Did we look frightened? Scared? She paused as her face flushed deeply red, and her eyes moved around the lovely room that set off her beauty so well. Her delicate brows screwed into an anxious frown. "Though your father would chastise me a lit- tle, still he wanted them, too. He indulged me, because he loved me, and I believe I convinced him finally that luxuries were absolute necessities, and he gave in, for we had a way, the two of us, of indulging our desires too much. It was just another of the things we had in common"
Her expression collapsed into one of forlorn reminiscence before she continued on in her stranger's voice. "Now all our beautiful things will be taken away. The legal term is repossession. That's what they do when you don't have enough money to finish paying for what you've bought. Take that sofa, for example. Three years ago it cost eight hundred dollars. And we've paid all but one hundred, but still they're going to take it. We'll lose all that we've paid on everything, and that's still legal. Not only will we lose this furniture and the house, but also the cars--in fact, everything but our clothes and your toys. They're going to allow me to keep my wedding band, and I've hidden away my engagement diamond--so please don't mention I ever had an engagement ring to anyone who might come to check."
Who "they" were, not one of us asked. It didn't occur to me to ask. Not then. And later it just didn't seem to matter.
Christopher's eyes met mine. I floundered in the desire to understand, and struggled not to drown in the understanding. Already I was sinking, drowning in the adult world of death and debts. My brother reached out and took my hand, then squeezed my fingers in a gesture of unusual brotherly reassurance.
Was I a windowpane, so easy to read, that even he, my arch- tormentor, would seek to comfort me? I tried to smile, to prove to him how adult I was, and in this way gloss over that trembling and weak thing I was cringing into because "they" were going to take everything. I didn't want any other little girl living in my pretty peppermint pink room, sleeping in my bed, playing with the things I cherished--my miniature dolls in their shadowbox frames, and my sterlingsilver music box with the pink ballerina--would they take those, too?
Momma watched the exchange between my brother and me very closely. She spoke again with a bit of her former sweet self showing. "Don't look so heartbroken. It's not really as bad as I've made it seem. You must forgive me if I was thoughtless and forgot how young you still are. I've told you the bad news first, and saved the best for the last. Now hold your breath! You are not going to believe what I have to tell you--for my parents are rich! Not middle-class rich, or upper-class rich, but very, very rich! Filthy, unbelievably, sinfully rich! They live in a fine big house in Virginia--such a house as you've never seen before. I know, I was born there, and grew up there, and when you see that house, this one will seem like a shack in comparison. And didn't I say we are going to live with them--my mother, and my father?"
She offered this straw of cheer with a weak and nervously fluttering smile that did not succeed in releasing me from doubts which her demeanor and her information had pitched me into. I didn't like the way her eyes skipped guiltily away when I tried to catch them. I thought she was hiding something
But she was my mother.
And Daddy was gone.
I picked up Carrie and sat her on my lap, pressing her small, warm body close against mine I smoothed back the damp golden curls that fell over her rounded forehead. Her eyelids drooped, and her full rosebud lips pouted. I glanced at Cory, crouching against Christopher. "The twins are tired, Momma. They need their dinner."
"Time enough for dinner later," she snapped impatiently. "We have plans to make, and clothes to pack, for tonight we have to catch a train. The twins can eat while we pack. Everything you four wear must be crowded into only two suit
cases. I want you to take only your favorite clothes and the small toys you cannot bear to leave. Only one game. I'll buy you many games after you are there. Cathy, you select what clothes and toys you think the twins like best-- but only a few. We can't take along more than four suitcases, and I need two for my own things."
Oh, golly-lolly! This was real! We had to leave, abandon everything! I had to crowd everything into two suitcases my brothers and sister would share as well. My Raggedy Ann doll alone would half fill one suitcase! Yet how could I leave her, my most beloved doll, the one Daddy gave me when I was only three? I sobbed.
So, we sat with our shocked faces staring at Momma. We made her terribly uneasy, for she jumped up and began to pace the room.
"As I said before, my parents are extremely wealthy." She shot Christopher and me an appraising glance, then quickly turned to hide her face.
"Momma," said Christopher, "is something wrong?"
I marveled that he could ask such a thing, when it was only too obvious, everything was wrong.
She paced, her long shapely legs appearing through the front opening of her filmy black negligee. Even in her grief, wearing black, she was beautiful-- shadowed, troubled eyes and all. She was so lovely, and I loved her,--oh, how I loved her then!
How we all loved her then.
Directly in front of the sofa, our mother spun around and the black chiffon of her negligee flared like a dancer's skirt, reveal ing her beautiful legs from feet to hips.
"Darlings," she began, "what could possibly be wrong about living in such a fine home as my parents own? I was born there; I grew up there, except for those years when I was sent away to school. It's a huge, beautiful house, and they keep adding new rooms to it, though Lord knows they have enough rooms already."
She smiled, but something about her smile seemed false. "There is, however, one small thing I have to tell you before you meet my father--your
grandfather." Here again she faltered, and again smiled that queer, shadowy smile. "Years ago, when I was eighteen, I did something serious, of which your grandfather disapproved, and my mother wasn't approving, either, but she wouldn't leave me anything, anyway, so she doesn't count. But, because of what I did, my father had me written out of his will, and so now I am disinherited. Your father used to gallantly call this 'fallen from grace.' Your father always made the best of everything, and he said it didn't matter."
Fallen from grace? Whatever did that mean? I couldn't imagine my mother doing anything so bad that her own father would turn against her and take away what she should have.
"Yes, Momma, I know exactly what you mean," Christopher piped up. "You did something of which your father disapproved, and so, even though you were included in his will, he had his lawyer write you out instead of thinking twice, and now you won't inherit any of his worldly goods when he passes on to the great beyond." He grinned, pleased with himself for knowing more than me. He always had the answers to everything. He had his nose in a book whenever he was in the house. Outside, under the sky, he was just as wild, just as mean as any other kid on the block. But indoors, away from the television, my older brother was a bookworm!
Naturally, he was right.
"Yes, Christopher. None of your grandfather's wealth will come to me when he dies, or through me, to you. That's why I had to keep writing so many letters home when my mother didn't respond." Again she smiled, this time with bitter irony.
"But, since I am the sole heir left, I am hopeful of winning back his approval. You see, once I had two older brothers, but both have died in accidents, and now I am the only one left to inherit." Her restless pacing stopped. Her hand rose to cover her mouth; she shook her head, then said in a new parrot-like voice, "I guess I'd better tell you something else. Your real surname is not Dollanganger; it is Foxworth. And Foxworth is a very important name in Virginia."
"Momma" I exclaimed in shock. "Is it legal to change your name, and put that fake name on our birth certificates?"
Her voice became impatient. "For heaven's sake, Cathy, names can be changed legally. And the name Dollanganger does belong to us, more or less. Your father borrowed that name from way back in his ancestry. He thought it an amusing name, a joke, and it served its purpose well enough."