Garden of Shadows (31 page)

ON A NIGHT MUCH LIKE THE NIGHT WHEN I FIRST ARRIVED at Foxworth Hall years and years ago, they came. I had instructed Corinne to take the late train, so her arrival would be cloaked under darkness. It would be three o'clock in the morning when the train pulled into the empty depot, which stood alone by the railroad tracks, a solitary platform in the black night. I was sure that her sleepy brood of four children would think that they had been left far from civilization, surrounded only by fields and meadows and the dark purple mountains hovering against the horizon like lurking giants of the night.

I would not send a car for them. Even though it was a long walk from the depot, I could not take the chance of having anyone, servant or outsider, know of the existence of Corinne's children. They would stumble along the dark, deserted road. Every tree, every shadow, every sound, would frighten them. Their hearts would beat in dread.

Suddenly Foxworth Hall would loom before them, like a witch's castle in the fairy tales their mother surely would have read them. Its dark windows would look like dead eyes and its enormous roof like an ink stain against the sky. There would be nothing inviting in its appearance. All of them would gaze up at it, silent with their own fears, their little hearts pounding.

I wanted to be alone when Corinne and her children arrived. I wanted them to see no one but me. This was my moment, and I insisted, despite my obedience to John Amos's plans and despite his protests, that he retire to his room for the evening.

I had put Malcolm to bed around ten o'clock. "Please, Olivia," he'd begged. "I know this is the night Corinne is coming, and I'd like to be up to welcome her."

Love shone in his eyes, and I could see that in all these years his doting on Corinne had not died. Oh, yes, I was right not to have told him of the existence of the children. He would have fallen under their spell, as he always fell under the spell of beauty.

"Malcolm, Corinne will certainly be exhausted when she arrives. And if you stay up so late, so will you. This way, you will be well rested and be able to greet her in the morning with full enthusiasm."

Now the only thing left for me to do was wait. I had already prepared the room in the north wing for their arrival. I had cleaned and dusted and moved the two double beds myself, for I couldn't allow a servant to suspect even a breath of my plan. As I'd moved the beds around, I came upon Alicia's hairbrush, still filled with strands of hair. Over the years the fine golden strands had matted into a dusty, musty web. I set the brush on the bureau without removing a single thread. Now Alicia's grandchildren would live here, just as she had. And I knew, just knew, that her granddaughters would use that brush. Oh, yes, they'd be the sort who made sure to brush their hair one hundred, or even five hundred strokes a day.

I awaited their arrival for hours, pacing the long, dark corridors of Foxworth Hall. From time to time I would go to the window next to the servants' entrance and gaze out into the night. A light snow had begun to fall. As I was pacing back and forth, back and forth, suddenly I heard a branch snap, and I ran again to the window. There they were, like thieves in the night, four bundled children and their cloaked mother. I opened the door and motioned them inside. Without a word I herded them all up the steep and narrow back staircase. Corinne knew she was forbidden to speak. She knew that one whisper, one clumsy move, would reverberate through the long, empty halls of her childhood home and alert the servants.

I led them directly to the far room in the north wing. I yanked open the door and nudged them into the room, like a gentle jailer might usher a condemned man into his last cell. When they were all inside, I quietly shut the door.

Then I turned on the lamp. Before me were four beautiful children. The boy, almost a man, was an exact replica of Christopher, the same blond hair, the same blue eyes, the same sweet, intelligent expression on his face. Oh, how I longed to embrace him. But I held back, reminding myself of all I knew, of all that had transpired. The girl was the spit and image of her mother at that age, and a flood of memories
threatened to engulf me and drown my hard resolve. I quickly looked away from her and examined the twins. Two cherubs stared up at me with big, frightened blue eyes. As I stared down at them, they moved closer to each other, as if trying to merge into one being.

"Just as you said, Corinne, your children are beautiful. But," I added, "are you sure they are intelligent? Do they have some invisible afflictions not apparent to the eyes?"

"None," Corinne cried. "My children are perfect, as you can plainly see, physically and mentally!"

She glared at me and began to undress the girl twin, who was nodding at her feet. Cooperatively, the older girl began to undress the boy twin as
Christopher's lookalike lifted one of the big suitcases onto the bed. He opened it and took out two pairs of small yellow pajamas with feet.

Corinne lifted the twins into one of the beds and pressed kisses on their flushed cheeks, her hand trembling as she brushed back the curls that graced their foreheads, and pulled the covers up to their chins. "Good night, my darlings," she whispered.

I could not believe that their mother was going to allow two teenagers of the opposite sex, to share the other bed. Oh, how quickly all John Amos had predicted was being revealed! I scowled at Corinne. "Your two older children cannot sleep in one bed."

She looked surprised. "They're only children," she flared at me. "Mother, you haven't changed one bit, have you? You still have a nasty, suspicious mind! Christopher and Cathy are innocent."

Corinne blanched. "If you think like that, then give them separate rooms and separate beds! Lord knows this house has enough of them!"

"That is impossible," I said as icily as I could. "This is the only bedroom with its own adjoining bath, and where my husband won't hear them walking overhead, or flushing the toilet. If they are separated, and scattered about all over upstairs, he will hear their voices, or their noise, or the servants will. Now, I have given this arrangement a great deal of thought. This is the only safe room. Put the two girls in one bed, and the two boys in the other," I commanded.

Corinne refused to look at me, but slumped over to the bed and carried the boy twin to the empty bed. The two older children glared at me as I continued to lay down the rules they were to abide by in this room.

After I finished, Corinne drew the two other children to her. Her hands stroked their hair and backs. "It's all right," I heard her whisper. "Trust me." Then she turned to me for an instant and her face twisted with the most ferocious look I had ever seen on her. "Mother, have some pity and compassion for my children. They are your flesh and blood too. Keep that in your mind." As she continued to list their virtues and accomplishments, I closed my ears. For they were not of my flesh and blood, nor was she. And much as I had loved her, for the sake of my eternal soul I could no longer afford to do so. I was tempted by her pleas, by her children's sweetness, but I hardened my heart.

When Corinne saw that her words were not succeeding in softening my resolve, she turned back to her children and bid them good night.

I waited at the door as Corinne slowly parted from her children. Finally I pulled her arm, and just before I closed the door behind us, I looked back at the children. The twins were sound asleep. The two older ones stood side by side, the boy holding the girl's hand, just as Christopher had held Corinne's. I saw him look into her eyes, and saw him smile, a smile that sent a cold chill up my spine. For it was a smile I had seen before, it was the smile of Christopher for Corinne, the smile I had been too blind to see. But now my eyes were opened.