Firefly (52 page)

"I don't consider making me wait on you hand and foot for the past nine years 'helping' me at all." She refused to disguise her anger.  "You used me like a slave, Mama."

"Oh, dear."

Katharine stumbled backwards to the bed and sat down again heavily.  She said nothing for a few seconds and just stared at the rather nasty laceration on the ball of her left thumb.  It continued to bleed.

Julie, still cautious, walked to the dresser and took out a handkerchief.

"Here, Mama, use this.  You're going to ruin your dress."

Like an automaton, Katharine wound the corner of the linen square around her injury and tucked the leftover fabric into her hand.  But she seemed to have no real interest in the bandaging and frequently glanced up from it to watch as Julie returned to her post at the window.

"Do you really think I care about a stupid dress at a time like this?"

And there were tears in Katharine's eyes when she whispered that question.  For some reason, those tears touched Julie.  Over the years Katharine had often turned to weepy histrionics to get her way, but this time Julie suspected there was a difference.  At least there were no histrionics.

"Mama, I don't know what to think!" she whispered exasperatedly.  "Papa has Del in jail for something he didn't do, I'm locked in my room with no clothes, Hans is shouting in the parlor, and you come up here grinning like a canary-eating cat because you cut your thumb on a dull knife!  And then you try to tell me you only want to help.  To tell the truth, Mama, I think you're a little insane."

With a wry smile, Katharine answered, "Maybe I am.  Twenty-seven years with Wilhelm Hollstrom would be enough to drive anyone insane."  Then she looked up at Julie and the smile faded.  "And if I thought it was all a mistake, I know I would go insane.  Oh, Julie, did I do wrong?  I only wanted to make sure you'd be happy, and not make the same mistake I did."

Something cold ran down Julie's spine.  Fascinated and terrified at the same time, she leaned against the windowsill and listened, and she could not believe her mother lied.

"I married Wilhelm because I had to, not because I wanted to.  I was fifteen years old, and the only way I knew to earn a living was on a music hall stage.  My father--your grandfather--was a fairly well known actor, but like most men in that profession, he was inclined to drink and chase women and indulge in every bad habit known to man.  My mother, unfortunately, loved him dearly and stayed with him, dragging me with her.  You have no idea what it's like worrying where your next meal will come from, or whether you'll have a bed to sleep in.  Not just once in a while but every day, every single day, every single night.  One time, in Pennsylvania, we slept in a train station for three nights, and Papa begged from the passengers passing through."

"What does this have to do with Del and me?" Julie demanded.  "You're the one who says we don't have enough time and here you are wasting it with all this family history."

But it was a family history Julie had never heard, and in spite of all her other fears and worries, she wanted to know more.

"Because I want you to understand," Katharine said.  "After fifteen years, I decided I had had enough.  There was a young man in New York, a lawyer's son, who took a fancy to me.  I had grown up around adults, not children, so I was able to pass for twenty when I was barely twelve.  David was five years older than I and yet he seemed so much younger." She sighed with memories but quickly cleared her thoughts.  Julie was right; there was no time to waste.

"I don't know why David stopped seeing me.  Perhaps his parents found out he had been spending time with an actress, which was tantamount to falling in love with a woman of the streets.  But one night when I was supposed to meet him, he didn't come.  I waited and waited, and came back the next night, but I never saw David again.  Some years later, when you were still a child, I read in the newspaper that he had been killed during the war."

"Oh, Mama, I'm so sorry.  Why didn't you ever tell me?"

"Maybe I should have, a long time ago, because--well, never mind the becauses now.  David Anderson was killed and there was no bringing him back.  I was married to Wilhelm by then anyway and had you, so there was no sense in my mourning him.  Wilhelm had given me the security that I wanted, and I had decided that that was far more desirable than the effervescent wine of romance.  I was never hungry, never cold, never alone, and I had a father for my baby.  There was nothing more I could ask for then."

It took a moment for Katharine's statement to make full sense to Julie.  She hesitated to ask the question, but then realized she had to have confirmation of such a suspicion.

"Are you saying I'm not really Papa's daughter?" She felt somehow uncomfortable calling him by the familiar if not affectionate term but could think of nothing else to use.  "Does he know?"

And she wasn't even terribly shocked.

Katharine shrugged.  "I'm sure he suspects.  You see, I didn't know I was with child when I met and married him.  He had just arrived from Berlin and had been offered a position with a bank in New York.  They would only hire him on the condition that he had a wife.  I was desperate to avoid going back on stage after...after David, so I married him.  Some weeks later, I discovered I was expecting you.  I wasn't positive that David was your father until you were born too early to have been Wilhelm's.  Fortunately, he had gone to Philadelphia on business for several weeks, so when he came home I just told him you were six weeks younger than you really were."

"My birthday wasn't yesterday?"

"No, it isn't.  You were born on the first day of summer, June twenty-first."

It was not easy to comprehend all this startling information.  Julie found herself struggling more to accept her mother's love than to believe any of the other things she had been told.  She had resented Wilhelm for so long that she had never realized how much she hated him.  She accepted his treatment of her because she had believed herself responsible.  Now she knew the truth: he would have hated her no matter what she did.

