Galveston

  “No, you’re making a mistake. I can’t talk here because Mother’s just down the hall. Trust me, will you, wait for me at the station? I’ll take the next train down.”

  “But, Dad, I—”

  “Trust me?”

  “All right. But you won’t try to keep me from going, will you?”

  “Not if you still want to after we talk. Willa, are you crying?”

  “No, Dad, almost, but not quite. It’s been quite a week.”

  “I can imagine. Sit tight. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  “Tell Mother I’m all right, won’t you?”

  “Yes, baby. She’ll be so thankful. We’ve both been so worried …”

  As I hung up the phone I thought of Dad as he must have been when the phone rang, sitting in his chair by the fire, puffing on a cigar and reading his Wall Street Journal. He’d be telling Mother now, having cast aside his paper and squashed his cigar in the ashtray by the phone. He would be having a hard time convincing her not to come along to Galveston with him, but I had a feeling he would succeed.

  I was anxious to be bound for Ohio, and couldn’t imagine what he had to tell me that couldn’t wait, but then I owed him at least the courtesy of waiting for him to come and have his say. There was a train leaving Houston at eight o’clock, and if he could make that one, he’d be here in a little better than an hour and a half. In the meantime I’d sit down on one of the hard benches, in plain view of the door leading in from the tracks, and wait.…

  “Willa, wake up!”

  It was a voice, coming from somewhere far away, bothering me. I didn’t want to be bothered, the sleep was so welcome, the dream of traveling through a beautiful spring countryside laden with blooming apple trees, so real …

  “Willa, it’s me, wake up.”

  I opened my eyes. Dad stood above in his hat and coat, and muffler, and for a moment I was a little girl again, who’d fallen asleep on the sofa, and he was waking me to send me up to bed.

  “I’m so glad to see you, so glad you’re all right,” he said, and as he put his big arms around me I thought once more of my fears he had kept my real mother imprisoned somewhere and I hugged him hard, wishing I could make up for having been so anxious to believe him wicked.

  “But you found my note, didn’t you? And you guessed I’d uncovered my mother’s carpetbag?”

  “Yes. I’ll get a taxi and we’ll go somewhere out of this madhouse and have a talk. Jesus, I hate train stations, have seen my share of them, I’ll tell you.”

  “I know a good place where we can go to talk.…”

  The Galvez dining room under soft lights and violin music is even more welcoming than when sunlight glances off the crystal on the tables set for lunch. When we were seated I was suddenly hungry again, and ordered another tomato stuffed with crabmeat. I looked around, but saw no sign of my waiter friend from a few days ago.

  Dad got to the point quickly. “I guess you know everything.”

  “Everything. Even your friendship with the Weavers in Cleveland. I’ve already spoken with Nick, earlier today.”

  “Okay, but one other thing. Your mother isn’t buried in Cleveland any more.”

  Chapter 15

  I stared across at him. “But how can that be? Nick said—”

  “Edwynna and I met your mother, Serena, during her confinement at the Weavers. They didn’t seem to want to have much to do with her; neither did your mother, really, but I liked to visit with her and got to know her fairly well.

  “I don’t know exactly how to describe her to you, but she was the kind of person you’d never forget: fragile little thing, tall as she was; pale and thin … yet there was a spirit behind her eyes that I adored, a determination never to give up. You know, it’s hard to realize now, but I wasn’t much older than she was at the time.

  “Oh well, don’t know why I keep beating around the bush. I’m afraid I fell in love with her a little. Anyone would have, if they’d known her.”

  “But you and Mother—”

  He cleared his throat. “Edwynna was carrying Sarah at the time. Nothing happened between me and Serena, of course, God forbid. She was just so sweet, so good to talk to, so much warmer than—”

  “Than Mother?”

