Firefly

by Linda Hilton

  “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.”

&n
bsp; 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.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Mama. You had nothing to do with it. First it was your arm and then it was Willy’s cut, and you couldn’t have caused that.”

  “No, I didn’t, but who told you to pull that poor man onto the porch and fix him some breakfast? And who kept sending you to find him for my medicine? Who begged Wilhelm to let you go work for him? Who invited the doctor for lunch?”

  Katharine paused, as though to let these thoughts sink in and stir other memories of other instances, but when she began to continue, the sound of Wilhelm’s heavy clomping tread on the stairs kept her silent. Julie held her breath, and her astonishment.

  Wilhelm did not knock, but the slice of light under the door indicated he carried a lamp or lantern and had only one hand to slip the bolt. Two seconds, maybe three, were all Julie had. A gesture from her had Katharine scrambling to sprawl exhausted on the bed, while Julie returned to the window to stare stoically at the desert night.

  “She’s asleep,” she whispered to Wilhelm when the door opened. She did not turn to look at him.

  “Good. Let her sleep.” He muttered, “Clumsy woman,” as he backed out the door again and would have locked Julie in for the night if she hadn’t stopped him.

  “What about me, Papa?”

  “You?”

  “Yes. Where am I to sleep?”

  Now she turned, slowly pivoting on the balls of her feet until her eyes met the almost blinding light of the lamp. He held it off slightly to one side to avoid the worst of the glare himself, and in so doing gave Julie a clear view over his shoulder to the man behind him. Hans squinted against the flame, but nothing could hide the naked emotion that manifested in a flaring of broad nostrils and furtive lick of his lips.

  Wilhelm ground out a guttural order in German that sent Hans into another room.

  “You can sleep on the floor, like the bitch that you are,” Wilhelm then said coldly to Julie.

  She said nothing, displayed no reaction at all. When Hans returned and threw a heavy quilt at her, she did not bend to pick it up. She lifted her chin a trifle higher and turned back to the window.

  Let them leave, she prayed silently. And for once her prayer was answered. With a curse that needed no translation, Wilhelm slammed the door shut. He did not forget the bolt; Julie jumped when it slid home.

  Only when the two men’s voices settled in the parlor did Katharine move. She sat up and propped her back against the wall and Julie’s thin pillow.

  “That was clever, dear. I would never have thought about the sleeping arrangements. The quilt will be quieter and easier to handle than the mattress.”

  “Now what are you talking about?”

  “Why, getting out of this house, of course. You have to escape somehow, you know.”

  “I hadn’t really thought about it.”

  “Well, I have.” Katharine tossed the sheet back and as she swung her feet to the floor began to pull the bed clothes free. “You can’t just jump out the window, and you have nothing to anchor a rope to. But with a little luck, I ought to be able to hold these sheets long enough for you to reach the ground. I had thought to throw the mattress out first in case you fell, but—”

  “No, Mama,” Julie interrupted quietly. She faced her mother in the almost impenetrable darkness and put all her determination into her voice. “I’m not leaving this room.”

  “Good heavens, why not?”

  “Because I think it’s exactly what Papa wants.”

  *

  Having slept much of the afternoon, Morgan found himself wide awake long after Ted returned to his private quarters adjacent to the marshal’s office. He had wished his prisoner a good night and good luck, after once again expressing regrets over the situation. Morgan had shrugged and muttered some casual response, though he felt far from casual.

  Ted had left a lantern lit in the corridor separating the cells from the office, so Morgan had plenty of light for the reading he intended to do now that he was rested. Leo Wood’s books were stacked neatly under the bunk, but Del didn’t reach for them. He lay quietly, not terribly uncomfortable, with his fingers laced together behind his head while he contemplated the one question for which all the legal treatises in the world had no answer.

  Should he deny his love for Julie and hers for him by pleading innocent to the charge? To do so he would have to risk the shame and humiliation the whole town would heap on her if he admitted the truth, that she had come to him willingly. He could not do that to her, even though the only alternative was to admit his own guilt.

  Damn Hollstrom to hell! he thought viciously as he pulled off one boot and let it clunk to the floor. Why is he so willing to let Julie marry that bastard Wallenmund and even more willing to brand me a rapist? What the hell makes Hans a suitable son-in-law but not me?

  Then, quietly aloud, he voiced another perplexing but strangely significant query.

  “And why is Hans still playing the role of fiancé if he considers Julie the ‘damaged goods’ her father called her?”

  Think, think, think! he ordered himself. There’s got to be an answer here somewhere!

