Native Son - Richard Wright [147]
“Do you remember precisely when?”
“Thirty-five years ago.”
“You once owned it?”
“Yes; it was one of a pair.”
“Yes, Mrs. Dalton. No doubt the other earring was destroyed in the fire. This one dropped through the grates into the bin under the furnace. Now, Mrs. Dalton, how long did you own this pair of earrings?”
“For thirty-three years.”
“How did they come into your possession?”
“Well, my mother gave them to me when I was of age. My grandmother gave them to my mother when she was of age, and I in turn gave them to my daughter when she was of age….”
“What do you mean, of age?”
“At eighteen.”
“And when did you give them to your daughter?”
“About five years ago.”
“She wore them all the time?”
“Yes.”
“Are you positive that this is one of the same earrings?”
“Yes. There can be no mistake. They were a family heirloom. There are no two others like them. My grandmother had them designed and made to order.”
“Mrs. Dalton, when were you last in the company of the deceased?”
“Last Saturday night, or I should say, early Sunday morning.”
“At what time?”
“It was nearly two o’clock, I think.”
“Where was she?”
“In her room, in bed.”
“Were you in the habit of seeing, I mean, in the habit of meeting your daughter at such an hour?”
“No. I knew that she’d planned to go to Detroit Sunday morning. When I heard her come in I wanted to find out why she’d stayed out so late….”
“Did you speak with her?”
“No. I called her several times, but she did not answer.”
“Did you touch her?”
“Yes; slightly.”
“But she did not speak to you?”
“Well, I heard some mumbling….”
“Do you know who it was?”
“No.”
“Mrs. Dalton, could your daughter by any means, in your judgment, have been dead then, and you not have known or suspected it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you know if your daughter was alive when you spoke to her?”
“I don’t know. I assumed she was.”
“Was there anyone else in the room at the time?”
“I don’t know. But I felt strange there.”
“Strange? What do you mean, strange?”
“I—I don’t know. I wasn’t satisfied, for some reason. It seemed to me that there was something I should have done, or said. But I kept saying to myself, ‘She’s asleep; that’s all.’ ”
“If you felt so dissatisfied, why did you leave the room without trying to awaken her?”
Mrs. Dalton paused before answering; her thin mouth was wide open and her face tilted far to one side.
“I smelt alcohol in the room,” she whispered.
“Yes?”
“I thought Mary was intoxicated.”
“Had you ever encountered your daughter intoxicated before?”
“Yes; and that was why I thought she was intoxicated then. It was the same odor.”
“Mrs. Dalton, if someone had possessed your daughter sexually while she lay on that bed, could you in any way have detected it?”
The room buzzed. The coroner rapped for order.
“I don’t know,” she whispered.
“Just a few more questions, please, Mrs. Dalton. What aroused your suspicions that something had befallen your daughter?”
“When I went to her room the next morning I felt her bed and found that she had not slept in it. Next I felt in her clothes rack and found that she had not taken the new clothes she had bought.”
“Mrs. Dalton, you and your husband have given large sums of money to Negro educational institutions, haven’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Could you tell us roughly how much?”
“Over five million dollars.”
“You bear no ill will toward the Negro people?”
“No; none whatever.”
“Mrs. Dalton, please, tell us what was the last thing you did when you stood above your daughter’s bed that Sunday morning?”
“I—I….” She paused, lowered her head and dabbed at her eyes. “I knelt at the bedside and prayed….” she said, her words coming in a sharp breath of despair.
“That is all. Thank you, Mrs. Dalton.”
The room heaved a sigh. Bigger saw the woman lead Mrs. Dalton back to her seat. Many eyes in the room were fastened upon Bigger now, cold grey and blue eyes, eyes whose tense hate was worse than a shout or a curse. To get rid of that concentrated gaze, he stopped looking, even though his eyes remained open.
The coroner turned to the men sitting