  “Your mother and I, well, maybe you’ve noticed a certain lack of closeness between us. It isn’t that I don’t love her—I do, very much—but she’s a little aloof. Came from a strict background, ya know, and I think she’s always been afraid to break out, really be herself. Don’t know why she ever married a man like me—pushy, impatient. I didn’t have a penny when we married, and not for a long time after …”

  “And I suspect she blamed you for her accident, didn’t she?”

  He raised an eyebrow. “How did you know about that? You didn’t remember—”

  “Not until I went into the attic to pick up my honeymoon luggage and found the bag. That was when it all came back.”

  “I see. Well, I was going to explain all that to you tonight—in fact I planned to tell you all about it during that lunch date we were supposed to have.”

  “Tell me now.”

  “Yes … all right. It happened when you were about four years old—almost five. When I got home from work the ambulance was outside and they were carrying Edwynna down the walk on a stretcher.

  “Dotty told me what had happened. All Edwynna said was, ‘I don’t ever want to see that carpetbag again. Get it out of my house.’ And then I asked where you were and Dotty told me. ‘You’d better let Dotty go with me to the hospital and you look after Willa. She’s pretty frightened,’ Edwynna said.”

  “She thought of me then?”

  “Yes, Willa, she did. By the time I got up to your room, you’d passed out at the door. I carried you to bed and sat with you until you woke up. I couldn’t tell by what you said how much it had frightened you. All you told me was, ‘I fell down on Mommy, didn’t I? Is she all right?’ I assured you she was, although at that point I wasn’t certain. Then you wanted to know why Dotty Baxter locked you in your room, and you told me how much you hated her. I tried to explain why, that she was only trying to help. That seemed to satisfy you, although you seemed a little listless. Pretty soon you fell asleep. I got Martha Stone to come over and stay with you, and I went on to the hospital to look after Edwynna.

  “I thought you were all right. Then that night, you woke me up screaming. It was your right hand—the edge of it and your little finger were all swollen and bruised. First, I assumed you’d hurt it in the fall, then I realized you’d probably done it banging on the door. The paint at the bottom of the door was all chipped from being kicked on.”

  I stared across at him for a moment, thinking again of the day I got sick in the undercroft in the house on Heights Boulevard, and later how my hand had ached, and how it had puzzled me.

  “What is it, Willa?” said Dad.

  “Nothing. Go on.”

  “There isn’t much more. Next day I took you to the doctor to have the hand looked at, but there wasn’t anything broken, and eventually it healed up fine and you forgot all about the whole thing. You must have blocked it out of your mind. I was so thankful for that. It must have been a horrible experience.”

  “Lord, if you’d only told me everything instead of keeping so many secrets!”

  “Edwynna wouldn’t let me. She was so damned afraid you’d know something about your mother. She even pulled a trick on me—told you about your being adopted and all one day when I was at work—just so I wouldn’t be tempted to tell you all about your real mother.”

  “And maybe cause me to turn out just like her—an ‘easy’ woman?”

  “I don’t know … maybe,” he said, looking down.

  “Then it was you, wasn’t it, who saved the carpetbag in the first place, without her knowing?”

  “Yes. See, when we first got you, from the home in Galveston, your things were in the carpetbag along with your mother’s shoes and gown. Edwynna wanted to get rid of t
he bag even then, but I told her that someday, when you were grown, it might do no harm for you to have something that belonged to your real mother.”

  “Just the gown and shoes, huh?”

  “Yeah, that was all except for something else which I’ll get to in a minute.”

  I assumed he referred to the picture, the programs, the paper, but said nothing about them because he seemed to be enjoying telling his story. “But what about after the accident—I mean, didn’t she insist you get rid of the bag then?”

  “Yeah. But I didn’t. I told her I got rid of it, and hid it instead.”

  “I see. Tell me more, then, about what you knew of my real mother.”

  “I think I could put it best in a conversation we once had. I was rememberin’ it again on the trip down. We’d gone over to the Weavers for supper one night, and Nick’s father, Hal, had gone to run an errand or something. Your mother was helping Clara, his mother, in the kitchen. I went up to say hello to Serena. I always did that unless she happened to be downstairs, and she rarely was, because the Weavers didn’t hold with her being there.

