain tapped out a soothing monotony on the windowpane, a soft sound at variance with the upheaval within.
Rising, he moved past me, retrieved his robe from the back of the velvet chair, and walked to the door. When he twisted the glass door-knob, a nerve-rattling squeak echoed down the hallway. He stepped into the hall and turned to look back.
"An errant husband should be punished, Olivia. Consider that. Anger and desire are very closely linked. You should give some thought to that as well.
Good night." And he was gone.
I just stood motionless next to my bed, bereft, though I couldn't have said why. I shivered, though I wasn't cold. I felt soiled. I thought I would be sick,
but the feeling passed. The sound of his footsteps died away as I crossed quickly to the bathroom doorway, feeling a vague unease about the darkness in corners and the murky places beyond my line of sight and the circumscribed paths of thought. I was only beginning now to see what hid in that darkness-in my darkness.
Stepping out of the bath, I examined myself in the mirror carefully. Was tonight an aberration? Was Malcolm right?-did I want power, and did I already have it? Yes, I must, or he would have stayed away. Malcolm was drawn to power; he wanted to capture it for himself.
I reached for the tube of Arnica Gel, ascertaining that, once again, my feelings were significantly more bruised than my person. Pulling on a fresh nightgown,
I went quietly back to my room and forced my eyes closed and my mind onto other thoughts. It had been a very long day. With all three children to look after, and with extra responsibilities-now that we had so few servants, I was overcome with exhaustion.
I did not dwell on what had just happened. I only wished to forget it as quickly as possible. It was just the latest of the spirit-numbing events that had transpired to test me.
The country was soon to be in transition, as my family was in transition, dodging scandals that might eventually catch up with us, despite careful planning.
How could we be sure Alicia wouldn't choose to keep her baby once she saw it? Malcolm would be angry, but I wouldn't mind if Alicia foiled his plans, for he was, as always, self-centered. Not for an instant was he considering her, in any of this. She was an instrument to be used toward his own purpose. It did not matter to him what harm might come to her, or what harm he was doing to me. I should be long past feeling betrayed, but I was not, and hours elapsed before I could quiet my troubled mind enough to sleep again.
"Breakfast, Alicia," I said, entering her room a week later.
"Did you bring orange juice, again?"
She uncovered the dishes and frowned at what I'd brought.
"That is the juice you requested."
"That was yesterday. I am so tired of having the same breakfast every morning. I'd like to have one cinnamon bun." Her querulousness annoyed me. "Just one!"
"Christopher ate the last one this morning." I said, thinking it would put a stop to her complaints.
"What about one of those wonderful scones? I can smell them all the way up here, when they've just come out of the oven."
"I'll see about it."
"Garland used to take me to the loveliest little cafe,"
"That's nice." I said, uninterested.
Alicia hadn't known what she was getting into when she came into our home, but I could not feel sorry for her. I'd even felt some odd sense of pride of my own that, no matter what Malcolm was like, I was married to the younger, more handsome man. Garland, perfect as he'd seemed, had been middle-aged, and I could not see why Alicia had been attracted to him. Why, Alicia's own father must have been younger than Garland! I thought of that every time she began on one of her nostalgic stories.
"Don't you want to hear about the cafe, Olivia?"
"Why would you imagine I am interested in hearing details of a lunch you had five years ago?"
"I'll bet you could even make some of those delicious little cakes, Olivia."
"Eat your breakfast, Alicia, before it grows cold."
"Why can't I have a cup of coffee?"
"I fear it would make you even more high strung than you already are. It's a pity you don't enjoy reading," I said. "A novel might occupy your mind and help to pass the time. I just finished one which was rather good. If you'd like, I will bring it up to you."
She didn't answer.
"Alicia?"
"You're reading novels?"
"It isn't a crime."
"What about Christopher?"
"What about him? He isn't being neglected, if that is what you're implying." I replied irritably. "Now, I can't stand here all day explaining myself to you. I must speak to Lucas about taking us into town. Mal needs a haircut before school starts."
"Couldn't I just go outside while you are out?" she asked, hopeful and imploring.
"Absolutely not. We've already been over this."
"But Olivia, it's so hot up here."
"You could run a cool bath." I suggested, eyeing her uncombed, unwashed hair with distaste.
"And then what? Oh, Olivia! It gets so lonely up here. I think I'll go mad."
