Page 25 of Seeds of Yesterday


  "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

  formal clothes faced the front windows with their

  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

&nbsp
; 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