  He kicked off the other boot and readjusted the lumpy pillow beneath his knuckles. And then he began talking.

  “Come on, Amy, help me out,” he pleaded, staring at the mottled ceiling and yet seeing only her face framed by the auburn curls. “Why would a man want his daughter to marry a dirt-poor farmer when she could have a relatively respectable and at least financially solvent physician? He’s got to know Julie would tell him the truth about us, so how can he expect Hans to accept her? And why would Hans be willing to go ahead with it? None of it makes sense at all.”

  He could hear the noise from the Castle and ruefully supposed he was once again the object of speculative conversation. Odd, wasn’t it? that since the day Julie Hollstrom came to get him to sew her brother’s forehead, he not only hadn’t been in the saloon but hadn’t even thought much about it. And there was still that bottle of scotch in the pantry, which he had uncorked that morning Julie found him on the roof. He had never gone near it again. He didn’t miss it at all.

  Even tonight, alone in this bare little cell, securely locked away from any possible chance of being with Julie, he felt no craving for liquor. All he wanted was her.

  He rolled onto his side and reached under the bunk for one of Leo’s books. Medical texts were dull, but they couldn’t hold a candle to these volumes of precedents and statutes and court cases. Maybe half an hour’s reading would put him to sleep. He could use it.

  He cocked one knee and propped the heavy tome on his thigh. Leo had stuck several bits of paper amongst the pages, but they marked nothing of interest to Morgan. As he flipped through the book, he shifted slightly onto his side, to put the light more directly on the page.

  A clatter on the adobe floor startled him, but he immediately recognized the sound. He set the book down and leaned over the edge of the bunk to search for the nickel or whatever coin it was that had fallen from his pocket.

  He couldn’t see it at first, in the shadow under the narrow bed, and almost gave up. A nickel or even a half dollar wasn’t worth hanging upside down for. But as though the rush of blood to his head had increased his powers of reasoning, he suddenly had the key to the whole puzzle. In retrospect, he wondered why he hadn’t seen it sooner; it was so absurdly simple.

  Some men would do anything for money.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  The spacious, oak-paneled ballroom of the Olympia House had never overflowed with people the way it did the morning of the second day of August. Some grumbled that the Castle had always had plenty of room for trials before, but others reminded them that Judge Booth was a noted temperance man
who refused to hold court in a saloon. This sat quite well with the die-hard drinkers, who didn’t have to give up their liquor while the trial went on. The judge had no jurisdiction over the consumption of alcohol outside his courtroom.

  His Honor wasted little time selecting a jury; the twelve good men and true were seated before nine-thirty. Then Ted Phillips brought Morgan over from the jail and read the charges.

  Or came close to it.

  “Yer Honor, Mr. Wilhelm Hollstrom charges that Mr. Morgan did seduce his daughter and—”

  “Whose daughter, Mr. Phillips?” the judge asked. “Mr. Hollstrom’s or Mr. Morgan’s?”

  “Oh, Mr. Hollstrom’s, sir. Miss Julie. She works for Del. Mr. Morgan, that is. Er, Dr. Morgan. Yer Honor.”

  “Proceed, Mr. Phillips.”

  Del sat quietly, not listening to Ted’s confused rendition. Instead, he scanned the crowd for some sight of Julie. Her father, the bastard, was there, of course, and the sadistic Wallenmund, right in the front row. But there was no sign of Julie, her mother, or Willy.

  He turned his attention then to the jury, the twelve men seated on painted gilt chairs in a makeshift jury box to the judge’s left, at the front of the ballroom. Six of them, including Ard Hammond, the foreman, were friends or neighbors or at least acquaintances from Morgan’s early days in Plato. The other six were newcomers to town, men who had known him mostly as a drunken bum and who probably still weren’t sure of his reputation. Something in the way Ard Hammond lounged on his chair assured Del he could count on at least one vote of not guilty, regardless what evidence was presented, but he warned himself not to count on eleven others as loyal as the mortician.

  “I said, Mr. Morgan, how do you plead?”

  The judge’s voice, as stern as his white-bearded visage, cut into Morgan’s thoughts.

  “Not guilty, Your Honor.”

  “Very well. Mr. Hollstrom, you may present your case.”

  “No, wait,” Morgan interrupted, getting to his feet. He wished he had listened to Ted’s advice to have Winnie bring him some decent clothes, but Morgan had been more concerned with an early morning conference with Simon McCrory. “I have a request to make, Your Honor.”