Kate kissed her. “What a dear you are, Mother.”
When she had closed the door behind her Kate stood for a moment in the hall. Her fingers caressed her little pointed chin. Her eyes were calm. Then she stretched her arms over her head and strained her body in a luxurious yawn. She ran her hands slowly down her sides from right under her breasts to her hips. Her mouth corners turned up a little, and she moved toward the kitchen.
2
The few regulars drifted in and out and two drummers walked down the Line to look them over, but not a single Woodman of the World showed up. The girls sat yawning in the parlor until two o’clock, waiting.
What kept the Woodmen away was a sad accident. Clarence Monteith had a heart attack right in the middle of the closing ritual and before supper. They laid him out on the carpet and dampened his forehead until the doctor came. Nobody felt like sitting down to the doughnut supper. After Dr. Wilde had arrived and looked Clarence over, the Woodmen made a stretcher by putting flagpoles through the sleeves of two overcoats. On the way home Clarence died, and they had to go for Dr. Wilde again. And by the time they had made plans for the funeral and written the piece for the Salinas Journal, nobody had any heart for a whorehouse.
The next day, when they found out what had happened, the girls all remembered what Ethel had said at ten minutes to two.
“My God!” Ethel had said. “I never heard it so quiet. No music, cat’s got Kate’s tongue. It’s like setting up with a corpse.”
Later Ethel was impressed with having said it—almost as if she knew.
Grace had said, “I wonder what cat’s got Kate’s tongue. Don’t you feel good? Kate—I said, don’t you feel good?”
Kate started. “Oh! I guess I was thinking of something.”
“Well, I’m not,” said Grace. “I’m sleepy. Why don’t we close up? Let’s ask Faye if we can’t lock up. There won’t even be a Chink in tonight. I’m going to ask Faye.”
Kate’s voice cut in on her. “Let Faye alone. She’s not well. We’ll close up at two.”
“That clock’s way wrong,” said Ethel. “What’s the matter with Faye?”
Kate said, “Maybe that’s what I was thinking about. Faye’s not well. I’m worried to death about her. She won’t show it if she can help it.”
“I thought she was all right,” Grace said.
Ethel hit the jackpot again. “Well, she don’t look good to me. She’s got a kind of flush. I noticed it.”
Kate spoke very softly. “Don’t you girls ever let her know I told you. She wouldn’t want you to worry. What a dear she is!”
“Best goddam house I ever hustled,” said Grace.
Alice said, “You better not let her hear you talk words like that.”
“Balls!” said Grace. “She knows all the words.”
“She don’t like to hear them—not from us.”
Kate said patiently, “I want to tell you what happened. I was having tea with her late this afternoon and she fainted dead away. I do wish she’d see a doctor.”
“I noticed she had a kind of bright flush,” Ethel repeated. “That clock’s way wrong but I forget which way.”
Kate said, “You girls go on to bed. I’ll lock up.”
When they were gone Kate went to her room and put on her pretty new print dress that made her look like a little girl. She brushed and braided her hair and let it hang behind in one thick pigtail tied with a little white bow. She patted her cheeks with Florida water. For a moment she hesitated, and then from the top bureau drawer she took a little gold watch that hung from a fleur-de-lis pin. She wrapped it in one of her fine lawn handkerchiefs and went out of the room.
The hall was very dark, but a rim of light showed under Faye’s door. Kate tapped softly.
Faye called, “Who is it?”
“It’s Kate.”
“Don’t you come in yet. You wait outside. I’ll tell you when.” Kate heard a rustling and a scratching in the room. Then Faye called, “All right. Come in.”
The room was decorated. Japanese lanterns with candles in them hung on bamboo sticks at the corners, and red crepe paper twisted in scallops from the center to the corners to give the effect of a tent. On the table, with candlesticks around it, was a big white cake and a box of chocolates, and beside these a basket with a magnum of champagne peeking out of crushed ice. Faye wore her best lace dress and her eyes were shiny with emotion.
“What in the world?” Kate cried. She closed the door. “Why, it looks like a party!”
“It is a party. It’s a party for my dear daughter.”
“It’s not my birthday.” Faye said, “In a way maybe it is.”
“I don’t know what you mean. But I brought you a present.” She laid the folded handkerchief in Faye’s lap. “Open it carefully,” she said.
Faye held the watch up. “Oh, my dear, my dear! You crazy child! No, I can’t take it.” She opened the face and then picked open the back with her fingernail. It was engraved.—”To C. with all my heart from A.”
“It was my mother’s watch,” Kate said softly. “I would like my new mother to have it.”
“My darling child! My darling child!”
“Mother would be glad.”
“But it’s my party. I have a present for my dear daughter—but I’ll have to do it in my own way. Now, Kate, you open the bottle of wine and pour two glasses while I cut the cake. I want it to be fancy.”
When everything was ready Faye took her seat behind the table. She raised her glass. “To my new daughter—may you have long life and happiness.” And when they had drunk Kate proposed, “To my mother.” Faye said, “You’ll make me cry—don’t make me cry. Over on the bureau, dear. Bring the little mahogany box. There that’s the one. Now put it on the table here and open it.”
In the polished box lay a rolled white paper tied with a red ribbon. “What in the world is it?” Kate asked. “It’s my gift to you. Open it.”
Kate very carefully untied the red ribbon and unrolled the tube. It was written elegantly with shaded letters, and it was well and carefully drawn and witnessed by the cook.
“All my worldly goods without exception to Kate Albey because I regard her as my daughter.”
It was simple, direct, and legally irreproachable. Kate read it three times, looked back at the date, studied the cook’s signature. Faye watched her, and her lips were parted in expectation. When Kate’s lips moved, reading, Faye’s lips moved.
Kate rolled the paper and tied the ribbon around it and put it in the box and closed the lid. She sat in her chair.
Faye said at last, “Are you pleased?”
Kate’s eyes seemed to peer into and beyond Faye’s eyes—to penetrate the brain behind the eyes. Kate said quietly, “I’m trying to hold on, Mother. I didn’t know anyone could be so good. I’m afraid if I say anything too quickly or come too close to you, I’ll break to pieces.”
It was more dramatic than Faye had anticipated, quiet and electric. Faye said, “It’s a funny present, isn’t it?”
“Funny? No, it isn’t funny.”
“I mean, a will is a strange present. But it means more than that. Now you are my real daughter I can tell you. I—no, we—have cash and securities in excess of sixty thousand dollars. In my desk are notations of accounts and safe-deposit boxes. I sold the place in Sacramento for a very good price. Why are you so silent, child? Is something bothering you?”
“A will sounds like death. That’s thrown a pall.”
“But everyone should make a will.”
“I know, Mother.” Kate smiled ruefully. “A thought crossed my mind. I thought of all your kin coming in angrily to break such a will as this. You can’t do this.”
“My poor little girl, is that what’s bothering you? I have no folks. As far as I know I have no kin. And if I did have some—who would know? Do you think you are the only one with secrets? Do you think I use the name I was born with?”
Kate looked long and levelly at Faye.
“Kate,” she cried, “Kate, it’s a party. Don’t be sad! Don’t be frozen!”
Kate got up, gently pulled the table aside, and sat down on the floor. She put her cheek on Faye’s knee. Her slender fingers traced a gold thread on the skirt through its intricate leaf pattern. And Faye stroked Kate’s cheek and hair and touched her strange ears. Shyly Faye’s fingers explored to the borders of the scar.
“I think I’ve never been so happy before,” said Kate.