Her ma barely flinched, but Lydia knew her too well not to recognize the shock. Lydia continued, “He’s doing really well, a salesman for Marshall Field’s now, it seems, and he lives in Chicago.” Ma still didn’t say a word, just kept stirring the jam she was cooking on the stove. Lydia tried again, “I remember how much I longed to see Chicago when I was in school. At least I did get to visit Louisville with Uncle Jesse.”
Finally Ma could take it no longer. “That fool old man! I just thank God he died before you turned eighteen. When I think about how you might have spent that money . . .” Ma stopped midsentence realizing what she had just admitted.
“What money, Ma?” Lydia’s reply was icy.
Ma’s reaction to being caught in the deception was predictable. She moved the jam to the back of the
