Secrets of Foxworth by V.C. Andrews Page A

or pretends to be surprised when he finds out she is wearing any. She’s always wearing something special, like a dress he brought back from a previous trip or something he gave her on her last birthday. If she’s wearing something new that she bought with money she secretly collected, Daddy never complains or asks her how or when she bought it. He simply compliments her.
    I don’t know if there is any wife anywhere who knows how to please her husband as well as Momma knows how to please Daddy. I guess I would want to have a wife like that, too. She wouldn’t have to be as intelligent as I am. Momma isn’t as smart as Daddy, but I know how much she pleases him, and I suppose a man needs that sort of comfort. It’s a form of security to know who and what is waiting for you at home.
    â€œYou get more beautiful every day, Corrine,” he told her today. “Seeing you makes me think I was in dark, cloudy weather the whole time I lived without you.”
    I could never think of things like that to tell a girl. I’m not romantic enough. I don’t know if I will ever be. I guess I’m hoping that the girl I find to marry won’t need me to be that romantic.
    I don’t know if there is such a girl.
    When Daddy said she was more beautiful every day, Momma’s face brightened, and the glow was so great it was like sunshine for us all.
    Well, maybe not as much for Cathy. I’ve watched her carefully during Daddy’s homecomings. I know all about Electra complexes and sibling rivalries. Whenever I read something new about child psychology or something medical, I watch for symptoms. It seems to me that the older Cathy gets, the more she seems jealous of our father’s dedicated love for our mother. It’s as if she wants to absorb all his love, capture all that he is capable of giving to anyone, even our mother.
    And yet Cathy will always be the first one to tell me or anyone else how beautiful our mother is. If there is one thing she wants in her life, it is surely to be as beautiful as our mother. Whenever Momma does anything to enhance her looks, Cathy is there listening, watching, and learning.
    â€œBeauty isn’t something you can create with makeup, you know,” I told her yesterday when she was pretending in front of her mirror. “You can improve it, maybe, but don’t think it comes in some powder or lipstick.”
    â€œYes, it does!” she fired back at me with her eyes. “Momma says a plain woman could look very attractive if someone showed her how to put on makeup and do her hair right.” Then she quickly added, “But she said I’m not plain.”
    I smiled at her. “Beauty is a matter of opinion sometimes,” I said.
    She squinted and crinkled her nose. “It is not. You don’t know anything about it. You’re just too . . . smart,” she said, and ran to Momma to complain about me.
    Cathy can whine and cry better than anyone I know. When she returned to her room, I told her she would win the whining and crying Olympics.
    Later, she brought Momma into the living room to tell me I was wrong, but I knew Momma was just trying to get her to stop complaining.
    â€œThe man of the house doesn’t tease his women,” she said. She tried to look angry at me, but she wasn’t doing it too well.
    Cathy stood there with her arms folded, nodding at me.
    I knew Momma was really depending on me to be the man of the house and keep any childish behavior at a minimum. When she looked at me like that, even pretending, I did feel guilty.
    â€œI’m sorry. I didn’t mean to tease you, Cathy. Momma knows a lot more than I’ll ever know when it comes to being beautiful.”
    â€œOr handsome,” Momma said, smiling at me. “And I have the most beautiful children. How could I not, with a husband as handsome as your father?”
    Cathy was beaming. Her mood quickly changed. She complains