For All Their Lives (51 page)

Steeling herself for the words she knew were about to come, the words that would rock her world, she asked, “What is it, Mac?”

“Come inside the cottage, Alice. Yody can entertain Jenny while we talk. This is important. Mainly to me, but to you too.”

Alice listened, her face registering shock and disbelief. When she held the diary in her hand, her eyes filled with tears. “What do you want me to do, Mac?”

“Take all your things out of the house. Jenny's too. Whatever you think you can't live without. I'm going to finish out my term, then move into an apartment. I'll pension off the servants. You can move to the plantation in Charleston. I'll join you when my term is up.”

“But what about the foundation? I . . . Mac, I don't know if I can leave . . . It's become my life, mine and Jenny's. I understand everything you said. It's just that . . .” She shrugged helplessly.

“I'm not giving up on the foundation. We'll build an extension in the South. You can be in on it from the beginning. On the way home I made the decision to go ahead with the plans for the summer camp. My . . . my real father has offered us the use of some of his land. Combined with mine, we can make a difference, Alice. You have to decide
now.
Right now.”

“Does this mean you and I . . . are we going to live together or separately? I need to know, Mac. I'll . . . I'll do it regardless, but I need to know.”

Mac's empty life flashed before him. He closed his eyes, trying to visualize his future. It was just as bleak and empty. “Yes, I'm willing to try if you are. We'll take it one day at a time. Is that all right with you?”

“Oh, yes. Yes, it's fine with me.” She made eye contact with Mac when she said in a clear, firm voice, “Marcus is Jenny's father.”

“I suspected that,” Mac said in the same clear, firm voice. “I've suspected it for a long time. But a child shouldn't be punished for its parents' mistakes. I remember Aunt Margaret. We'll never mention it again. I would never have brought it up if you hadn't. As far as I'm concerned, she's our daughter.”

“Thank you for that, Mac. I . . . I'll do my best.” She wanted to go to him, to touch him, but the time wasn't right. He still had things to do before he could make her part of his life. “I'll take Jenny to the foundation and come back here. If you want, you can start taking Jenny's things from her room. I won't be taking that much. I'm glad we're leaving, Mac. I always hated this house.”

“You never told me that.”

“I never told you a lot of things. You set the rules in the beginning. I did what I thought you wanted. We were both wrong more often than we were right. We'll talk again when I get back.”

He watched her leave, her hand in Jenny's. His wife and the little girl to whom he'd given his name. His daughter. He smiled at Yody, who was staring at him as if he'd sprouted a second head.

“It's going to be all right, Yody. Listen, how would you like to move to South Carolina and live in a big plantation house and take care of all of us?”

“Señor Mac, are you serious? I have many relatives, many cousins.”

“Bring them along,” Mac said magnanimously. “There will be plenty of work for everyone. Will you think about it, Yody?”

“Certainly, Señor Mac. Will Mrs. Carlin and the child be dining with you this evening?”

“Yes, Yody, and they'll be staying on here for a few days.”

Yody's broad face broke into a smile. “The child is enchanting, Señor Mac. She has much love to shower . . . I forget, it is not my place. Tell me, Señor Mac, is there Bingo where we are going?” Her tone was so anxious, so woebegone, Mac laughed.

“If there isn't, Yody, we'll start our own. Would you be amenable to leaving with Mrs. Carlin? You see, I'll be moving out of this house very soon.”

“Whatever you wish, Señor Mac.”

Mac walked outside. He sat down on the top step, the dogs at his side like two sentinels. For the first time in his whole life, he felt at peace. His arms shot out to encircle the dogs. “I finally know who I am.” It wasn't a silent thought, he realized, when the dogs whined comfortingly at his side. “I have sisters who have husbands, and I have nieces and nephews. I have a father who has warm eyes and a voice to match, and whose handshake is sincere and genuine. He'll welcome Jenny, but he'll
know.
He'll understand.

“He said he'd take me coon hunting,” he said to the dogs. “Of course we'll let them go once we catch them. We'll go fishing. We might even take Jenny and teach her how to bait a hook. You guys can chase any and all poachers. We'll take Jeopardy down there too, of course. I'd say this is the beginning of a wonderful life for all of us.” He fondled the dogs' silky ears.

