Willow (34 page)

I
could see the crimson tint coming into her cheeks,
Are you sitting there and saying that my brother impregnated one of his own patients?"
It was a great deal more than just that. Aunt Agnes. They were truly in love, and, in fact, she remained at the clinic longer than she had to. When she gave birth, he brought me home. My adoptive mother never knew the truth."
"What truth? Some scandal story a mentally ill person spread and that you have taken up as gospel?" She leaped to her feet. "If you should so much as whisper such a ridiculous tale in anyone's ear. why, I'll--"
"Aunt Agnes,"
I
said calmly. "this wasn't a story told by a patient. This is a story Daddy told me."
"That's a lie, a bald-faced lie you are spreading yourself to... to... give yourself more standing in the community or maybe to justify your inheriting all this!" she screamed, "My brother never said such a thing to you, and you know it."
"No, he didn't say it." I replied.
She relaxed her shoulders and sat again. "Exactly."
"He wrote it," I said.
"What?"
"He put it in the form of a letter and a diary that he had left with Mr. Bassinger to give to me in the event of his death. which Mr. Bassinger did. I tracked down my real mother and discovered she lives in Palm Beach, and that was why I went there." I added. "She told me more about Daddy and her. and I told her as much as
I
could about my life. We've grown very close in a very short time."
She stared at me, as if she had been turned to stone. "Your father wrote a diary... Mr. Bassinger knows all about this?"
"He does now He never looked in the sealed envelope, but since people in Palm Beach all know and might even be spreading it over the civilized world like hot butter over bread by now, I thought it was prudent to tell him, and now, of course. I think you should know as well. Isn't it wonderful? I'm really related to you by blood, and to your family, your whole family, cousins, everyone!" I cried with deliberately exaggerated happiness.
Her mouth seemed to come unhinged in the comers. Her lip drooped.
"I don't..." She pressed her hand to her heart. "I think I'm getting sick." she said.
"Oh, would you like a glass of water, something stronger, perhaps?" I asked with such overthe-top concern I thought she would see through it for sure, but she was too involved in her own worry and shock.
"What? Oh, yes, a glass of water. Yes." she said, and sat back so hard it looked as if she had lost complete control of her body.
I
went to the kitchen and poured some water into a glass. When
I
returned, she was still sitting and staring blankly at the wall.
"Here you go." I said.
She looked at me and then at the water.
"Thank you," she said, taking it and drinking. "How could Claude have done such a thing?"
"I think it was wonderful. actually. He was truly in love, and so was she."
"In love.., how do you fall in love with a mentally ill woman?"
"Well, you have what I would call an uneducated view of mental illness. Aunt Agnes. Most people suffer some neurosis or another. My mother had good reason to become depressed to the point where she needed professional help. What of it? Mental illness is illness. We don't look down on people who need heart bypasses or their gall bladders removed, do we? You're sick, you get professional attention, that's all."
"It's far from the same thing." "Only to the uneducated."
"Stop saving that. I had a fine education. I attended charm school. too. Oh dear, oh dear," she said, shaking her head. "all this just at the wrong time. A big story in Palm Beach, you say?"
"Could be."
"Well, who is this woman? Is she in a hospital there?"
"There are no hospitals in Palm Beach, Aunt Agnes, nor are there cemeteries. The rich and the famous don't want to be reminded that there is such a thing as illness and death. They keep it hidden backstage."
"Well, nearby, then." she snapped at me. My calmness and my good mood were driving her mad.
"No. She lives on her family's multimilliondollar estate with her son."
"She has a son, too? Don't tell me..."
"No, Daddy was not his father."
"Thank goodness for little things," she muttered, "How many children did this woman have and how many men?"
"Just two." I said. "And the first was not by mutual consent."
"Not what?"
"She was raped by her stepfather." I said bluntly.
"My God! Does the scandal ever stop? We won't be able to show our faces anywhere."
"We'll be just fine," I said. "So.
I
think I'll settle in, take a hot shower, and maybe make myself something to eat. Are you going with me to Miles's funeral tomorrow?"
