'Johnny, dear, close the door.' He closed it. 'Sit down. I shouldn't talk too long.'
He pulled the straight chair close to the bed and leaned his head into the light. 'Take it easy. I've got good ears.'
'You've known her so long. You're fond of Nan,'
'True,' he agreed.
'Will you help me, Johnny?''
'Certainly.'
'I don't know what to do.'
Now he thought he could see her heart struggling in her breast. He wanted to ease it. 'Just tell me,' he urged quietly.
'First, promise you won't tell Nan without permission.'
He winced inside, but he had to agree. 'I promise. Go ahead.'
'You do keep your word.' Emily made this a statement.
'I do,' he agreed.
She smiled a little. The smile was for him, affectionate and trusting. And absolutely binding upon him. 'I can't . . . go anywhere . . . just now ...' she began again with difficulty. 'And it can't be my decision. It must be his. So you must go.'
Johnny said nothing. He couldn't yet understand.
'The very worst thing that could have happened , . .' Now her head began to turn to and fro upon the pillow. Her heart labored, as he thought he could tell. 'How could I imagine!'
'Don't put any steam in it,' said Johnny gently. 'Just tell me what I must do and I will go and do it.'
'Yes,' said Emily gratefully. Her head stopped that desperate wagging motion. 'But first you have to know. Nan isn't my brother Henry's child. I never had a brother Henry. She's the child of a brother of mine whose name she's never heard. You see, I changed all the names. I made up lies. I had to.'
'Go ahead,' said Johnny quietly.
'Nan's father is in prison. He was convicted of murder seventeen years ago.'
Johnny kept smiling. He was surprised, but not too shocked. He had expected something as bad as this.
'They said he murdered Nan's mother . . ,'' Emily's voice sank to a whisper. 'Poor Christy McCauley.'
Johnny swallowed.
'My brother Clin to is in San Quentin, Johnny. I want you to see him. Ask him what we aie to do. He must decide.'
'I see. I will,' Johnny said soothingly.
'No, you don't see,' said Emily impatiently. 'He did not kill Christy. He was convicted but he wasn't guilty. The baby ... He and I didn't see why the baby shoiild suffer at all. It was bad enough that he had to lose his wife and go to prison for what he hadn't done. Why should there be bad added to bad? Why should the baby grow up in the shadow of such a terrible thing? People believing that her father killed her mother. So I took the baby. I made them give me the baby. I had an agreement with the old man. And I changed my name and her name and Dorothy's name, too. And I was never going to tell her. And all these seventeen years she hasn't known and none of it has ever touched her or hurt her.'
'She's had wonderful loving care,' Johnny said softly.
'Yes,' said Emily and plucked her sheet.
'Now, you feel—if she is to marry . . . ?' he began. ...
'No, no, noT Emily gasped. 'Don't try to guess, Jolmny. It only takes longer.'
So he waited.
'My brother's name is Clinton McCauley,' she said in a moment. 'I've always gone to -see him once eyery month. He . . . loves all the news of Nan. But now . . .' She gathered strength and went on. 'Christy was killed in the Bartee's house in Hestia. You see, she was related.'
Johnny took in air. 'This Richardson Bartee is related to Nan?' he asked as calmly as he could. He thought, well, that's it, then, and it's bad, all right.
But Emily shook her head. 'Don't guess,' she said feebly. 'It's worse than you can guess. Much worse. No, not related. The old man had two wives. There's nothing like that.'
So Johnny just waited.
'For seventeen years,' said Emily in a moment, 'Clint has been sure . . .'
'Yes?'
That the boy killed Christy. The wild kid-fifteen years old.'
'What boy?'
'Richaidson Bartee,' said Emily, her eyes pits of sorrow. 'Now do you see?'
All Johnny's nerves tingled. 'You say your brother is sure of this? Couldn't you have . . . ?'
'Proved it?' said Emily with vigor. 'No. I tried.' Emily was up on her elbow and he was too shocked to press
