"No," denied Bart. "It had to be Cindy. I have to admit my brother has always given me fair treatment, even when I didn't deserve it."
And all the while he said this, I was staring at Joel with his smirky face, his glittery, satisfied eyes.
Just before retiring, I had my chance. We were in a back second-floor hallway. "Joel, Cindy wouldn't have destroyed all Jory's work and ruined Bart's gift. But you like to drive wedges between members of our family. I believe it was you who smashed the ship, then rewrapped it."
He said nothing, only put more hatred in his unrelenting stare.
"Why did you come back, Joel?" I shouted. "You claim you hated your father and were happy in your Italian monastery. Why didn't you stay there? Certainly in all those years you made a few friends. You must have known you wouldn't find any here. My mother told me you always hated this house. Now you walk through it as if you owned it."
Still he said nothing.
I followed him into his room and looked around for the first time. Biblical illustrations on his walls. Quotes from the Bible put in cheap frames.
He moved so that he was behind me. I felt his wheezy warm breath on my neck, smelling old and faintly sick. I sensed when he moved his arms he meant to choke me. Startled, I whirled about to find him inches away.
How silently and quickly he could move. "My father's mother was named Corrine," he said in the sweetest possible voice, enough to make me doubt my reasoning. "My sister had the same name, given to her as a form of punishment, a constant reminder to my father of his unfaithful mother, proving to him again and again that no beautiful woman could be trusted-- how right he was."
He was an old man, in his eighties, yet I slapped him, slapped him hard. He staggered backward, then lost his balance and fell to the floor.
"You'll regret that slap, Catherine," he cried with more anger than he'd as yet shown. "Just as much as Corrine regretted all her sins. You, too, will live long enough to regret yours!"
I fled his room, fearing what he said was only too true.
The Traditional Foxworth
. On Christmas night our dinner was served around five in order to give the family plenty of time to prepare for the big event that would begin at ninethirty. Bart wore a glow of happiness. His warm hand reached to cover mine, sending a shock of pleasure through me, for so seldom did he show affection by touching. "If I can't have all my wealth right away, then I should have at least all the prestige due the owner of this house."
I smiled and covered the hand that held mine with my free hand. "Yes, I understand, and we'll do everything possible to see that your party is a huge success."
Joel sat nearby, sending out invisible vibes. He was smiling cynically. "Lord help those fools who deceive themselves," he muttered half under his breath. Bart closed his ears and pretended not to hear, but I was worried. Someone had broken Jory's clipper ship, which had been meant as a reconciliation gift to Bart. It had to be Joel who had heartlessly ruined that ship that Jory had slaved over for months and months. What else would he do?
My eyes met Joel's. I couldn't quite put my finger on how Joel looked at this moment, except sanctimonious. He daintily picked at his food, cutting his fruitcake into tiny morsels that he picked up with his long fingers. These he chewed with intense concentration, using only his front teeth, much as a rabbit ate a carrot.
"I'm going to bed now," announced Joel. "I don't approve of tonight's party, Bart, you might as well know that. Remember what happened at your birthday party, and you should have known better. Again I say it's a waste of good money entertaining people you don't know well enough. I also disapprove of people who drink, who cavort and act wild on a day meant for worship. This day belongs to the Lord and his son. We should all go down on our knees and stay there from dawn until midnight, like we did in my monastery, as we gave silent thanks for just being alive."
Since not one of us said a word, Joel went on. "I know drunken men and women will eventually try to fornicate with someone other than whom they came with. I remember your birthday party and what went on. Sinful modern life makes me realize how pure the world was when I was young. Nothing is the same as it used to be. People knew how to act decently in public then, no matter what they did behind closed doors. Now nobody cares who sees them do what. Women didn't bare their bosoms when I was a boy, nor pull up their skirts for every man who wanted them."
He riveted his cold blue eyes on me, and then on Cindy. "Those who sin, and sin again, always pay dearly, as some here should already know." Next he was staring at Jory meaningfully.
"The old son of a bitch," murmured Cindy, watching him slip out of the room with the same stealth as he had entered.
"Cindy, don't you ever let me hear you say anything like that again!" fired Bart. "Nobody uses obscenities under my roof."
"Well, I'll be damned!" flared Cindy. "Just the other day I overheard you calling Joel the same thing. And what's more, Bart Foxworth, I'll call a spade a spade-- even under your roof!"
"Go to ,your room and stay there!" bellowed Bart.
"Everybody continue having fun," said Jory,
guiding his chair toward the elevator. "As for me,
damned if I don't want to turn in my Christian
membership."
"You've never been a Christian to begin with,"
called Bart. "Nobody here goes to church. But there
will come a day in the near future when everyone here
will attend church."
Chris stood up and precisely put down his
napkin, fixing Bart and Cindy with commanding eyes.
