very room waiting for him to pick her up for an afternoon affair and he not coming at all because he wrote it down incorrectly in his calendar."
"You can remember? You were only five when she left."
"I can remember," he insisted. "I would sit with her and she would complain to me. She respected my intelligence, you see. She never spoke down to me the way mothers often speak down to their children. After a while, if he didn't show up when he was supposed to, she would go off by herself. It was his fault, don't you see?"
"He was occupied too much with his business," I said, hoping to make a point about him, but Malcolm either didn't hear me or didn't see the relationship to himself.
"Yes, yes, but he was often careless with business meetings too. He just doesn't have the concentration. He gets bored too easily. I can't tell you how many deals we lost because of him and how many I saved."
"Was your mother involved with the business?"
"What?" He looked at me as though I had just made the most ridiculous statement. "Hardly. She thought the stock market was a place to buy and sell stockings."
"Oh, come now. You exaggerate."
"Do I? She had no concept of what a dollar was. Why, when she went shopping, she never asked about the price; she never cared. She bought things without knowing how much she had spent and my father . . . my father never chastised her for it, never put her on a budget. Hopefully," he added, "things will be different with this wife."
"Where did your father meet your mother?" I asked.
"He saw her crossing a street in Charlottesville, stopped his carriage, and began a conversation with her. Without even knowing her family background! She invited him to her home that night. Wouldn't that tell you something? How impulsive a person she was?
Would you have ever done such a thing? Well?" he asked when I hesitated.
I tried to imagine it. It was romantic--a handsome young man stops his carriage to start a conversation with a young woman, a total stranger, and their conversation is so good that she is moved to invite him to her home.
"She didn't know of him 9 "
"No. She was visiting an aunt in Charlottesville. She wasn't from this area and never heard of the Foxworths."
"I suppose he was impressive."
"You would have invited him to your home?"
"No, not right away," I said, but something within me wanted to say I would, wished such a thing to have happened to me, but I knew what Malcolm was driving at, what was right and proper.
"See what I am saying? He should have been able to perceive the kind of woman she was
immediately."
"How long did they court?"
He smirked.
"Not long enough," he said.
"But Malcolm, you and I must have had an even shorter courting period."
"It wasn't the same thing. I knew what kind of woman you were; I didn't need endless examples to demonstrate and support my view. He was blinded from the beginning and rushed right into a proposal. He once confessed to me that he suspected her aunt had brought her to Charlottesville for the sole purpose of meeting a distinguished gentleman. The guile of women! It wouldn't have surprised me to learn that she had planned crossing that street at just that time, knowing he was coming. He said she smiled up at him so warmly, he had to stop the carriage."
"I can't believe that."
"I do. Women like that are always conniving. They look so simple, so unassuming, so sweet, but they're plotting, believe me. And some men, men like my father, always fall for that type."
"Is that what his new bride is like?" He didn't respond. "Well, is she?"
"I can't see why not," he said, and folded his paper noisily.
I was about to respond, when Lucas came to announce that their car had driven up.
"Go help with the trunks and luggage," I said. I stood up, but Malcolm sat staring. "Well?"
He shook his head to shake away a thought and followed me to the front door as Garland and a young woman who could have been his daughter stepped out of their car. He held her in such a way that I suddenly
"You can remember? You were only five when she left."
"I can remember," he insisted. "I would sit with her and she would complain to me. She respected my intelligence, you see. She never spoke down to me the way mothers often speak down to their children. After a while, if he didn't show up when he was supposed to, she would go off by herself. It was his fault, don't you see?"
"He was occupied too much with his business," I said, hoping to make a point about him, but Malcolm either didn't hear me or didn't see the relationship to himself.
"Yes, yes, but he was often careless with business meetings too. He just doesn't have the concentration. He gets bored too easily. I can't tell you how many deals we lost because of him and how many I saved."
"Was your mother involved with the business?"
"What?" He looked at me as though I had just made the most ridiculous statement. "Hardly. She thought the stock market was a place to buy and sell stockings."
"Oh, come now. You exaggerate."
"Do I? She had no concept of what a dollar was. Why, when she went shopping, she never asked about the price; she never cared. She bought things without knowing how much she had spent and my father . . . my father never chastised her for it, never put her on a budget. Hopefully," he added, "things will be different with this wife."
"Where did your father meet your mother?" I asked.
"He saw her crossing a street in Charlottesville, stopped his carriage, and began a conversation with her. Without even knowing her family background! She invited him to her home that night. Wouldn't that tell you something? How impulsive a person she was?
Would you have ever done such a thing? Well?" he asked when I hesitated.
I tried to imagine it. It was romantic--a handsome young man stops his carriage to start a conversation with a young woman, a total stranger, and their conversation is so good that she is moved to invite him to her home.
"She didn't know of him 9 "
"No. She was visiting an aunt in Charlottesville. She wasn't from this area and never heard of the Foxworths."
"I suppose he was impressive."
"You would have invited him to your home?"
"No, not right away," I said, but something within me wanted to say I would, wished such a thing to have happened to me, but I knew what Malcolm was driving at, what was right and proper.
"See what I am saying? He should have been able to perceive the kind of woman she was
immediately."
"How long did they court?"
He smirked.
"Not long enough," he said.
"But Malcolm, you and I must have had an even shorter courting period."
"It wasn't the same thing. I knew what kind of woman you were; I didn't need endless examples to demonstrate and support my view. He was blinded from the beginning and rushed right into a proposal. He once confessed to me that he suspected her aunt had brought her to Charlottesville for the sole purpose of meeting a distinguished gentleman. The guile of women! It wouldn't have surprised me to learn that she had planned crossing that street at just that time, knowing he was coming. He said she smiled up at him so warmly, he had to stop the carriage."
"I can't believe that."
"I do. Women like that are always conniving. They look so simple, so unassuming, so sweet, but they're plotting, believe me. And some men, men like my father, always fall for that type."
"Is that what his new bride is like?" He didn't respond. "Well, is she?"
"I can't see why not," he said, and folded his paper noisily.
I was about to respond, when Lucas came to announce that their car had driven up.
"Go help with the trunks and luggage," I said. I stood up, but Malcolm sat staring. "Well?"
He shook his head to shake away a thought and followed me to the front door as Garland and a young woman who could have been his daughter stepped out of their car. He held her in such a way that I suddenly
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