Embarrassment heated her face. "I'm sorry, but Bart . . ." and here she hesitated, seeming flustered as she glanced at him.
"It's all right, Toni. I accept the blame," said Bart. "I told her Jory was fine and able to take care of himself and the twins. It seems to me he has made a big point of being independent."
"See that this doesn't happen again, Toni," I said, disregarding Bart.
That damned man was going to drive all of us batty! Then I had a brilliant idea. "Bart, you and Toni would have done Jory a great favor if you had included him in your swimming party. He has full use of his arms. In fact, he has very powerful arms. And you should remember, Bart, that it's rather dangerous to have a pool like this without a fence, when two small children are around. So, Toni, with Jory's help, I'd like you both to begin teaching the twins how to swim . . . just in case.'
Thoughtfully Bart stared at me, seeming to read my mind. He glanced again at Antonia, who was striding toward the house. "So you're going to stay on--why?"
"Don't you want us to stay?"
His smile radiated his dead father's charm. "Why, yes, of course I do. Now that Toni has come to brighten up my lonely hours."
"You leave her alone, Bart!"
He grinned at me wickedly and began to backpaddle in the pool, performing a backward flip that brought him up near my feet to grasp my ankles so hard it hurt. For a moment I feared he'd pull me in the pool and ruin the silk dress I wore.
I stared down and met his dark, suddenly menacing, eyes, not flinching. "Let go of my ankles. I've already had my morning swim."
"Why not swim with me sometimes?"
What did he see that made the threat leave and sadness come, a look so wistful he leaned to kiss my toes with the pink nails that peeked through the sandals? Then he was breaking my heart. Speaking with the exact tones of his dead father: "I think that I shall never see, anyone quite as lovely as thee . . ." He looked up. "See, Mother, I've got a bit of artistic talent, too."
This was my moment. He was vulnerable, touched by something he saw on my face. "Yes, of course you do, but Bart, don't you feet just a little sorry that Cindy is gone?"
His dark eyes grew hard, remote. "No, not sorry. I'm glad she's gone. Did I prove to you what she really was?"
"You proved just how hateful you can be."
His eyes darkened more. A fiercely determined look came to frighten me. He glanced toward the house on hearing some slight shuffling noise. I looked that way. Joel had come out onto the grassy area that enclosed our long oval pool.
Silently Joel condemned us with his pale blue eyes, his long-fingered bony hands steepled beneath his chin. He tilted back his head and stared
heavenwise. His weak, sweet voice came to us falteringly. "You keep the Lord waiting, Bart, while you waste your time."
Helplessly I watched Bart's eyes flood with guilt before he scampered from the pool. For a moment he stood in all his youthful male glory, his long, strong legs deeply bronze, his belly hard and flat, his shoulders wide, his muscles firm, rippling beneath his skin, the hair on his chest curling, and for a flashing second I thought he was flexing his strong muscles, preparing them for a lion's charge that would lunge him straight at Joel's throat. I tensed, wondering if he would even consider striking his uncle.
A cloud drifted over the sun. Somehow it caused shadows from the unlit poolside lamps to form a cross on the ground. Bart stared downward.
"You see, Bart," said Joel in a compelling voice I'd never heard before, "you neglect your duties and the sun disappears. God gives you his sign of the cross. He's always watching. He hears. He knows you. For you have been chosen."
Chosen for what?
Almost as if Joel had him hypnotized, Bart followed his great-uncle into the house, leaving me standing alone beside the pool. I hurried to tell Chris about Joel. "What can he mean, Chris--by saying that Bart has been chosen?"
Chris had just come in from visiting Jory and the twins. He forced me to sit, to relax. He even handed me my favorite mixed drink before he sat beside me on our small balcony overlooking the gardens and the mountains all around. "I had a few words with Joel minutes ago. It seems Bart hired workers to construct a small chapel in that small, empty room he favors for his prayers."
"A chapel?" I asked with bewilderment. "Why do we need a chapel?"
"I don't think it is meant for us, it's for Bart and Joel. A place where they can worship without going into the village and facing up to all the villagers who despise Foxworths. And if it's what Bart thinks will help him to find himself, for God's sake, don't say a word to condemn what he's doing with Joel. Cathy, I don't think Joel is an evil man. I think, more than anything he's trying to make himself a candidate for sainthood."
"A saint? Why, that would be like putting a halo above the head of Malcolm!"
Chris grew impatient with me. "Let Bart do what he wants. I've decided it's time we left here, anyway. I can't talk to you in this house and expect a sane answer. We'll move to Charlottesville and take Jory, the twins and Toni with us, just as soon as I can find a house that's suitable."
Unknown to me, Jory had rolled himself into our suite of rooms, and he startled me when he spoke up. "Mom, Dad may be right. Joel could be the kind, benign saint he often appears. Sometimes I think we are both overly suspicious, and then again, you are so often right. I study Joel when he isn't watching. I think in many ways he's trying not to be what we most fear--a duplicate of the grandfather you both hated."
"I think all of this is ridiculous! Of course Joel isn't like his father, or else he wouldn't have hated him so much," Chris flared with sudden and unusual anger, his expression hard and totally out of patience not only with me but with Jory. "All this talk about souls being born again in later generations is absolute nonsense. We don't need to add complications to our lives when they're complicated enough already."