Chapter 12

Perry closed the door to Della's childhood bedroom behind him and turned the key in the lock. "That was a rather brilliant maneuver on your part, darling."

Della lowered herself onto a flowered slipper chair and kicked off her shoes. She wriggled her toes for a moment before shrugging. "I learned from the best."

Perry dragged a matching delicate slipper chair at an angle to hers and sat down somewhat gingerly. "I thought your bedroom would be different," he commented, gazing around the room, taking in details of her life as a child in this house.

"You mean not nauseatingly pink? My grandmother insisted on the wall color. She also chose the upholstery for the chairs. I like the chairs themselves but the fabric is hideous. Her girdle must not have been pinching her one day because she allowed me to pick out the bedspread and pictures."

"The room smells like you," he said softly. "I miss you."

Tears sprang in Della's eyes. "I've been sniping at you for two days and you can say that?"

"We're supposed to be on our debauched vacation, not sleeping across the hall and two rooms apart from each other. I figured you were sniping at me out of frustration."

Della actually laughed while tears trickled down her cheeks. "I wish we were anywhere but here. Have I annoyed you terribly?"

"I would hazard a guess that I annoy you much more than you annoy me. That crack about not having to work anymore…it was uncalled for."

"So was kissing me silly and then leaving me alone and frustrated in the kitchen with all those dirty dishes."

His fingers gently brushed at a tear. "And so was thinking that I have anything but your best interests at heart."

Della drew in a shuddering breath. "It must be this house. It brings out the worst in me. Why don't you read the letter now? There is an angry mob waiting impatiently for us downstairs."

"Do you want me to read it first and then read it to you?"

She shook her head firmly. "Just read it cold and get it over with."

He chucked her under the chin encouragingly before unfolding the heavy linen stationery. "Emmett Childers has made the announcement that my granddaughter Della Katherine is the sole heir of my entire worth as well as my personal possessions," he read and looked up at Della. "She plunges right in with no salutation or preamble."

Della nodded. "As Emmett said, Grandmother was forthright and direct."

Perry lowered his eyes again to the letter. "I know my decision will undoubtedly be a shock, but it was the easiest decision I ever made in my life. Della Katherine is the only person whom I could not coerce with my wealth, or my social position, or even my relationship to her. She is worthy of all I have bequeathed her by virtue of a strength of character and a moral standard sadly lacking in all of you asked to attend the reading of my will."

Della gasped. "I amend 'forthright and direct' to 'big, fat liar'. She punished me mercilessly any time I dared stand up to her. I went without dinner so often the year I turned fourteen the doctor actually threatened to report her to the authorities. I was so thin you could see every bone in my body."

Perry wanted to cry for Della, the flower trying desperately to flourish through a crack in asphalt all those years. He knew what he had learned in the past few days was just the proverbial tip of the iceberg, that the abuses piled on her were buried deep within her, hidden from all who knew her. He wanted to shake her until she broke down and told him everything, so that he could hold her and comfort her and eventually heal her. But he finally understood why the circumstances of her childhood emerged in dribs and drabs: to let too much out at one time would be too painful for her to endure.

"Sarah Allensworth, your mother was my friend for seventy-five years. At one time she needed a large sum of money, but refused to tell me why she needed it. I would have given her the money but she insisted I purchase the only thing of value she possessed: her jewelry. Emmett wrote up an agreement and can provide a copy if you wish. The day she died, Emmett delivered a letter confirming what I already knew the money had been used for and that she had requested that you and Lawrence continue paying off her self-imposed debt, which you have not. I think you understand why my agreement with Esther is voided and your mother's valuables now belong to Della."

"Elizabeth Sherwood, you kept my granddaughter locked in a dark bedroom during a visit I didn't have to allow and demanded that every penny your husband invested in the mill be refunded although the original investment had already been repaid in full and then some through stock dividends. I agreed to continue paying those dividends to you out of respect for Della's grandfather, whom I greatly admired. It was that admiration that kept you from being arrested and sent to prison for your despicable criminal act. It is now up to Della whether or not you will continue to receive those dividends."

Della covered her face with her hands and rocked to and fro. "I can't stand it," she moaned. "She was a horrible person and she wants me to perpetuate her horribleness."

Perry didn't quite share Della's assessment of her grandmother. In two short paragraphs a woman with a steely resolve and a no-nonsense approach to life was emerging. Nothing he'd read so far appeared vindictive or cruel. On the contrary, he recognized loyalty and fairness and an honest, unsentimental grasp of frailties in the people who touched her life as she explained why Della had been given her entire worth.