"Nonsense. Loneliness is all in your mind."
"That is easy for you to say. You never get lonely."
She'd said this before, and I couldn't imagine why she thought so.
"It seems to me that that is largely a choice one makes." I said.
"Choice," she mused. "I suppose you don't have much choice."
She looked at me with pity, I thought-pity for me, who had to live with an ogre of a husband. She wasn't even mean-spirited enough to be smug. No, Alicia would never be smug, she was too kind-hearted and young for that-young, and lacking understanding. I did not want her pity!
And how young I was then, also. Young in years, perhaps, but in many ways older than my years indicated. It had always been so, even when I was a child of ten. Unlike Alicia, I believed I had plenty of choices, and I had made mine. Her reasons for staying here and mine weren't the same. It wasn't fear of being left penniless that kept me at Foxworth Hall. To my way of thinking, such reasons as Alicia's were weak ones, and it was because I was not weak that I stayed.
Alicia started to say something else, but I cut her off.
"I wouldn't have gotten myself into such a bad spot. But if I had, I'd endure it without complaint." I said, doubting the truth in that, but wanting to put a stop to this talk. Then I saw something on the top of the highboy that drew me up short, startled.
"What is this doing here?" I asked in a thin, constricted voice. I picked up the silver framed photograph, brandishing it in her direction.
"I found it in the attic and brought it down. I thought she'd keep me company."
"But this... this is Garland's first wife. This is-"
"I know who she is." she said sweetly.
Alicia was mad; she must be! She was also very puzzling; I would never understand her, I thought. How could she wish to see this picture? How could she have any interest in this woman?
"If she had stayed with Garland, I wouldn't be here." said Alicia, as if reading my thoughts.
"In more ways than one." I said, knowing she wasn't thinking of Malcolm, and Corinne's effect on him, as I was.
"Do you think she'll tell me all of her secrets, Olivia? If I listen very closely, she might tell me a story about Garland."
"I have to go." I said. I couldn't get out of that room fast enough! "I have to check on the boys."
From the rotunda, even before I crossed to the south-wing corridor, I could already hear them, Mal in particular.
"Give it to me, stupid."
"You broke it!" came Joel's congested reply.
"It was an accident!" shouted Mal. "Give it to me before Mom-"
"Mal? What's the trouble here?" I said, stopping in the doorway.
All three boys looked up at me, but only Christopher looked glad to see me. He started to run to me, but stopped, seeing Mal's hostile scowl.
Last week, Mal tried to push Christopher off my lap. "She's not your mama!" he reminded Christopher, cruelly. I was dismayed at this rivalry which had recently developed, and I dreaded another such scene today. But then Mal shrugged and turned away, kicking at Christopher's blocks.
Joel held the pieces of a toy he'd been given as a recent birthday present. I took it from him, and examined it.
"It's all right. We can probably mend this." I said. "What happened?"
"Christopher did it." Mal muttered in disgust.
"I'm sure he didn't mean to."
"So? It's still broken." said Mal.
Christopher's baffled expression crumpled, and he began to cry, asking again for his mother. How could I punish a child who was so bereft?
Malcolm thought I neglected our boys, while paying undue attention to Christopher. It was not Malcolm's concern, and I disliked being lectured, but perhaps there was some truth in what he said. I felt sorry for this three-year-old who had recently lost his father, and must now be motherless for months, but I did not want my own children-and it was Mal who typically voiced complaints-to feel left out, either. I was beginning to realize that it wasn't just Alicia my boys missed.
"When is Alicia coming back?" demanded a sullen Mal. I was growing tired of his questions. Joel and Christopher whined, but didn't have enough understanding to ask for answers as directly. Alicia was too often the topic of conversation among them, and too often she was in my thoughts when I should not need to think of her.
"She is not coming back any time soon." I snapped. "Forget about her, and stop asking."
I felt immediate guilt as his eyes widened in surprise and hurt at my sharp tone.
"Darling, I'm sorry." I said, embracing him. "I know you miss her, but it will get easier." He continued to pout.
"Come downstairs and have a snack, then you may go outside and play."
They usually didn't play out of doors until after lunch, when Christopher had his nap.
"Can I have chocolate milk, Mommy?" asked Joel, as I tied his shoes.
"Certainly."
