Page 12 of My Darling Clementine

“Why did you? Marry him, I mean. If you were a woman who knew her own mind, why’d you marry Father?”

Mama looked defiant. “Choices aren’t always easy, Kizzy. He came from a decent family, was educated, and we knew all the same people. When I realized I was pregnant, I had only a small window of time to convince someone to marry me, so they’d believe they were the father before I gave birth to a bast… fatherless child.”

Kizzy stopped breathing. “You were pregnant by someone else when you married Father?” She squinted up at the sky. “I’m not his daughter?”

“You’re my daughter.”

Kizzy laughed and clapped her hands together, making people turn and look. “Thank God, I’m a bastard,” she whispered with a nod, guarding her mother’s reputation. “No wonder he never liked me.”

“I never told him, but he’s probably wondered, especially since you grew so tall.” She winked up at Kizzy, much shorter than her daughter. “With only a few weeks at most, I counted on his pompous religiousness, and complete inexperience. I worked him into a lather he could only satisfy through matrimony and the marriage bed.” She shrugged. “Can I help it if he was so potent his baby couldn’t wait?”

“Mama,” said Kizzy, surprised and more than a little shocked.

“That’s why I’ve never been upset you like women more than men.” Her mother shrugged. “One day that may change, but women lovers won’t leave you pregnant.”

Kizzy stared at this stranger who looked like her mother, a woman she’d never met before. “You know?”

“I’ve known for a long time. Your father found out last night. He thought the time with Sharon was just two kids playing at being grownups, which in his opinion was bad enough. But when he caught you in the choir loft with Maryanne last night, he realized you never grew out of it. He paced the floor all night, and is still in shock.”

“Who’s my real father? Why didn’t you marry him?”

“Come back to visit me someday and I’ll tell you. He doesn’t know about you. But remember Kizzy, you grew up with a respectable name, a roof over your head, warm clothes, and plenty to eat.” She squeezed her hand and let go. “The choice I made gave you that. Your father let you go to school, and except for certain exceptions when he is pushed past his limits, such as today, he’s mild mannered and keeps his temper.” She looked a little guilty. “He’s in the church now, on his knees praying for forgiveness for losing his temper and raising his voice, I’m sure of it.”

“He’s only sorry he did it in front of witnesses.” Kizzy shook her head. “Father’s said as much to me before, and will demonize me from the pulpit when I’m gone.”

“He already has,” Penelope said with the martyrdom of a minister’s wife, her voice tight.

Kizzy shrugged. “He doesn’t regret either his words, or actions.” She laughed. “Maybe we are alike, because I don’t either.”

They spent the next fifty minutes packing her meager belongings into a single suitcase, her mother dishing out non-stop advice. “Remember, in cooking you can add salt to a dish, but can’t take it out later. It’s the same for words; once spoken, people can’t unhear them.” A few moments later, “Bathe every chance you get, you never know when there’ll be a drought.” While folding underclothes and a nightgown, “Keep your eyes open, even when you’re in bed. Especially there, and sleep with your shoes on unless you own the bed they’re under.”

“Mama!”

“You heard me.” Penelope watched her daughter pack, tossing out advice like chicken feed. “Think before you speak. Say the alphabet instead of swearing when you get mad. Take a long drink of water before complaining about anything.” She held back tears watching as Kizzy, all grown up, tucked Dottie, a worn, faded, and much loved rag doll, deep inside her bag.

“Don’t agree to anything unless you’re sure,” Mama said. Before her unusual girl could latch and lock her bag, Penelope slipped in a packet of paper. “And write to me every three months regular, so I know how you’re doing. Let me know where I can write back, and I will.”

Her mother sighed as they walked to the train station. She shook her head, the admiration in her eyes dimming to sorrow. “Oh, Kizzy, my little girl. There’s so much I haven’t told you. I thought we had more time.” With both hands, she picked up the suitcase, struggling with it across creaking wooden planks toward the train.

“Mama!” Kizzy grabbed the bag, lifting it with ease. They crossed the platform, where she set it down and helped her mother to sit. Kneeling beside her, she threw her arms around her neck, the special scent that meant home, safety, and love filling her nose and heart. “I don’t know where I’m going, or what I’m going to do.”

“You’re smart, Keziah, no matter how much is taken from you, count on that.” Mama’s eyes flashed as she gave a small, tight smile. “Speak your mind, stand up for yourself, and stay safe.” She kissed her daughter’s dimple. “Break the habit you have of getting in trouble.

Kizzy gave her mother a wry smile and raised one eyebrow. “I’ll try my best.” She attempted a laugh, but couldn’t, so she shrugged instead.

Her mother squeezed her hand. “Keziah Walker, you are my daughter. You have all the women in my line behind you, me, my mother, hers, and all those before us. We are your heritage, and you will leave it to those who come after you. Never make a promise unless you know you can keep it. And listen to me now,” Mama waited until Kizzy met her eyes, “whatever the question is, the answer is life. No matter what choices are forced upon you, live.”

She brushed a stray hair from Kizzy’s cheek and choked back a sob. “I’ve wasted so many years, there’s so much more to tell you, but you grew up too fast.” Her mother’s eyes, like her own, filled with tears.

Kizzy hugged her tight. “Mama, I hate to leave you.”

“You can’t be who you are while living in Rocheport, and your father will make your life hell. You need a fresh start. Have you got a ticket?”

“Yes, and a hundred dollars I won at poker. And the money I saved. This train’s going to Independence, Missouri, and from there I’ll head west.”

Mama shook her head. “I hate what your father’s done. He’ll regret it one of these days, all impulse, no planning.” She sighed. “I wish I were as brave as you when I had the chance.” She pressed a small purse into Kizzy’s hands, holding on for a moment before letting go. “Here. It’s six hundred dollars. My mother left me more money, but after paying for finishing school, this is what I have left. It’s yours now.” She hugged her. “Pin it to your pantaloons so you know where it is.”

The train whistle sounded. Mama stood, and Kizzy carried the suitcase over to the steps leading into the train, where a man took it and held out his hand to help her up.