  “I found her sitting by the open window, looking out at what was left of the sunshine. She was great big—her time would come any day.

  “‘Sit down there on the edge of the bed, Mr. Frazier,’ she said. She always called us Mr. and Mrs. Frazier, you understand, very proper. I remember thinking as we talked that she had a feeling she wasn’t going to live through the childbirth. Don’t know why I felt it, I just did.

  “‘Mrs. Frazier is feeling well?’ she asked.

  “‘Yes, Edwynna’s fine. I don’t think she has long to go now.’

  “‘Nor do I,’ she said, then sat looking out the window for a little longer, like she was lost in her thoughts.

  “‘Your child will have a good life, every chance of growing up happily,’ she said finally. ‘I wish I could be sure of the same for mine.’

  “‘But your child will, too. Won’t you and Nick marry after the baby comes? I figured you’d eventually—’

  “‘Give in? No, I will never marry Nick, though I haven’t told him in so many words yet. And I couldn’t go back to Galveston, break my father’s heart. Of course, had Roman lived, things would be very different …’

  “She didn’t know, you see, that the Garrets were both dead, nor did we, till we began the process of adoption later.

  “‘Pardon me, Mr. Frazier. I don’t mean to sound so maudlin today,’ she said. ‘I only got to thinking about the uncertainty of the future, and I—’

  “‘Not at all,’ I told her. I felt real sorry for her, cause there wasn’t anything for her to do if she wouldn’t marry Nick. She was trapped in a deplorable situation.

  “‘Look, is there anyone I could contact for you, anyone you think might be of help? Anything I can do?’

  “‘You’re very kind, but no. I have a girl friend in Galveston who might be able to come up with some solution. Beyond her, though, there isn’t anyone except a young boy I know, and he’ll be having problems enough of his own just now.

  “‘Perhaps you might do one thing for me, though. In the top drawer there, in the bureau, is a diary. Would you get it out, please?’

  “Gee, it seemed almost like I was invading her privacy or something. But I got it and took it over to her … only she wouldn’t take it from me.

  “‘Would you keep it, Mr. Frazier, and if anything should happen to me—no, I know it’s probably silly—but, just in case, would you see my daughter gets it? I haven’t written in it since the end of the summer last year, but I think there’s a word or two in it that may help her someday.

  “‘… Of course I guess it would mean a great deal more to her when she becomes a young woman.’

  “‘I understand,’ I told her.”

  “She wanted you to have me, didn’t she?”

  “I guess she did, though I didn’t grasp that part at the time. I saw the diary got into her carpetbag after it was all over and later, after we got you, I took it out and saved it for you. Edwynna never knew about it. I have it here in my coat. I meant to give it to you and tell you about the bag on your wedding day.”

  He pulled it out and handed it across the table. It wasn’t very large, just a small black book with brittle binding that I would open later, when I could do it alone.

  “Well, where was I? Oh yes, right after she gave it to me Edwynna called me to dinner from the foot of the stairs, so we didn’t have time to talk any further. As I left the room, though, Serena said over her shoulder, ‘There’s just one thing I want for my child, Mr. Frazier. I want her to be able to live her life as she sees fit, and to never be afraid of anything. I don’t want her to have to sneak behind everyone’s back for her happiness. If I can’t give her anything else, I want to be sure she has at least that—a chance. And I will, somehow. The baby is going to be a girl, you know.’

  “It was the last time I talked to her. Within a few days, she’d given birth to you and died. We went to a little graveside service for her with the Weavers.”

  “Was it you, by chance, who kept flowers on her grave?”

  “Yeah. Nick tell you about that? And I was the one who persuaded Edwynna to adopt you after we lost Sarah. In 1910 I went back to that cemetery in Ohio and had Serena’s body moved to the City Cemetery in Galveston. It seemed to me she ought to be there, instead of in Ohio, and it was ten years before I had the money to do it. It was an under-the-table deal, I’ll admit, and I never told anybody—certainly not Edwynna. It was just something I wanted to do for you and for her.”