"I get to be in charge! Don't I get to be in charge outside?" asked Mal, excitedly.
"I don't see why not." I said. "Put those cars away first. No, on the shelf. Mal, do you hear me? Don't just shove them under the bed."
"How long till Father comes home?" inquired Mal.
"A long time from now. Why do you ask?"
"He said we could go swimming today."
I intended to call and remind Malcolm, who had a way of forgetting his promises.
"Well," I said, opening the curtain, "it doesn't look like rain. I think there's a fairly good chance that your father will take you for a swim after dinner."
"Do I gotta go too?" asked Joel.
"Don't you want to swim?"
"No, 'cause he got sick last time. That's because he's a sissy." interjected Mal, in a matter-of-fact way.
"Mal! You will apologize to your brother."
He set his face in an expression of stony defiance I knew too well.
"Father says-"
"I don't care what he says. I don't want to hear that kind of talk from you." I warned.
"Joel doesn't want to go anyway." Mal said stubbornly. It wasn't the point, but I didn't want to spoil the afternoon over another of Malcolm's thoughtless remarks.
"No one will force you to go swimming," I told Joel. "but maybe you'll change your mind by tonight."
They raced off ahead of me down the stairs, already squabbling over some trivial detail of play.
How much easier it was for me-if not for the boys-now that Alicia was out of the way. It is my belief that children settle their differences sooner without adult intervention, a concept which Alicia could not grasp. She was constantly altering Christopher's schedule, making too many unplanned excursions into town, and giving the children more treats than I approved of, so that Joel often wouldn't finish his meals. In her own infuriatingly passive way and by her actions, she criticized the rules I set for my boys, no doubt believing them too strict. It was only her good luck to have a compliant child who didn't require as much discipline or supervision.
I wondered what she would make of this situation. But what did it matter? Because of that same blase outlook, she was absent from this family. Why did I feel occasional bouts of guilt? I had not done anything wrong; I was not the sinner.
I stepped out onto the terrace to be sure that the boys had not left the side yard, and to speak to the assistant gardener about planting azaleas. Olsen's new assistant was one of the few people on our staff of servants who wasn't afraid to speak his mind, and he made it plain that he disapproved of the changes I wanted to make, as if these gardens were his own property.
"I didn't order these. Why are they here?"
"Mrs. Foxworth, with all due respect-" He launched into a lengthy explanation, the tone in his voice anything but respectful.
"I'm certain Olsen did not instruct you to plant them there. I want them removed at once. Today."
"They complete the scheme of-"
"Remove them today." I insisted. "I am sure I told you that I'd like azaleas here."
I had little patience for this sort of dispute. It seemed that no one could agree with me; my life was one continuous struggle.
Ginger, one of the new maids, interrupted to say that there was a telephone call from Malcolm.
"Olivia," said Malcolm, sounding strangely sombre. It was unlike him to call during the middle of the day. "Harding's gone."
"Gone? The president-"
"He died last night."
I pressed the telephone receiver closer to my ear, as if hearing better would clarify what he'd said. I slumped back on the settee and shut my eyes, for a moment. The news didn't come as a great shock, however. For many months, it had been evident that both the president and his wife were in ill health,
even if reports claimed otherwise.
There was a silence. Neither of us knew what to say. The sound of the boys' laughter drifted in from the open window. The impertinent gardener muttered to himself. Over the line I heard the shuffle of papers, and in the distance, the clacking of typewriters. The day wore on.
"I just heard. Coolidge has already been sworn in."
"So soon?"
"Late last night, the paper says."
"I haven't yet seen the paper." I said, unnecessarily.
"If you're still coming into town today, Olivia-"
"I am."
"Come in to the bank. There are some papers that require your signature."
"Very well. But be sure you are there this time. I'll have the children, and I can't wait around for you."
"Is it tonight that we are expected for dinner at the Pattersons'? I just saw Sam, and he didn't mention it."
"That's tomorrow."
"Tomorrow?"
"At seven o'clock." I said.
"I can't be there. You'll have to go alone."
"Malcolm, I can't. The invitation was for us both."
I heard other voices through the line.
"We'll talk about this tonight, Olivia. Matthew Allen has just come in."
"Yes," I said curtly, "we shall have to talk about this. This will be the third time I've had to call and cancel at the last hour. Have you any idea how awkward-"
"I have a conference in less than five minutes, Olivia."
