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"Well, she doesn't know. She hates me because she doesn't know what I went through." She looked up at him, gazing into his eyes through her tears now.
Bronson turned to me, his eyes showing such intensity and purpose, it made my breath catch and a lump come into my throat.
"Perhaps," he said, "it's time she knew it all, then." Mother looked up sharply, fear shadowing her face. Bronson patted her hand.
"It's time, Laura Sue," he repeated.
"I just can't," Mother cried. "It's too painful for me even to think about and remember these things, much less talk about them anymore," she pleaded, and she shook her head vigorously.
"Then let me," Bronson said. "If possible, I don't want any hard feelings among us—not now, not at the beginning of a new start. I want us to all feel like family."
Mother closed her eyes and sucked in her breath. Then she pulled herself to her feet.
"Do what must be done," she said. "I'm exhausted and too upset to listen. I want to go back to the hotel," she said.
"All right," Bronson said. "Perhaps James will escort you, and Dawn can stay here and talk. I'll send her home with my car and driver."
"Sure,? Jimmy said, rising.
"Jimmy should hear anything that has to be said, too," I declared. Jimmy stepped in front of me and leaned down to whisper.
"Maybe he wants to talk to you alone, Dawn. Maybe he'll be uncomfortable with another man listening. You can fill me in later." He squeezed my hand reassuringly and then turned and nodded to Bronson and Mother.
"Thank you, Bronson," Mother said, relieved. "It was a wonderful evening, and I would like to keep it that way in my storehouse of memories." She flashed a smile at me. Randolph escorted her and Jimmy out.
Moments later he returned, sat down across from me, crossed his legs, lifted his glass of sherry to his lips and began.
7
MORE SECRETS FROM THE PAST
"FIRST I SHOULD TELL YOU A LITTLE ABOUT MYSELF," BRONSON said, "so that you will be able to better understand how and why events unfolded as they did."
That charming yet provocative smile left his face, and his manner turned very intense as he leaned forward to lock his eyes with mine.
"I was born into money and position and had a rather comfortable childhood. My father was a firm man who came from hardy stock, but my mother was a very warm and devoted person, devoted to my father, devoted to her children and devoted to the Alcott image.
"Right from the start, both Alexandria and I were taught how important that image was. We were made to understand that we had a responsibility to maintain our high standing. We were told that people looked up to us, that we were, in a sense, the new ruling class of the South. We had money and power—power to affect other people's lives.
"As an investor and a banker, my father controlled the destinies of many. In short, I was brought up believing I was some sort of prince, and some day I would inherit my father's throne and rule in the Alcott tradition."
He leaned back, templing his fingers under his chin a moment, and then smiled.
"It was all a bit overdramatized, but as it is with most people of some position and wealth, they began to believe their own publicity. Father certainly did.
"Anyway," he continued, his eyes somewhat wistful now, "as I told you, Alexandria was born with a crippling ailment. Because of that and because of how self-important we were made to feel, she became more and more melancholy. She felt the disease was somehow her fault and always believed she was disappointing my parents, especially my father.
"Despite her sickness, she was an excellent student, always trying harder and harder to achieve. I loved her dearly and would do anything in my power for her."
He smiled softly.
"She was always chastising me for spending too much time with her. 'You should be off doing things with your friends,' she would say, 'chasing after pretty girls and not spending all your time with your crippled sister.' But alas, I couldn't desert her.
"When no one asked her to the high school prom, I took her myself and forced her to go, even though she couldn't dance. I would be the one to take her to movies or shows, the one who insisted she go for motor rides down the seashore or into the mountains. I took her sailing and even horseback riding, when she was still well enough to do those things. After a while anything she saw or did, she saw or did because of my insistence.
"Oh, what difference does it make, Bronson?' she would ask when I would stubbornly persist. I didn't want to say it, but I wanted to squeeze everything into her life that I could, knowing she didn't have long to live. But then again, it didn't have to be said; she understood.
"Anyway, I suppose my devotion to Alexandria put some young women off. There were snide remarks and ugly rumors spread about us—to most it was unnatural that a brother and a sister should be so close—but I wasn't about to turn my back on Alexandria just to please some gossips and chase some conceited, pretty young skirt."