Della was crying now, huge tears rolling unchecked down flushed cheeks. "I remember that day. Grandma Bitty locked me in a room by myself and I cried. Grandmother came for me later. I wasn't allowed to be alone with Grandma Bitty anymore after that."

Katherine Street's words and Della's pain were killing him. He reached out and took her hand. "Can you handle the rest of the letter?" he asked over a huge lump in his throat. "I'll finish reading it and paraphrase later."

She sniffed and shook her head. He pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her. "As difficult as it is," she said, wiping her tears, "I need to hear it all if I'm to figure out what to do with her estate."

As a criminal attorney Perry Mason had seen a lot of human pain, but had learned to effectively detach himself from it. With Della he couldn't detach himself. Her pain was his, and he didn't like the helplessness such pain carried with it. He took a deep breath and continued.

"Garrett Kirby, you are rotten to the core and Mae Sherwood did not deserve what you did to her. Every detail of what happened the night Mae nearly died is in a notarized statement held by Emmett Childers. You married her to get at the mill, and you nearly succeeded. In all these years Jameson has been unable to completely eradicate your presence, but any attempt at legal filings for shares of my mill will result in the publication of that statement and humiliation like you've never experienced."

"Mae Sherwood Kirby, I liked you best of all the Sherwoods, and admired how you maintained such a fondness for Della despite the events surrounding Eve's disappearance. However, you constantly interfered with my granddaughter's upbringing, and unfortunately after your divorce from Garrett, all my admiration for you vanished when you accepted my offer of funding your move to California in exchange for letting me deal how I saw fit with the physical limitations of the women in your family and your sister's unfortunate mental status. I do advise Della to share whatever portion of my estate she wishes with you because however much I disapproved of her move to California, I know you looked after her and gave her sound guidance."

Della grabbed at Perry's hand. "Aunt Mae almost died? Physical limitations? What the hell is she talking about?" she asked in agitated, bewildered alarm.

Perry had never felt so weary in his life. The onion he was peeling definitely became increasingly rotten with every discarded layer as more and more secrets surrounding Della were revealed. "When we're through here we'll call Mae." He realized his words sounded inadequate, but he also realized Mae was probably the only person who would tell them the truth, even though it was now apparent she had hidden that truth in exchange for money. He hoped she had been thinking over everything she had done to keep Della in the dark and could repair the inevitable crack in their relationship.

"Is this happening? Am I really sitting in my childhood bedroom on this chair listening to you read a letter from my dead grandmother?"

"It's really happening, I'm afraid."

Della bit her lip. "How many more paragraphs?"

He glanced down briefly. "Six. You mother is next."

She sighed. "Wonderful. Go on."

"And we come to Eve Sherwood Street, my former daughter-in-law, absent now for twenty-five years, a woman-child who broke her husband's heart and abandoned her daughter for money. What you endured giving birth to my granddaughter was admirable, knowing that the outcome could very well have been tragic. But we recognized that a breakdown was inevitable, and as your mind faltered I could not allow you to harm my granddaughter. I don't regret offering you money to leave and divorce my son, and I certainly don't regret changing my granddaughter's name. But I do regret promising more money upon my death if you stayed away from Della because rewarding you for actually doing it is morally reprehensible. So I won't do it."

"Junelle Daniels Street Barton, mother of our beloved Daniel, you healed my son of his mourning for the unfortunate Eve and brought life back to this house. However, when you announced that you wanted a divorce to marry another man, you put into motion events that would forever change my family. And even though you were the adulterer, you scrabbled for every cent you could get from Jameson to feather your new nest. For giving us Daniel you are due a fraction of my estate, but the size of that fraction is now Della's decision."

"Miss Henrietta Vander Velde, you are to be my granddaughter by marriage, having somehow turned my grandson's attention away from the mill. However, Carter is a trepidacious soul like his father, and the caveat to his proposal is that your marriage cannot take place until he knows for certain his future is secured. I'm sorry, Henny, but I cannot provide that security. I think very highly of you and although Carter is my own flesh and blood, he is not worthy of you."

"Carter, my first-born grandchild and tireless bearer of the Street family reputation, you are no doubt appalled to be excluded from what you have always assumed was your birthright. But that is exactly why I did it. The time you spend at the mill is a path of penance you set yourself on because you are unable to explore what it is that truly inspires you and afraid to make your way on your own. Learn from your sister's example."

"I'm beginning to seriously doubt my grandmother wrote this letter," Della broke in.

"Shhh," Perry shushed. "Only two more paragraphs. Next is your father."

"I can hardly wait to hear this one."

Perry gave her a slight frown before beginning to read once again. "Jameson, my only surviving child, you have been a source of great pride as well as great disappointment."

