“did you have a good time with aunt marcia, chloe?”
“er-r—certainly, mimi. why do you ask?”
“nothing.”
mimi blushed. she could not fib with a straight face. she edged around keeping her back away from chloe as she was clutching behind her a letter which had just come from daddy. perhaps it was the effect of the letter but it seemed to mimi, chloe had looked disturbed and paler since the holidays. in contrast to her wistful dark eyes, her skin seemed ivory white. the other girls had come back sparkling and glowing, telling and re-telling good times they experienced at home. betsy was radiant. sue was voluble. the first night she was back mrs. cole had had to rap sharply on the door of tumble inn to stop the talking after light-bell. they hadn’t given chloe a chance to get a word in edge ways had she wanted it. mimi had waited hopefully for the slightest word from her but none had come. she had to pull to get much out of chloe.
“you didn’t have an opportunity to ask aunt marcia—anything—important?”
“what could i ask, mimi?” chloe countered. “the once or twice i have broached the topic aunt marcia has hedged or changed the subject. she was so kind christmas and seemed so happy to have me with her. she must be awfully lonely, too, or she never would have adopted me. she tried to plan things i’d like but right in the middle of whatever we’d be doing i’d think—you’re not my aunt, you’re not even kin to me! who are you?”—chloe was choking—“who am i?”
mimi hugged chloe close. chloe did not shrink. she laid her beautiful, tired head against mimi and sobbed.
“you are somebody beautiful and sweet and lovely. we all love you, no matter who your mother and father were.”
“i know they were fine, too, mimi. but it’s this awful suspense of not knowing. i might have brothers and sisters and pass right by them any day and not know them. my mother must be tortured imagining horrible things have happened to me. i’d—i’d rather—believe—she is dead than that she has worried about me all these years.”
the letter which mimi had quickly thrust in her belt when she took chloe in her arms, crackled as the two girls sat down on the bed. both the chairs and the vanity stool were piled up. everything was topsy-turvy in term-end confusion.
mimi was more upset than anything around her. the letter had brought her a spark of hope, so dim, so faint she dared not tell. yet chloe needed to know so badly; which would be worse, to give her a ray of hope that in all probability would be shattered or leave her as she was without anything to cling to? if she should tell chloe she had told daddy, chloe might not like it. she might not feel as mimi did, that any great secret could be shared with your parents without breaking your promise. mimi could keep secrets. she had struggled hard and won to keep from telling millie. she had never told betsy about madge and the alarm bell. but chloe was again sobbing softly against her. she trembled delicately as pluto, the crow, had trembled in mimi’s hands while daddy patched his broken wing. poor chloe! a wounded dark bird snatched from her nest before she could fly.
“would you know fritzie if you saw him or saw a picture of him, chloe?”
she needed a more tangible clue. something she could tell daddy definitely yes and no about.
“i’ve often wondered. you see, it’s been so very long ago. i was so tiny. i remember how i laughed at the pictures tattooed on his arms—a lady on one and a sailor on the other. he’d hold them together and we’d play they were dancing. he cackled instead of laughing. when i think back the only picture i have is that blurred one of my mother—hear her frantic screams. voices—i’d know his voice, mimi. i know i would.”
encouraged by her decision chloe continued.
“when i get in college, i’m going to take psychology. i read it in the library every chance i get now. when i am old enough to travel by myself i’m going everywhere hunting places and faces that seem familiar. oh, mimi, i’ve thought about it so much! maybe, some day, when i’m sure fritzie and the short man and big old freida are dead and can’t hurt us any more, i may write my story and have my picture made and published.”
“when fritzie is dead.” mimi repeated slowly. the words in daddy’s letter danced before her eyes. should she tell? daddy had written at great length about chloe’s story.
“chloe, would you care if you knew that i had written my daddy all about you?” she didn’t wait for a reply. “you see, i have, and i hope you won’t think i’ve broken my word. i haven’t told another living soul and shan’t. but daddy is interested in your case and says he will help. the night you told us your story, i swore never to quit until we knew who you really were but i didn’t know where to start. that same night i wrote daddy. he can do anything. already he is planning what to do and how to do it.”
but mimi quit there and kept the contents of the letter secret. after asking chloe several pointed questions, the answers to which were not satisfactory, she talked slowly toward the library to write daddy in the quiet where she could think clearly.
as she passed college hall the smell of black coffee came floating out. cram week was causing a panic ghostly figures with notebooks, unfinished themes, and reference books had been slipping through the corridors after lights out. laggards were drinking strong coffee now trying to keep awake long enough to learn a few more answers. the gym was deserted except at class periods. sue had cut practice hours twice in a row. betsy was “boning” as she had never done before but the college girls were the busier.
let them slave mimi thought. thank goodness she had caught up with lessons while she was quarantined.
she ignored the librarian as she entered. with a grand disregard for the cramming going on all about her, mimi unscrewed the top of her fountain pen. this letter to daddy is far more important. it is the most important document i’ve ever written. i must think straight. i must tell every little detail that might help, the tattooed figures, the cackling laugh. but first i must answer his questions.
unfolding the fat letter and rearranging the pages carefully so that the questions were on top, mimi shook her pen twice and began to write feverishly.