"Miles's funeral? Of course not I'll finish up here and... go home." she said, still confused and spinning.
"That might be best, Aunt Agnes."
"Yes." she said. nodding. "Yes."
I walked out and paused in the doorway to look back at her. She hadn't moved. She continued to stare at the wall, clutching the glass of water so hard and tightly in her hand that the veins were embossed right down to her wrist.
I
picked up my bags and went upstairs to my room.
.
Before I went to sleep.
I
reached my mother on the phone, and she told me Linden's physical condition was improving, but he was still "like someone caught in a fog."
"They have recommended a therapist, and he's coming to see him in the morning." she told me.
"That will be goad. I'm sure he or she will be able to help him. Mother."
"I hope so. It's heartbreaking to see him like this."
"He'll improve." I promised.
I
paused, wondering if I should ask. She seemed capable of reading my mind through the phone line, however.
"Has Thatcher called you?" she asked.
"No, not yet. Have you seen him?"
"When I returned from the hospital.
I
saw his automobile was here. but I haven't spoken with him. It looks like they're having some sort of a dinner party, too. There are about a half dozen cars." she said. "How are you doing?"
"I'll be all right,"
I
said
"I
think I had better stay here and tend to my problems and decisions."
"Absolutely, Willow, And please, return to college. Don't put your life on hold because of me. I couldn't stand la
^-
lowing I was responsible for anything like that," she pleaded.
"I'll see. Don't worry."
"I'll put it all in a hole and cover it," she told me, repeating the advice my father had given her.
I
smiled, and we said goodbye.
I wandered through my house, looking into rooms and remembering so much. seeing Amou, my father, even my adoptive mother, as they had all looked to me when I was very young and not yet aware of all the dark and troubling things waiting for me outside these doors. I ended up sitting in my father's office. The books and papers had been shoveled around, presumably in Aunt Agnes's attempt to get things looking organized after whatever delusions Miles had suffered in here.
Poor Miles, I thought,
I sat thinking of him until the miniature grandfather clock bonged midnight. I realized that Thatcher had still not called.
I
fought back thinking about it and, finally exhausted, went up to bed and fell asleep almost immediately, only to be awakened in the morning by the sound of vacuum cleaners and voices below and outside. I looked out and caught sight of Aunt Agnes throwing orders at people as if she were a slave owner overseeing a plantation. She had window washers doing every pane in the house, the landscape people cutting and trimming, even people painting and touching up railings and shutters.
I
put on my robe and went down to get some breakfast. While I sipped my coffee in the breakfast nook, she came marching in, screaming at the army of maids, demanding they get under the furniture and polish every piece until they could see their faces reflected in it.
"Don't you think you're overdoing it a bit, Aunt Agnes?" I asked dryly,
"Overdoing it?
I
had nightmares last night imagining what my father would have felt like to come home to find this place in the condition it was in. This is prime property and must not be undersold.
"I didn't get a chance to tell you last night because we were so involved in the family scandal, but the real estate agents called again and want to bring a prospective buyer here tomorrow. They can't hold the people off any longer, or they will lose the sale."
"Why are you so worried about it. Aunt Agnes? It's mine to give away,"
I
said bluntly,
"Why? Do you think I could sleep nights knowing my father's property was stolen by some smart buyer who took advantage of what's been happening here? It's still the De Beers family estate, isn't it? How you waste the money afterward is not the point. It's a matter of family pride. It doesn't surprise me that you would find such a thing curious. These are old-fashioned ethics. You young people today don't put any value on things that are lasting and true and filled with heritage. Everything is disposable to you."
"That's not true." I said. "At least, it's not true for me. I can't speak for other young people," I added, my meaning sharply clear.
She grunted. "Yes, well, years from now, you'll send me a thank-you note. I'm sure," she concluded, satisfied with herself. She went off to continue supervising, and I went upstairs to prepare myself for Miles's funeral,
Mr. Bassinger was right on time. The first thing he asked was how things had gone between my aunt and me.