Twice Yody brought him coffee while he waited for Alice to return. The dogs were on their feet long before he heard the engine of her car. He set his cup and ashtray on the side, got up and stretched every muscle in his body.

“I'm ready,” Alice said quietly, a curious look on her face. “Did you speak to the servants at the house?”

“They're packing as we speak. I have their severance checks in my pocket. I called my attorney, and he'll start the paperwork for their pensions. Yody is going with you and Jenny, if that's all right with you.”

“That's fine, Mac. Jenny likes her. I like her too. Before, what I said about her, that was just—”

Mac held up his hand. “Before isn't important. Past is past, okay?”

Alice smiled, her eyes lighting with happiness. “I guess I better get started.”

“Alice?”

“Yes, Mac?”

“Why did you throw out my things? I can understand giving Jenny my old room, but . . . I looked for my old treasures in the attic and couldn't find them. I need to know why,” he said quietly.

“I didn't, Mac. Marcus came over one day right before I had the baby and asked which room was going to be the nursery. I chose your room because it was sunny and had lots of closet space. I thought your things were moved to the attic, but Olga told me Marcus trashed them. He . . . he just had one of his people come and dump everything in barrels by the garage. I went out and packed up everything myself in cartons. It's all in the garage, up over the overhang. I can't believe you thought I would just discard your memories. You and I have to take the time to get to know one another,” Alice said with a catch in her voice. “Why knows? We may end up liking one another.”

“Who knows?” Mac said softly. He had a slight edge, he thought. He actually
liked
Alice already.

It was four o'clock when the last load of personal belongings was deposited in Mac's living room. “A lot of her things are at the foundation. I thought that, because we spent so much time there, it was better for her. She's learning to share and to interact. She has a little friend named Pamela. I agreed to let her spend the night. If there's anything else you want me to do, tell me now before I start to pack these things,” Alice said briskly.

“Have a cup of tea with Yody. I have something to do,” Mac said cheerfully.

Both women watched as Mac loped across the front lawn, down the slight incline to cross over the pavement outside the garage, and up the hill to the big house. Their eyes met once when Mac opened the trunk of the car to remove a baseball bat. Alice's hands flew to her mouth. Yody blessed herself. When Mac was out of sight, Yody said, “I will make tea now. I have cinnamon cookies.”

“Yes, cinnamon cookies,” Alice said, following Yody to the kitchen.

 

T
HERE WAS NO
faltering in Mac's step as he walked through the open front door. He didn't bother to close it. He stopped a moment at the foot of the steps to look around. Once the house had smelled good, like apples and peaches. The upstairs always seemed to have a powdery smell, clean and fresh. Now all he could smell was furniture polish and Lysol. He hated the smell. Hated the house. Hated everything in it. He took a deep breath and walked up the steps, his back ramrod stiff, his shoulders square.

He liked the feel of the baseball bat in his hands. He took a practice swing and liked the feel even more. He headed for the room at the end of the hall, the room that had once been his father's. He kicked open the door. It was a clean, spartan room, with nothing of his father's remaining. He moved slowly, purposefully, the bat raised to shoulder height. He swung, his upper body moving as professionally as that of any star baseball player's. He was rewarded with the sound of smashing glass as the windowpane and frame split, showering the floor with glass. The antique dresser, armoire, and commode all came under the bat. He toppled lamps, smashing Tiffany glass into millions of tiny shards. The bed fell under his wrath. From his pocket he withdrew the pocketknife his uncle Harry had given him one Christmas, when he was around six. The knife had been dull then. Now it was razor sharp. He sliced and hacked, gouged and ripped. When he was finished, the bat ravaged the old bed, shredding the dry wood to little more than wood shavings. He grinned when he envisioned an army of antique dealers crying for months over the devastation he was wreaking.

He moved on, room by room, until he came to the banister overlooking the first floor. He eyed the two-hundred-year-old chandelier with clinical interest. His military mind shifted and coalesced. The baseball bat wasn't going to work. He turned on the light for effect. Thousands of tiny crystals winked at him. He saluted smartly, then turned to the long, low, cherrywood table against the wall. Next to it was a cherrywood chair with a petit-point seat. It was heavy too. He picked it up and walked to the end of the wide center hall. He ran then as if he were going to throw the shot put and heaved the chair into the winking mass of light. He loved the sound of the crystal smashing onto the tile floor in the foyer. “Damn, you do good work, Carlin.” He laughed.

