"Oh, mammie!" she cried back, running to Emily, sitting down close to her. "Mammie, don't cry! Don't think I care! I'd a million times rather have him for my father! I never loved you, really, before! I didn't pry into it. Honestly, mammie, it just came to me, like the morning; like light flashing into me, mammie!"
Emily had drawn away from her and covered her face with her hands. Martha thought she was crying. She besought her tenderly:
"Mammie, don't you mind my understanding it. Oh, if you knew how I felt about it! When I think of you living here all these years! I started to come home to you the minute I realized it. It came to me like a flash in front of Woolworth's in State Street, there. I was walking along, blue enough to die; I just wanted to die, I was so sore. And I saw that front and I remembered going into Woolworth's here, between you and Uncle Jim. I don't mind calling him that; it's a dear name for him. I remembered all of a sudden just how you looked at each other. Mammie, it just stunned me when I understood. I hadn't gone a block before I saw it all. I don't know why I didn't always understand it. Because he always was just naturally my father, wasn't he? Nobody ever had to teach me to love HIM! Dad never felt that way about me, naturally. It wasn't his fault he never had any interest in me. I knew why you stood Bronson, then! I remembered how you looked after the funeral! I was so excited I just couldn't stand up. I sat down on a bench in the public library lobby, and just sat there! Oh, I never appreciated you till now, mammie! I'm going to take care of you now. When I think of you living year in and year out in this house with dad—I'll call him that! I don't care about names! The way you've put it across right here, in this dirty gossipy little town, and nobody DARED to suspect you of anything! Not ANYTHING! Why do you look at me that way? You intended to tell me some time, surely!"
Now for the first time in her life Emily had drawn away from her child in repulsion. She had started to speak; she had started to cry out her denial. But that young, eager, relit face was close to hers. No matter how illuminating the mistake was, the poor distorted child must know the truth. But as Emily opened her lips to speak, the poor distorted child went on; she had seized Emily's hand in both her own:
"Oh, now I know what they mean, being born again. I was just born again, mammie! I know now why you never scolded me—why you stood by me; you understood. You've been through it! And everybody loves you; they just bless you! You aren't afraid they'll find it out. You just go on! I'm going on, too! My God! how I'm going on! If you can put this across, so can I! You never were afraid of dad finding it out, even, were you?"
Emily Kenworthy murmured, "No." She meant to add, "There was never anything to find out, you bad, silly girl!" but she didn't.
She could find no excuse for her conduct, as she thought it over, that night. She had simply been hypnotized by the beauty of that child's eagerness. It had been such a long time since she had seen eagerness, hopefulness, twinkling out of that little sweet face of hers, that she hadn't had courage to darken it again. Martha had just sat there, caressing her, babbling out her enjoyment of her mother's infamy, until Greta's older sister had come in. Emily had made her entrance an excuse for getting away to her room. And there she had sat dazedly, hurt, ashamed of her daughter, more ashamed of herself. How could I have hesitated a minute! I ought to have corrected her the minute she dared to suggest that to me! But what difference does it make? It's good enough for Bob! He never appreciated her! What do I care what she thinks, if it does her any good? I'm not high and holy any longer! I understand her! Hasn't she any sense of honor at all, that she's so pleased? Why should I be so shocked? Didn't I plan often enough to leave Bob and go to Jim? She only accused me of what I often wanted to do! I gave that up, and this is what I get for it! She wishes she was Jim's. She thinks I went on living with Bob! "My God!" cried Emily. "But she can't help it; she has to suspect somebody. It's her luck, after what she's done. Why should I feel so sick about this?"
And even while she sat there feeling sick at heart, Martha's voice came dancing up the stairs.
"Mammie, what are you doing? Can't you come down a minute?"
And Emily had gone down, hardening her heart. "I'm never going to tell her the truth," she was vowing. "Let her think that, if it does her any good!" And all that evening she had talked and listened to talking, like one in a dream. Whatever she said, it was of Martha's base accusation that she was conscious. "Surely," she was thinking, "if I gave Jim up once for this child, I can give up Bob and my scruples, just in her mind, for a little while." She was so preoccupied with her thoughts that she scarcely spoke during supper. Bob noticed her quietness. She had been gay at dinner. He was the more affable to Martha.