"All right." I sighed. "I'll see you at two."
"Two." he agreed, and disconnected.
Malcolm's bank was a grand extravagance of a building at the corner of Water Street and Third. Each time I went into it, I was reminded of my father. I loved the elegant decor of the lobby, with its pinkish marble floor. I liked the interior, cool and hushed; it smelled of paper and ink and affluence.
Mal, too, liked this bank. He looked forward to visits, when he walked about with a proprietary air, as if he owned the place. Malcolm scarcely noticed him, though. The younger children were well-behaved and happy to be given one butterscotch candy apiece from Malcolm's secretary on our way out. Once outside,
Mal-who had declined to accept candy-demanded to be taken to the ice-cream parlor.
"Not today. We have too much to do. Now, come along."
I stopped on the steps in front of the bank. Someone called to me.
"Millicent." I smiled, but heard the chilly note in my voice.
"Olivia," Millicent exclaimed with a bright smile. "why didn't you tell me?"
For an instant, I did not know what she meant, but then I did. People had been smiling at me all morning. My pregnancy was readily visible now, and all at once I recalled what it had been like the last two times, the attention one receives from women whom might be complete strangers. It made me feel so ill at ease to be asked personal questions in that conspiratorial manner, certain they had a right to the answers, simply because they themselves had experienced the same condition.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Oh, well-" I shrugged. I had to keep her at a safe distance. I had to prevent her from becoming suspicious.
"Are you very busy today?" she asked. She had, on other occasions, kept the boys for an hour or two while I ran errands.
"Not especially so."
Mal gave a peevish snort.
"We have a lot to do today." he said, giving me an irritable look.
"Stop being such a fuss-budget, and you might just get some ice-cream." I told him quietly.
"When?"
"Oh, later, perhaps."
We walked to Millicent's house, the six of us. Caroline was there, trailing along, listening to Mal's complaints as he continued to glower at me.
"We have ice-cream at my house. Grandma made some. It's peach." I heard her say.
"I hate peach."
"Mal," I said sternly. "mind your manners."
Millicent took no notice of this. She sent the children out back to play, chased by Caroline's new labrador puppy. Millicent watched them through the window for a few minutes.
"He's gotten so tall." she commented.
"Mal?"
She nodded.
"He's grown a lot this summer. Caroline, too, I see." I said.
"Now," she said, once the four of them were safely out of earshot, "come, sit down and tell me how you are."
"Very tired. I'm not sleeping well, lately." I admitted.
"This August heat doesn't help, either." said Millicent's mother, bringing out a full pitcher of tea, flavored with sprigs of mint. I agreed, lethargically,
before she disappeared back into the kitchen. I poured myself a glass of the tea. It was cold, refreshing and unsweetened.
"Looks like you're about halfway through. How are you feeling? Your back must be aching!"
Yes, my back ached, but not for the reason Millicent believed. I ached because today I suffered from the most obvious proof a woman can have that she is not with child. I was living a lie, and already I was tired of lies. I was tired, knowing that this was only the beginning; I would be living with this lie for the rest of my life.
"I'm fine. You really mustn't fuss over me. I have been through this twice before, you know."
"Is Malcolm pleased?"
"He hopes it's a girl this time." I said, finding it easier to evade the question. I realized that I didn't really know what Malcolm's feelings were.
"I'm glad for you, Olivia." she gushed on. I tried to smile, but it was a weak smile, and it didn't fool her.
"Oh dear," Her voice dropped, and her expression grew serious, concerned. "You aren't happy about this baby."
"It was... unexpected." I said, my eyes filling with tears. Her genuine sympathy made me wish I could tell her the whole story, but I didn't dare. I hated that I had to resort to these half truths, but there was some small measure of comfort in telling part of it. I longed for the release tears would bring,
and I had so much to cry over, but I would not cry now. I could not cry at home either; I must maintain my stoicism.
"Oh, Olivia." her tone was full of empathy. She became very serious. "But you are taking care of yourself, aren't you?"
"Of course."
"I had the oddest cravings when I was pregnant."
"I haven't had any this time, so far." I said. "With Joel, I felt too sick to want food much of the time. I had to force myself to eat. I don't know how we survived it, honestly. It's a miracle he was born as healthy as he was."
She nodded, as if that explained my present misgivings.