"Ladies and gentlemen, mother of the century, Katherine Street," Della interrupted snidely.

Perry frowned again. "We're almost finished. Could you kindly keep that devastating wit under control?"

She sat up straighter in the chair, crossed her ankles in a most lady-like manner and folded her hands in her lap. All trace of tears had vanished. "Please continue, Mr. Mason."

"The prevailing mindset is that you were a figurehead at the mill and that I actually pulled all the strings. That is not entirely true, for if you studied the matters brought to my attention, more often than not I simply passed through what you advised because you required constant validation. The mill has flourished under your tenure as President, and this town should be grateful to you. However, as a person you lack certain qualities that make successful men admirable."

"Grandmother was highly concerned with admiralty," Della informed him mischievously. "Let's go back and count how many times she claims to have admired something."

"Admiralty? What the hell did Henny put in that coffee? Whiskey?"

"Then tell me the proper word. Admirability? Admireness?"

"Either admirance or admirative depending upon the required tense."

"Admirance," she decided with satisfaction.

He glanced sideways at her. "Well, I'm glad we settled that. Shall I continue?"

She nodded enthusiastically. "By all means."

Perry rolled his eyes.

"By denying what you so clearly expected you will need to find the strength and wherewithal I sincerely hope your experiences with Eve and June didn't destroy for good."

Perry paused and Della clapped her hands. "Oh goody! Time for me, time for me! I'm so excited."

"I don't care what I've said in the past, I will turn you over my knee, Della Street."

She stuck out her tongue at him.

"Della," he began seriously, "maybe we should leave it. The letter contains nothing substantive for any self-respecting lawyer to claim legitimate libel. Even calling Garrett Kirby rotten to the core would be argued as purely personal opinion. Let's go downstairs and instruct Emmett Childers to distribute the letter to the gang."

"Did you peek at the paragraph about me? Are you trying to spare my feelings?"

"Noooo, I'm trying not to feed into this craziness and appeal to your good sense."

All frivolity left her expression. "Since I apparently come by craziness naturally, I'll let that comment pass. Read it to me," she directed.

Their eyes locked for a few seconds before Perry finally broke the gaze. "All of this has led to Della Katherine, my only granddaughter, and the one person in the Street family who actually lived up to their potential. I'm sure you are confused and angry with me for leaving you to sort out the messes I entangled myself in with these people. I know you can do it because I raised you to be strong and independent the way my mother raised me. You bent but didn't break, no matter how much pressure I put on you. You are a smart girl, Della. You recognized that living in this town and stepping into my shoes was not your destiny. I didn't like it because of all people, I wanted very much for you to find your destiny here. Two years ago you returned, confident, successful, and happy. I was upset when I realized that you would continue to live your life far away from me and my behavior toward you was nothing short of detestable. As I write this letter the only communication from you since that visit has been a single Christmas card. It is my own fault. I could have written or called, but pride wouldn't allow me to. I'm not an affectionate woman. I told my husband I loved him on our wedding night and again as he lay in a casket. I told my son I loved him the day Carter was born. I've never told Carter I love him that I recall, but I do. I loved Daniel – who didn't? And I love you."

Perry took a deep, unsteady breath and looked up at Della. "That's it."

He had never seen a person battle tears as fiercely as she was at that moment. "Th – that's it?" she sputtered. "How could she do this to me? Did she think this letter, this paragraph in a letter, could possibly make up for all she did to me?"

Perry knelt at her feet and gathered her into his arms. She sank against him, her arms wound around his neck as she buried her face into his shoulder. "I don't know, baby. What do you think?"

She lost her battle with tears again and let them stream hotly down her cheeks. Her arms tightened as her body convulsed with sobs. He rocked her gently, stroking the back of her head gently to soothe her. His shirt was sopping wet by the time her last sob passed and she began to sniff.

"I think I need your hanky again," came her muffled, tearful voice, finally answering his query.

Perry smiled and mopped her face with the scrap of monogrammed cotton. "Feel better?"

She shook her head and blew her nose as he directed. "Uh-uh. I'm mad as hell."

"Tell me, Della," he begged. "Tell me what it was like growing up with her. Tell me more stories like the Pathetique and Grandma Bitty and how skinny you were at fourteen."

"I can't," she wailed in quiet agony. "If I don't talk about it, she can't hurt me anymore."

"Della," he said sharply, regrettably a bit too sharply, "If I read that letter correctly, every single person mentioned can hurt you right now. Your grandmother is gone. She can't hurt you anymore. Let go of your hate for her."

Her face contorted again as fresh tears pooled in her eyes. "But I don't hate her," Della whispered almost too quietly for Perry to hear. "I loved her."