According to what my father had told me about the Foxworth children, Uncle Tommy knew someone who had been a servant at the mansion and confirmed that Cathy was more than fifteen by the time they left. She was just a little younger than I was. Three years without any contact with other girls, while her body was developing and her interest in boys and her own feelings should have had healthy room for exploration. How could any girl come out of that normal?
It was difficult to not get lost in these thoughts, even when my friends were chatting around me. I knew I looked preoccupied, but they all thought it was because I was so swept up in my first big love affair. They continued to press me on what I was wearing for the party, but I told them I wasn’t sure.
“Nothing fancy,” was all I would say. I really wasn’t sure. I never was one to plan what to wear in advance. Sometimes I would decide only minutes before going somewhere.
I did go right home after school with the intention of figuring that out, but when I realized Kane was coming for me in less than two and a half hours, I decided I had to get into the diary for at least an hour and a half of that. I had nothing else I had to do but dress for the party. I scooped the book out from under my pillow and lay back on it to turn the page and begin.
One day dragged into another so seamlessly I lost track of time, but Cathy was always there to remind me how long we had been locked away. If there was one thing I hated, it was wasting time. Besides games we could play and invent, there were, fortunately, dozens and dozens of books to read. Momma, true to her word, brought us games and cards. I tried constantly to keep the twins occupied with whatever toys Momma could bring and things I found that might amuse them.
Our grandmother was there with our meals. Most of the time, she said nothing, but she soon began cross-examining us about the Bible. We were ordered to read it daily and memorize important quotes. She demanded that both Cathy and I repeat one, obviously to see if we were lying when we said we had read the Bible. Cathy surprised her with her quote from Genesis, one I had taken time explaining and illustrating why it was a good one to throw at our grandmother. Cathy did it with that smug smile I was beginning to love: “Wherefore have you rewarded evil for good?”
I looked quickly at Grandmother Olivia. Her eyes widened, and her face reddened a shade or two, but she sucked back her breath and spun on me. “Quote from Job,” she ordered. I felt as self-satisfied as Cathy did, because the book of Job was my favorite story. I went on and on, until she shouted, “Enough!”
That turned out to be the first and last time she would question me. I could see how much it hurt her to admit to herself that I was intelligent enough to read and understand the Bible as well as, if not even better than, she could.
I hoped that maybe it would soften her treatment of Momma. Momma did look happier and more settled and comfortable when she arrived each evening, sometimes bringing us better things to eat, but never candy, which made the twins moan more. She rambled on about how she was slowly winning over her father. Then one day, she did bring us some melted ice cream and cake. I could see she was even happier. Her father had given her a car to use. She said this convinced her he would forgive her. Cathy wasn’t impressed. We had been locked away for a little more than two weeks, but Momma made it clear that if he found out about us now, all would be lost. Reluctantly, Cathy retreated. I did my best to buoy her hopes, all our hopes.
We began a fully involved search of the large attic to pass time and amuse ourselves. Cory was fascinated by the piano but soon tired of its out-of-tune groans. I found five old Victrolas. One worked better than the others, but all we had were Enrico Caruso records, very scratched. Cory was intrigued with winding the Victrola and amused at the way the great singer sounded when it was made to go too fast or too slowly. I winked at Cathy. One of the twins was satisfied for a while. Carrie still hated the attic and went back downstairs to play with her dolls and other toys. She surprised us with her willingness to be alone, separate from Cory, but it also underscored how much she hated the attic.
Bored myself finally, I decided to amuse them all with my imitations of Grandmother Olivia barking her orders and rules. I even had the twins laughing like children again, but their attention spans were short. They wandered about, getting into trouble, cutting fingers, getting splinters. Cathy was good at mothering, and I made sure they didn’t get infections. Sometimes they pouted and were defiant, holding their breath until their faces turned red. It made Cathy nervous, but I
told her to ignore them.
“Just like Momma is ignoring us,” she fired back, and did some pouting herself, flaring at me and asking, “How can she leave us all up here so long?”
I didn’t feel like going through the explanation again and again, emphasizing how much this could mean for us. “Momma is doing all this to guarantee our future,” was all I said.
Then weeks went by without Momma visiting us on Sundays. Inside, I was beginning to panic, but I did all I could to keep it to myself. Finally, she showed up wearing a beautiful and expensive-looking sailing outfit. I had been upstairs sifting through books I wanted to read and heard the shouting below. Cathy was tearing into her. When I descended, I saw how Momma was near tears. I had to help her. She looked desperate.
I raved about how beautiful she looked. “What a change since we came here,” I emphasized, looking at Cathy. “You’re succeeding. It’s obvious.”
“No!” Cathy screamed. “This has got to stop. I hate it up here. You have to tell your father about us.”
Suddenly, Momma leaned forward, covering her face with her hands. I put my hand on her shoulder, but she shook her head, and when she looked up, I saw there was pure terror in her face. Cathy gathered the twins to her, and I sat beside them.
“What is it, Momma?” I asked.
She admitted she hadn’t been completely honest with us. I thought she wasn’t going to say why, but Cathy demanded it. “The letter I told you my mother wrote to me when I pleaded for help . . .”
“Yes?” Cathy asked. “Well, tell us. We can take it. After what we’ve been enduring, we can take anything.”
“Cathy,” I whispered.
She shook me off and glared at Momma.
“My father wrote a note at the bottom of her letter.”
“So?”
“He said he was glad you father died.”
“What?” I asked.
“He said evil and corrupt get their just rewards.”
I was about to curse him out when Momma coldly added, “And that the only good thing about my marriage was that it hadn’t created any devil issue.”
“He means children,” I told Cathy.