VAL SINESTRA
BOOK I
1
ABOUT twenty-five years ago, Pedro Gonzola bought that handsome brown stone residence at the corner of Twelfth Street and Fifth Avenue, and presented it to his bride on their wedding day. As the name implied, they were of Spanish origin, and known as devout Catholics, supporting the Church spiritually and materially.
Shortly before Julie was born, her father died suddenly, stricken down with heart failure. The young widow was stunned by the loss of her handsome adoring husband; her uncontrollable grief nearly cost her the life of her coming child, who suffered from her mother’s anguish—at least that’s what the good Dr. McClaren said.
After her great misfortune Mrs. Gonzola gave up the world and devoted herself to her religion and the care of her little daughter. Julie was sent to the Convent of the Sacred Heart in Seventeenth Street. The Sisters educated her under the personal supervision of her mother; their reports were satisfactory; the child was docile and receptive, but inclined to emotional exaggeration; she would remain in the chapel long after the other children had left, and once they found her prostrate before the Virgin in a state of ecstatic self-oblivion, which ended in a fit of hysteria. There was no cause for worry, as otherwise she was “full of life” and a general favorite. Mrs. Gonzola tried conscientiously to impress her daughter with the dignity of her wealth, social position, and family distinction; but as the girl grew into a woman, there was an ever-present irritating sense of failure.
Julie Gonzola at sixteen, with her brilliant exotic beauty, was a mystery to her friends, her mother, herself. She was acutely conscious of strange emotions, which she instinctively concealed; hers was a nature of unexpected impulses, tragic possibilities, baffling secrets. She came of an old stock on her father’s side, and on her mother’s she could look down a long corridor, where she saw shadowy forms, which frightened her. She was different from her girl friend, who was care-free, bubbling, sparkling, dashing along like a brook which overflows its bounds out of sheer rapture.
Maud Ailsworth lived down the street. There were no complications in her life. She ruled her mother, who was an invalid, and physically her inferior. Maud romped all day long in the street with the boys. Mrs. Gonzola never allowed Julie to do that; she was very indulgent in her way, denying the girl nothing—but freedom. Julie was outwardly submissive; she was sorry for her mother, who sat alone in her room crying, silent iron tears of impotent despair.