Read Online Habit of Fear by Dorothy Salisbury Davis - Free Book Online
Authors: Dorothy Salisbury Davis
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to accept my account of your origins, perhaps you’ll succeed in tracking down the Irish absentee and get his version.”
“I’d like to. I’d hoped today might be a beginning.”
“So had I.”
Julie was on her feet before he could scramble to his. She wanted to get away quickly. She laid her hand on his arm, a brief light touch. “Thank you very much, Morgan.”
His quick smile turned on and held until she was gone. The dimples would stay in her mind forever.
TEN
W HY IN THE NAME of God would the man claim to be her father if he wasn’t? And a marriage of convenience between her mother and a young man without ties made sense of the annulment as nothing else had to date. How long did it take to get an annulment? Something Father Doyle at Saint Malachy’s could answer. But before there was an annulment, there had to have been a marriage, and before that, a marriage license. She could, in her mind’s eye, retrace her and Jeff’s trip downtown to the Marriage License Bureau. First, the blood tests three days in advance, the physician’s signature and then the long wait in line at the Bureau for the application form. On which she had written the name Thomas Francis Mooney as her father, and his birthplace, Ireland. It now gave her the feeling of truth just to go over the scene in her mind. Very dangerous, the feeling of truth. It was a working rule of Jeff’s: that’s when you double-check your facts.
I N THE MORNING she took the subway downtown to Worth Street and inquired what she had to do to see her parents’ marriage license. She was given a form on which to request a search and transcript of marriage. The clerk was annoyed that she had no date for the ceremony. Since Julie herself had been born in April, she said the marriage had occurred within a period eight to twelve months earlier.
She wound up having to go directly to the County Clerk’s Office, and on her way she contrived a more aggressive stance: she offered her press card by way of identification, although no one asked for it, and stated as the purpose of the search her claim to an inheritance. Money, somehow, gave most things a quicker legitimacy.
“No attorney?” the assistant wanted to know.
“I thought I might pick up something for my column in the New York Daily if I came myself. What the City Keeps—you know, that sort of thing.”
“They’re state records, ma’am,” the man said laconically. But he authorized the search. Before lunchtime Julie knew that her mother had married Thomas Francis Mooney a good ten months before she was born. So, she reasoned, the so-called marriage of convenience had occurred before she had been an inconvenience to any of them. It made a liar out of Morgan Reynolds. A lot of men denied paternities. He’d have done it, too, back then—in his legitimate life—no matter how chivalrous his pose today.
“I’ve been given to understand the marriage was annulled,” Julie said to her informant. “Does that show on the record?”
“No. It would only show if the annulment dated back to the day of the ceremony.”
“In other words, if they hadn’t slept together,” Julie said.
“That’s what it comes to, yes, ma’am.”
She returned to the Marriage Bureau, paid her fee and waited for the other information to be taken from the microfilm, transcribed and certified, and passed along to the office where she waited. No question: Morgan Reynolds had lied; he had juggled the order of events to suit a purpose of his own. Again she questioned: a purpose or a whim? With genuine purpose, would he not have sought her out at her mother’s death? And he could have found her, knowing that she was married to Geoffrey Hayes. A sophisticated man, Morgan Reynolds ought to know that the true dates were ascertainable if she wanted badly enough to ascertain them.
A whim, she decided, contrived in the wake of her phone call. Champagne and roses, and the romance of her mother’s illicit love. Oh, wow! Could he
“I’d like to. I’d hoped today might be a beginning.”
“So had I.”
Julie was on her feet before he could scramble to his. She wanted to get away quickly. She laid her hand on his arm, a brief light touch. “Thank you very much, Morgan.”
His quick smile turned on and held until she was gone. The dimples would stay in her mind forever.
TEN
W HY IN THE NAME of God would the man claim to be her father if he wasn’t? And a marriage of convenience between her mother and a young man without ties made sense of the annulment as nothing else had to date. How long did it take to get an annulment? Something Father Doyle at Saint Malachy’s could answer. But before there was an annulment, there had to have been a marriage, and before that, a marriage license. She could, in her mind’s eye, retrace her and Jeff’s trip downtown to the Marriage License Bureau. First, the blood tests three days in advance, the physician’s signature and then the long wait in line at the Bureau for the application form. On which she had written the name Thomas Francis Mooney as her father, and his birthplace, Ireland. It now gave her the feeling of truth just to go over the scene in her mind. Very dangerous, the feeling of truth. It was a working rule of Jeff’s: that’s when you double-check your facts.
I N THE MORNING she took the subway downtown to Worth Street and inquired what she had to do to see her parents’ marriage license. She was given a form on which to request a search and transcript of marriage. The clerk was annoyed that she had no date for the ceremony. Since Julie herself had been born in April, she said the marriage had occurred within a period eight to twelve months earlier.
She wound up having to go directly to the County Clerk’s Office, and on her way she contrived a more aggressive stance: she offered her press card by way of identification, although no one asked for it, and stated as the purpose of the search her claim to an inheritance. Money, somehow, gave most things a quicker legitimacy.
“No attorney?” the assistant wanted to know.
“I thought I might pick up something for my column in the New York Daily if I came myself. What the City Keeps—you know, that sort of thing.”
“They’re state records, ma’am,” the man said laconically. But he authorized the search. Before lunchtime Julie knew that her mother had married Thomas Francis Mooney a good ten months before she was born. So, she reasoned, the so-called marriage of convenience had occurred before she had been an inconvenience to any of them. It made a liar out of Morgan Reynolds. A lot of men denied paternities. He’d have done it, too, back then—in his legitimate life—no matter how chivalrous his pose today.
“I’ve been given to understand the marriage was annulled,” Julie said to her informant. “Does that show on the record?”
“No. It would only show if the annulment dated back to the day of the ceremony.”
“In other words, if they hadn’t slept together,” Julie said.
“That’s what it comes to, yes, ma’am.”
She returned to the Marriage Bureau, paid her fee and waited for the other information to be taken from the microfilm, transcribed and certified, and passed along to the office where she waited. No question: Morgan Reynolds had lied; he had juggled the order of events to suit a purpose of his own. Again she questioned: a purpose or a whim? With genuine purpose, would he not have sought her out at her mother’s death? And he could have found her, knowing that she was married to Geoffrey Hayes. A sophisticated man, Morgan Reynolds ought to know that the true dates were ascertainable if she wanted badly enough to ascertain them.
A whim, she decided, contrived in the wake of her phone call. Champagne and roses, and the romance of her mother’s illicit love. Oh, wow! Could he
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