"With Mal, I wanted to eat apple pie with every meal," I said, smiling a little at the memory.
"That's not so bad." said Millicent.
"Apple pie with cayenne pepper?"
She laughed, and her laugh was infectious.
"Mrs. Wilson threatened to resign because of all the extra work of baking those pies."
"Not really, Olivia?"
"No, but I kept expecting her to. Actually, they all were very solicitous while I was carrying the boys, and Mary Stuart in particular was a great help to me when they were babies."
"Doesn't she have six of her own?"
"That's right."
"Goodness! But I can't imagine having that many!"
"Malcolm wants about five, I think." I said, and laughed at her horrified expression. "but it won't happen."
"You've heard the news about the president, I suppose?" I said, ready to change the subject.
"Yes." she said, and called her mother in from the next room. She had undoubtedly overheard much of our conversation. "I think Mother has a copy of today's Progress."
The slim, gray-haired woman emerged from the kitchen, handing me the newspaper. I studied the picture of Mrs. Harding, and Millicent's mother studied me.
I didn't notice her odd stare, so absorbed was I in the article.
"Oh, Mother, this is Olivia Foxworth. I've told you about her."
"Foxworth." the older woman repeated. "Those your boys outside?"
"Yes. The older two are mine."
"Mal and Joel." she said, her back to us as she looked out the window at the children. "I met them before, in April."
"Oh?"
"It was the day I kept them for you, Olivia, when I took Carrie and the boys to Court Days. Mother and Isabel went with us." Millicent said, a slight apologetic tone in her voice.
Of course. It had been around the time of Garland's funeral. I looked down at the newspaper again, and hoping to avoid talking about that, pointed out a detail from the article.
"That poor woman." said Millicent.
"She looks like she's holding up well." I observed. Millicent's mother agreed.
"Still," Millicent said, considering. "how long were they married?"
I shrugged.
"You're thinking that I should know what that's like, that it must get lonely. I suppose it must be. I've forgotten."
"Forgotten, Millicent?" I was puzzled.
"Frank and I were only together for a year before he was sent to France, you know. I got only one letter from him before he was killed."
"You rarely talk about him." I poured another glass of tea. "His job took him away most of the time, even before the war, didn't it?"
She nodded.
"I can remember so little, and Carrie asks more questions, the older she gets."
"Millicent," I asked, "are you ever lonely? You have Caroline, but-"
"Not anymore. I used to be, the first year, without Frank. Not now. I like things as they are. I won't marry again."
I nodded, understanding. She had been raised without a father. A man wasn't a necessary accessory to her life.
"What about you, Olivia?"
"Marry again? After Malcolm, whom could I marry?"
"Good heavens!"
We laughed. She had a way of making me feel at ease, and though our words were serious, the whole tone of this conversation had been light. She had a gift for drawing one out, without seeming to intrude upon one's private business.
"No, I meant... are you lonely?"
"How could I be, with a house full of servants and children?"
"And Malcolm." she said.
I said nothing.
"Men are not very good companions. Their interests are so different." commented Millicent's mother.
"Alicia once made the assumption-right out of the blue-that I was never lonely." I said.
"How curious."
"I don't know why she would think so." I said.
"She lived with you," said Millicent, "so she must have had some idea."
"No," I replied with a wry smile, "she didn't really live with us. She lived in her own world."
"Still does, no doubt." said Millicent. "It was only Garland for her, poor thing. But it wasn't healthy-not a healthy marriage, was it? Rather unbalanced,
I thought."
"Oh. I never considered... I suppose you would see it that way."
"I do. And I think it's truly heartless of her to go off and leave that child alone, as she has done."
She glanced at me, and at her mother. There was a pause when it seemed no one would answer, but an answer-an opinion-was expected. I was saved from having to reply by a knock at the front door.
Amid the ensuing mayhem that followed the arrival of Isabel Bertram, as well as two of Caroline's little friends, I gathered the boys and told Millicent I must leave.
Mal's ill-humor was restored by our early departure, and because he hadn't gotten a dish of the promised ice-cream. Millicent's mother materialized from the kitchen, proffering a covered dish.
"Don't be so contrary," she told Mal, pinching his shoulder blade. "You can take this fudge home, if you promise not to give your ma trouble. I reckon she's got enough of that already."
Mal, instantly contrite, thanked her, and we left.