"I've had enough of this childish quibbling. I'm
surprised that all of you who think you are adults can
revert to children in a wink of the eye."
But Jory was not to be stopped this time. He
wheeled his chair about abruptly, rage flaming his
usually controlled face, flaring wide his nostrils.
"Dad, I'm sorry, but I've got to have my say." He
turned toward Bart, who had risen to his feet. "Now,
you listen to me, little brother." His strong hands
released the joy stick to clench into fists. "I believe in
God . . . but I don't believe in religion. Religion is
used to manipulate and punish. Used in a thousand
ways for profit, for even in the church, money is still
the real God."
"Bart," I implored, so afraid he'd harm Jory
again, "it's time we all headed upstairs."
Bart had paled. "No wonder you sit there in that
chair if you believe what you just said. You are being
punished by God, just as Joel says."
"Joel," sneered Jory. "Who the hell cares what
an old fool like Joel says? I'm punished because some
stupid idiot wet the sand! God didn't pour down rain
to do that. A garden hose took God's place, and that's
why I'm in this chair and not where I belong. As soon
as possible, I'm leaving here, Bart! I'm forgetting
you're my brother, whom I've always tried to love and
help. I'm not going to try again."
"Hooray for you, Jory!" cried Cindy, jumping
to her feet and applauding.
"STOP!" I yelled, seizing Cindy by the arm
while Chris grabbed her other arm and we dragged her
away from Bart. Still she twisted and fought to free
herself. "You damned freaky hypocrite!" she yelled
back at Bart. "I heard at your birthday party that you
do your share of using the local brothel . . ."
Thank God the elevator door closed behind us
and we were on our way up before Bart could reach
Cindy.
"Learn to keep your mouth shut," said Jory.
"You only make him worse, Cindy--and I regret what
I just said. Did you see
his face? I don't think he's
pretending about religion. He's deadly serious. He
seems to truly believe. If Joel is a hypocrite, Bart is
not." Chris fixed his strong regard on both before he
stepped out of the elevator. "Jory, Cindy, you listen to
me carefully. I want you both to do your best tonight
to see that Bart's party is successful. Forget your
enmity, at least for one night. He was a troubled little
boy, and he has grown into a more troubled man. He
needs help, and badly. Not from more sessions with
psychiatrists, but help from those who love him
most--and despite everything, I know you both love
him. Just as his mother and I love him and care what
happens to him. As for Melodie, I visited her before
dinner, and she's not feeling well enough to attend the
party. She wouldn't let me examine her, though I tried
to insist, and she says she feels too big, too clumsy
and won't be coming out where guests can stare at her
enormous size. I think that might be the best solution
for her. But if you would, look in on her and say a few
kind words of encouragement, for that poor girl is
coming apart from worry . . ."
Jory steered his chair down the hall, turning
directly into his room, ignoring Melodie's closed door.
I sighed, as did Chris.
Dutifully Cindy tried to say a few consoling
words to Melodie outside of her locked door before she came prancing back to join Chris and I. "I'm not going to let Melodic spoil my fun. I think*she's acting like a damned selfish fool. As for me, I intend to have the time of my life tonight," said Cindy in parting. "I don't give a damn about Bart and his party except
what pleasure it gives me."
"I'm concerned about Cindy," said Chris when
we were lying on our wide bed, trying to catch a short
nap. "I have the feeling Cindy is not stingy with her
favors."
"Chris, don't you dare say that! Just because we
caught her with that boy Lance doesn't mean she is
loose. She's looking, looking all the time at each
young man she meets, hoping he's the one. If one says
he loves her, she believes because she needs to
believe. Don't you realize Bart has stolen her
confidence? She's afraid she is exactly what Bart
thinks she is. She's torn between being as wicked as
he thinks and being as nice as we want her to be.
Cindy's a beautiful young woman . . . and Bart treats
her like filth."
It had been a long day for Chris. He closed his
eyes and turned on his side to embrace me.
"Eventually Bart will straighten out," he murmured.
"For the first time I'm seeing in his eyes the need to find a compromise. He has the desperate desire to find someone or something to believe in. Someday he will find what he needs, and when he does, he'll be set free
to be the fine man he is under that hateful exterior." Sleep and dream of impossible things, like
harmony in the family, like brothers and a sister who
found love for each other. Dream on, dreamer .. . I heard the grandfather clock down the hall
chiming the hour of seven when we were supposed to
rise from our naps to bathe and dress. I shook Chris
awake and told him to hurry and dress. He stretched,
yawned, lazily got up to shower while I took a quick
tub bath; then he was shaving before donning his
custom-tailored tux. Chris stared at himself in a pier
glass. "Cathy, am I gaining weight?" he asked with
concern.