The stairway and banister, which were built of solid oak and polished to a high sheen, were his next targets. He sat down on his rump and kicked out at the carved spindles. One after another they splintered, until the entire banister weakened. Two wild, powerful swings sent what was left of the banister crashing down on top of the chandelier. He did the same thing again as he slid down the steps, his back to the wall, his feet lashing out at the old dry wood. Once again he congratulated himself as he stood in the foyer to observe his handiwork.

He moved through the rest of the house destroying everything in his path. When he reached the huge kitchen that he'd loved at one time, he stopped to look around. He wasn't breathing hard yet. “That's because you enjoy what you're doing, Carlin,” he told himself. He eyed the monstrous refrigerator and freezer, the new shiny appliances, and the old Virginia brick on the walls and floor. He laid the bat down on the butcher block table and walked out the back door, his destination the toolshed. He found the sledgehammer immediately. He was whistling when he made his way back to the house. It took a full thirty minutes for him to smash the ancient brick his father's ancestors had installed—his father's ancestors' slaves, was more like it, Mac thought in disgust. He wiped his hands on his pants. It would take a construction crew months to repair the damage he'd just done to the house.

Carrying the sledgehammer, Mac walked through the devastation in the foyer to the front door. He swung until the door hung drunkenly on its hinges.

Satisfied with his afternoon's work, Mac walked out to the garage and climbed behind the wheel of his car. He turned on the radio full-blast, backed the car out on to the road, then lit a cigarette. He puffed contentedly.

It was eight-thirty and already dark when Mac rang the doorbell of his father's house. A tired old colored man who'd seen too many years of service motioned him inside.

“I know where he is, Elias,” Mac said quietly, patting the old man on the shoulder.

The elder Carlin frowned when Mac barged into his private study. By God, he was going to finally fire that old fool Elias. He set aside the legal brief he was reading. He was on his feet in a second. Mac looked threatening somehow, with a cigarette dangling from his lips, and a baseball cap set at a cocky tilt on his head. The cap, which said
DA NANG
in gold letters, was old, dirty, and beat-up. All over Mac's clothes was the fine white powder of Sheetrock. His chest thumped when he spotted the manila folder from which Mac withdrew the deed to the farm. He handed the deed to Marcus.

“It's not going to do you much good. I pretty much destroyed the old homestead. You know, the one my mother's money paid for. I thought about burning it down to the ground, but I wanted you to have something to remember me by. You see, I know who my real father is. In return for money, you took me and my mother off grandfather Ashwood's hands. The Carlins had no money. Piss-poor, my father said. My real father, that is. You hated my mother and you hated me. Jesus, how we tried to please you. Then what do you do when you get caught with your pants down? I will never forget the awful look on her face when I told her I saw you with another woman. And, what do you do? You send
my
mother back to her home. And she went so you wouldn't take more of your hatred out on me. You bastard! And after all that, you had the gall, the fucking balls, to try and get me into the goddamn governorship so you could call the shots. You would have used Ashwood money to finance the campaign too. But even that wasn't enough for you. You also fucked my wife, you took advantage of her. Yeah, she told me all about it. Jenny is your daughter. How's that going to look, Judge, if it gets out? Alice says she has the guts to tell the truth, and you know what, Judge? I think she does. Alice has changed, in case you haven't noticed. Ah, you're thinking about Aunt Margaret.” Mac clucked his tongue, shook his head. “Tonight you resign from the bench. You pension off Elias, and it damn well better be a handsome pension, as well as the other servants who've waited on you hand and foot all these years and were paid with Ashwood money. Don't even think about telling me you have money of your own. I know how much a Supreme Court justice earns, and it barely keeps you in Havana cigars, fine wine, and all those gourmet meals you're so fond of. If you don't do as I say,” Mac said cheerfully, “I'll come back. I want to hear about your resignation on the eleven o'clock news.”