Julie digested all these revelations for a moment, then realized the room had grown dark.  She had a lamp but no matches.  Not that the lack of light mattered particularly, but she became more aware of the passage of time.  Wilhelm might return at any moment.

"Mama, hurry up.  What does this have to do with the way you've treated me all these years?"

"I'll try to hurry, dear, but it isn't easy condensing so much into a few minutes, I hope you know." She took a deep breath and plunged into the tale again.  "I didn't want you to make the same mistake, choosing security over love.  Within a few years of our marriage, I knew I was never going to be happy with Wilhelm.  And yet, I knew I could never go back to what I had had.  So I decided, I think right around the time I learned of David's death, that I would make sure you knew enough not to settle for anything less than the best.  I wanted you educated and accomplished to the best of my ability, no matter what Wilhelm said.  And when he got it into his head that he didn't want you consorting with the common yokels in that little Indiana village, I didn't disagree.  I wanted something better than that for you, too.  I'm still not sure why he was against it, but I never argued with him."

"Is that why you didn't try to stop him when he went after Ted?"

"Didn't try?  Oh, Julie, I almost killed myself trying to stop him!"

Julie had to put her finger to her lips and shush her mother because Katharine's voice had risen almost to hysteria.

"I followed him that night.  I tried to walk into town to get a horse and ride after him, but when he knocked me to the ground in the yard, he started my labor.  I had gone through so much false labor with you that I thought it was the same thing.  I expected it to stop soon so I could go on, but it didn't.  I practically had to crawl back to the house, and I thought that damned son of his would be born in the road for sure.  I didn't care.  I fully intended to play the role of an invalid after the baby was born anyway, so this only added evidence.  Unfortunately, it also prevented my saving that poor young man's life."

At that, Julie's knees turned to water.  Shaking uncontrollably, she slid to the floor, her back still against the wall for support.  She blinked, and tears rolled down her cheeks.

"When Wilhelm brought you home and told me what he had done, I threatened to kill him, or worse, kill Willy.  I was, however, in no condition to do harm to either of them, and by the time I recovered, I also realized that Willy hadn't done anything.  It wasn't his fault he was born.  And then Wilhelm reminded me that if I killed him I'd end up dead myself, hanged just the way Ted was, and that would leave Wilhelm to raise you alone, with a memory of me as a murderer.  That was something I couldn't face."

"So you put up with him rather than leave me alone." It all seemed quite logical now, though still a rather difficult concept to become accustomed to.

"What else could I do? You were my daughter and I loved you."

"But why make me do all the work?  And why did you force me to wear those ridiculous spectacles?  And old clothes?  And all the other things?"

"Because I didn't want you to attract the wrong man.  When a man sees a beautiful woman, he ignores everything else about her.  He doesn't care if she is as stupid as a mushroom or as cruel as a badger, so long as she is pretty.  And I wanted you to have all the skills a woman needs whether you ever had to use them or not.  If you had run off and married Ted, you'd have known nothing about being his wife, and I didn't want you to end up like that."

"That still doesn't explain why Willy had everything handed to him on a silver platter and I had to make do with almost nothing."

"I couldn't do anything about your father--I mean, Wilhelm's attitude toward his son.  And yes, Willy is his son.  There simply wasn't the money for me to equalize the material considerations.  I told myself that it was all to the good.  If you looked too prosperous, you would attract a man more interested in your money than your self.  Also, you would learn to appreciate what possessions you had and not squander them.  No man worth his money wants it squandered by a spendthrift wife."

Julie couldn't help but think of the way Del had tried to give her money, and her extreme frugality almost made her laugh.  Her mother had taught her well.

And Julie finally began to understand, as she let her mind concentrate, more of the reasons behind Katharine's actions.

She struggled to her feet and walked towards her mother, hands outstretched.  Together, hands clasped tightly, they sat beside each other on the bed.

"There were times, Julie, when I wanted to tell you everything.  It was so hard to keep it all a secret."

"But you thought that if I knew, I wouldn't be able to play the part convincingly enough.  Oh, Mama, why didn't you give me the chance?  At least you could have let me try!"

"No, no, I couldn't.  I couldn't risk it.  If you had known I wasn't sick, you'd have run off with the first man who came your way.  The cavalry officer in Kansas City, for instance.  Even if he hadn't been married, he wasn't the right man.  He wasn't good enough for you."

"Couldn't you have let me choose for myself?" Julie asked, growing angry again.  "Is that what you've done again, removed another undesirable suitor?  Good God, Mama, what do you want?  Del's a good man.  He's not wealthy, but he can give me a nice home and take care of my wants.  He's respected in this town and so am I.  Or at least we were until you started your infernal meddling."

Katharine shook a stern finger at Julie and just barely remembered to keep her voice down.

"My infernal meddling, if you'll remember, is what got the two of you together in the first place.  And even when I wasn't meddling, if it hadn't been for my broken arm, you would never have met him."