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back at the Victorian house that had been more than a home to me. It had been the home of my dreams and my fantasies; it had been the place from which I had looked out at the world and wondered what would be in store for me. I had felt safe there, secure in my ways and in my room. I was leaving my glass-encased dollhouse, with its tinted windows and rainbow magic, but I would no longer need it to dream on. No, now I would live in the real world, a world I could never have imagined existed in that precious dollhouse world that had formed my hopes and dreams.
I took Malcolm's arm and moved closer to him He looked at me and smiled. Surely, I thought, now that we were alone, he would be more demonstrative of his love and affection.
"Tell me again about Foxworth Hall," I said, as if I were asking him to tell me a bedtime story about another magical world. At the mention of his home, he straightened up.
"It's over one hundred and fifty years old," he said. "There's history in it everywhere. Sometimes I feel as if I am in a museum; sometimes I feel as if I am in a church. It's the wealthiest home in our area of Virginia. But I want it to be the wealthiest in the country, maybe even the world. I want it to be known as the Foxworth castle," he added, his eyes becoming coldly determined. He went on and on, describing the rooms and the grounds, his family's business and his expectations for them. As he talked on, I felt as if I were descending deeper and deeper into his
ambitions. It frightened me. I hadn't realized how monomaniacal he could be. His whole body and soul fixed itself on his goals and I sensed that nothing, not even our marriage, was more important to him.
Somewhere in one of my books I read that a woman likes to feel that there is nothing more important to her man than she, that all he does, he does with her in mind.
"That is truly love; that is truly oneness" was the quote I couldn't forget. Married people should feel they are part of each other and should always be aware of each other's needs and feelings.
As the car turned off our street and I glanced at the Thames River crowded with ships moving up and down in their slow, careful, but determined way, I wondered if I would ever have that feeling with Malcolm.
I realized it wasn't something a woman should wonder on her wedding day.
We dined on the train. I had been too nervous to eat a thing all day, and suddenly I felt famished.
"I'm so hungry," I told him.
"You've got to order carefully on these trains," he told me. "The prices are ridiculous."
"Surely we can make an exception in our economy tonight," I said. "People of our means . . ."
"Precisely why we must always be economical. Good business sense takes training, practice. That was what attracted me to your father. He never lets his money get in the way of good business sense. Only the so-called nouveau riche are wasteful. You can spot them anywhere. They are obscene."
I saw how intense he was about this belief, so I didn't pursue it any further. I let him order for both of us, even though I was disappointed in his choices and left the table still hungry.
Malcolm got into discussions with other men on the train. There was a heated debate about the socalled "Red Menace" engendered by the United States Attorney General, A. Malcolm Palmer. Five members of the New York State legislature had been expelled for being members of the Socialist Party.
It was on the tip of my tongue to say how horrible an injustice that was, but Malcolm vehemently expressed his approval, so I kept my thoughts to myself, something I would have to do more and more and I didn't like it. I pressed my lips together, fearful that the words would fly out like birds from a cage when the door was carelessly left open.
After a while I ignored the discussions and fell asleep against the window. I had wound down from physical and emotional exhaustion. Darkness had enveloped us and aside from some lights in the distance here and there, there wasn't much to