  “So she’s been here all this time, practically under my nose? Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

  “I couldn’t risk Edwynna finding out. She wouldn’t have understood.”

  “Tell me, how did Mother feel about the idea of adopting me?”

  “Well, of course she was broken up pretty bad over losin’ Sarah. She didn’t cotton to the idea at first, but I persuaded her, and of course it didn’t take long after we got you before she felt just like you were really hers, until—”

  “Until I started being a troublemaker.”

  “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean she never loved you, even if you did cause her concern. She just has trouble showing her love.”

  “Didn’t she blame me, too, for the accident?”

  “Absolutely not. She was as glad as I was that you were young enough to forget it.”

  “You know, it’s funny, but I always wondered why you two adopted me. Mother didn’t seem to care about me, and you spent all your time working away from home.”

  “I didn’t work to get away from you, Willa. But a man has got to get ahead. You can understand that, surely. And I wanted you to have everything Serena couldn’t give you. If she could have known for sure that we’d eventually get you, she would have expected me to provide well for you.”

  “Yes, I think you’re right about that.”

  “Willa, what’s bothered me from the beginning of this thing is how you could take a gown and a pair of shoes and come up with this much information.”

  “I had a little more help than that,” I told him, smiling, “but it’s too late to go into it right now. Later I’ll tell you all about it, but it’s too long a story to begin when I’m this exhausted.”

  “Yeah, I bet you are. If it weren’t so late, I’d take you to the cemetery tonight, though. I know you’re anxious to see your mother’s grave.”

  “I’ll stay overnight if you’ll loan me some money, and go tomorrow. I want to visit her alone.”

  “Willa, I’m your father. You don’t have to borrow from me. Whatever I have is yours; you’re the major reason I worked as hard as I did for it.”

  “No, it isn’t fair. I’m on my own from now on.”

  “All right, if that’s the way you feel. But you will come back, then?”

  “Probably so. Dad, have you heard anything from Rodney?”

  “Not a word. But I just know if you wanted him back, he’d be
reasonable about it. He’s a fine boy.”

  “I don’t know. I have a fondness for him that I’ve never felt for anyone else, but the past few days have left my brain muddled about everything to do with the present. I’ve got to think. I thought once, earlier today, that I might go back, try to explain to him. Now—”

  “What?”

  “Well, if you want the truth, the idea of marriage kind of sickens me.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it involves so many lies. What came about for the past forty years was caused by a woman named Claire, who lied from the beginning about the real meaning of marriage, and that lie has done nothing but snowball all along, never getting straightened out. And now, I find that even marriage between you and Mother is something of a lie. Somewhere, the lying has to stop.”

  “Look. I won’t dispute that statement. But remember that turning from Rodney if you really do love him is just as much a lie as marrying for less than love. If you don’t make it up with him just because you want to make a point about marriage in general, you’ll only be cheating yourself.

  “Whatever you decide, be sure it really is an honest decision, either way.”

  “It’s what my mother wanted for me, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, it is, and what I want for you, too.”

  “Dad, thank you for what you did, for caring about Serena, my mother.”

  “I’m glad I did it, especially now. Maybe it’ll convince you once and for all that you were always loved, from the beginning.”

  I didn’t sleep a lot last night because I had some reading and a lot of thinking to do.

  My mother’s diary is the epistle of a quiet, reserved, and serious-minded young woman transformed almost overnight into a starry-eyed, hopeful girl in love with a tall, mysterious stranger.

  She is not terribly graphic in her diary as to the details of her love affair with Roman Cruz, and I had to read it several times to pick up the subtleties that related her true feelings for him.

  What came through to me finally was her ability to let herself trust him enough to love him completely, without timidity or shame for what they did together, and, in return, his ability to make her feel not like an instrument to satisfy his desires, but a person with whom to share something beautiful and satisfying to them both.