"No, darling. You look terrif--as Cindy would
say."
"What do you say?"
"You grow more handsome with each passing
year." I stepped closer to encircle his waist with my
arms as my cheek rested against his back. "I love you
more each year . . . and even when you are as old as
Joel, I will see you as you are now . . . standing twelve
feet tall, in your shining suit of armor, soon to ride your white unicorn. In your hand you'll carry a twelve-foot spear with a green dragon's head perched
upon its point."
In the mirror I saw his reflection; tears had
come to glisten in his eyes. "After all this time, you
remember," he whispered hoarsely. "After all these
many years . . . '
"As if I could forget . . ."
"But it's been so long ago."
"And today the moon shone at noon," I
murmured, moving to face him and slide my arms up
around his neck, "and a blizzard blew in your unicorn
. . . and I saw to my own delight that you've always
had my respect. You didn't need to earn it." Those two tears trickled slowly down his
cheeks. I kissed them away. "So you forgive me,
Catherine? Say now, while we have the chance, that
you forgive me for putting you through so much hell.
For Bart would have turned out differently if I had
stayed only his uncle and found another wife." I was careful not to smudge his jacket with my
makeup as I rested my cheek over his heart, which I
heard thumpity-thump-thumping. Just as I'd heard it
the first time our love changed and became more than
it should have been. "If I blink my eyes just once, I'm twelve years old again, and you're fourteen. I can see you as you were then . . . but I can't see me. Chris,
why can't I see me?"
His crooked smile was bittersweet. "Because
I've stolen all the memories of what you were and
stored them in my heart. But you haven't said you
forgive me."
"Would I be here, where I am, if I didn't want to
be?"
"I hope and pray not," and I was held, held so
tightly in his arms my ribs ached.
Outside the snow began to fall again. Inside my
Christopher Doll had turned back the clock, and if
there was no magic for Melodie in this house, and
Lance's departure had stolen romance from Cindy,
there was more than enough magic for me when Chris
was there to cast his spell.
At nine-thirty we sat, all ready to stand when
Trevor hurried to open the door. He stood anxiously
looking at his watch, glancing at us with great pride.
Bart, Chris, Jory and myself in our elegant expensive
splendid draperies. The towering Christmas tree in the
foyer sparkled with a thousand tiny white lights. It
had taken five people hours to decorate that tree. As I sat there like some middle-aged Cinderella
who had already found her prince and married him
and was caught in the spell of the happy-ever-after,
which wasn't all that perfect, something pulled my
eyes upward. In the shadows of the rotunda where two
knights in full armor stood on pedestals opposite each
other, I saw a dark shadow move. Even in the shade of
that smaller closer knight, I thought I knew who it
was. Joel, who was supposed to be in bed asleep, or
on his knees praying for all our sinning un-Christian
souls.
"Bart," I whispered to my second son, who
moved to stand beside my chair, "wasn't this supposed
to be the special party to reintroduce Joel to all his old
; friends?"
"Yes," he whispered back, putting his arm over
my shoulders. "But that was just my excuse. I knew
he wouldn't want to come. The truth of the matter is,
few of his old friends are still alive, although many of
my grandmother's school chums are still around." His
strong fingers bit down into my shoulder's tender
flesh. "You look lovely--like an angel."
Was that a compliment, or a suggestion? He smiled at me cynically, then snatched his
arm away as if it had betrayed him.
I laughed nervously. "Oh, someday when I'm as
old as Joel I suppose I'll take on a dowager's hump
and shuffle my feet along, and when my sinning is
over, I'll put on the Thalo I lost way back when I was
in puberty . . ."
Both Bart and Chris scowled to hear me talk
that way, but I felt good when I saw the shadow of
Joel slink away.
Liveried servants readied the buffet tables as
Bart got up to pace the floor, looking exceptionally
handsome in his black tux with the pleated formal
shirt.
I reached for Jory's hand, squeezed it. "You're
looking just as handsome as Bart," I whispered. "Mom, have you given him a compliment? He
looks great, really great, the very man his father must
have been."
Blushing, I felt ashamed. "No, I haven't said a
word because he seems so devilishly pleased with
himself that I think he'd burst with any praise he
might hear from me."
"Mom, you're wrong. Go on, say to him what
you say to me. You may think I need it more, but I
think he does."
Standing, I strode over to where Bart was peering out onto the drive, which curved gradually downward. "Can't see a single headlight," he gruffly complained. "It's not snowing now. The roads have been cleared. Ours is sprinkled over with gravel;
where the hell are they?"
"I've never seen you look more handsome than
you do tonight, Bart."
He turned to stare into my eyes, then he glanced
at Jory. "More handsome than Jory?"
"Equally as handsome."
Scowling, he turned back to the window. Out
there he saw something to take his mind off of