I
described the conversation, especially her reactions. There was a constant small smile on his lips.
"Well. I can't say she isn't doing the right thing sprucing up the place. Willow. This is a very desirable property. I can't see her getting anything from it now, but should something dreadful happen to you. God forbid. I can easily envision her and her clan scratching and clawing their way into it all. It wouldn't be the first family I've seen think about such things and do all they could to ensure their legal rights to inheritances. Greed changes the faces of many relatives when it comes to that."
"I will be healthy and live a long life just to prevent it," I promised him, and he laughed.
"I hope so."
We were the only ones at the funeral parlor's chapel. The minister recited appropriate psalms and spoke about the burdens we all carry through this short life which was often more of a test than a smooth ride. He knew from the things Mr. Bassinger had told him that Miles was devoted to my father, and he praised him for that loyalty and love. I felt as though I were crying for my father as well as myself when the tears began to streak down my cheeks.
We followed the hearse to the cemetery where my father had purchased a plot just for Miles, not far from his own. Afterward, I stopped by his grave to say a prayer and tell him what I had done and how grateful I was that he had left his diary for me so I could have a real mother after all.
It all left me so weak and tired, When
I
returned home.
I
ignored the workers and went up to my room to lie down. I slept well into the afternoon.
I
had little appetite. but I did go down and make myself some toast and tea. By dinnertime, all the workers were gone, and Aunt Agnes appeared, dressed, her bags left at the front door.
"I've done all I can here.," she said. "I have to go home. I've asked the real estate agents to inform me of the offers so I can have my lawyers give you the best advice."
"I have my own advisor and lawyer, Aunt Ames. Don't trouble yourself." I said.
"I don't consider it trouble to look after my family's property," she threw back at me. "What are your plans now?"
"I'm not sure." I said.
Thatcher had still not called, and I was considering returning to college.
"Should the property sell quickly.
I
will have to see about the furnishings, unless, of course, they are bought along with the house.
I
want my father's things kept somewhere safe until
I
have a home of my own."
"You can ship anything to me." she said. "I have room and can keep it for you."
"Thank you," I said. In my mind. I thought if
I
did. I'd probably not see any of it again.
"I would strongly suggest you call me to discuss any and all decisions from this day forward. Despite finding your so-called real mother, you are still an inexperienced person when it comes to worldly matters."
"I'll muddle through," I said.
She pursed those thin lips into a line of disgust and snapped her head back.
"I should hope you won't have to muddle." she said. "Please don't feel obligated to attend Margaret Selby's wedding," she added. Her voice was hard, her smile faint and sardonic. I had been waiting for something like that. She was terrified I would bring my scandal along and disrupt the festivities.
"I don't view it as an obligation. Aunt Agnes."
"Nevertheless, we.-- I-- realize all the pressure on you now, and certainly Margaret Selby would understand."
"Oh. I imagine she would, once you explain it all to her. Aunt Agnes,"
I
said with a smile to match the cold one she had put on for me.
"Yes. Well, as I said, call me." She paused as she started to turn away and looked back at me again. "What have you done with that diary you claim my brother wrote?"
"It's not a claim; it's a fact," I said.
"Yes, well, where is this document?"
"It's safe with me."
"Who else has read it?"
"No one."
"Well perhaps, if you dispose of it..."
"I'd rather burn the Bible,"
I
said, and she widened her eyes.
"I'm merely frying to help you avoid any more gossip and scandal."
"It's too late." I said. "Get used to it."
She shook her head and then fired her words like bullets. "You're very smug and flippant about all this now, Willow, but in time you'll regret that." she warned. She said it with such authority and certainty I did take a breath. "You have no idea how cruel and vicious people can be when they have an opportunity to destroy someone they envy, believe me. Many people are jealous of me and our family. Don't expect kindness and understanding. It's not as glamorous or as romantic as it seems to you at the moment. It's simply good gossip to mine and to mold into mud. You're a well-to-do young woman, and you will. I hope, pursue a career. None of this will be an advantage when it comes time for you to present yourself in the professional and business world."