The entire house remained quiet as she stepped into the foyer and Willard closed the door behind her.
“Hello, Karl,” she said.
* * *
“Mother,” Karl replied. Stylishly dressed in black, as if she had anything to mourn, she’d taken the opportunity to make an entrance. A bitter chuckle stuck in his throat. The long-lost Harriette Wingard, now Apperson, returns home for another death.
In so many ways she was a stranger to him; in others, he knew everything about her. “There are refreshments in the dining room,” he told her, when he really wanted to tell her to leave.
Twisting, he nodded toward the man approaching him, knowing others would be taking their leave now. “Adam, thank you for coming,” he said.
“It was a lovely service,” Adam Croswell said. “I also want to thank you for the invitation for tomorrow night. Clara and I are looking forward to it.”
“Yes, we are,” Clara said.
Moments ago, Clara had been smiling, fawning over Copper. Now her lips were pursed as she darted a gaze toward his mother.
Karl wasn’t sure when he’d grasped ahold of Bridget’s elbow, but he had and glanced down at her before he told the Croswells, “We are looking forward to it, too. Thank you both for agreeing to attend, and for your donation.”
Others soon formed a line to bid their farewells. Karl was thankful that so many had attended the service and joined them at the house afterward, but the arrival of his mother soiled his gratefulness. For twenty-eight years she’d been soiling his life.
She was sitting in the front room, in the armchair near the fireplace, sipping on a glass of bourbon when the last of the guests left. Karl considered completely ignoring her, but she wouldn’t go away.
Still standing near the staircase and holding Bridget’s elbow after the last guest had left, he pushed burning air out of his lungs. His mother’s timing was impeccable. Not just because of the funeral. Since yesterday, when he’d kissed Bridget, fully kissed her, they hadn’t had a moment alone. He couldn’t seem to get his emotions under control. One minute he was mournful over losing Benjamin, the next, he was lost in thought about how deeply that kiss had affected him. How it had filled him with something that was so light, so airy, he couldn’t define it.
Right now, the last thing he wanted was for her to be subjected to his mother. “If she’s still awake, keep Elsie upstairs,” he said to Bridget.
“I will.”
“I’ll be up as soon as my mother leaves.” He released Bridget and waited until she’d walked up the steps before he walked into the living room. The simple clink of the glass as his mother set it on the table struck a nerve. Everything she did struck a nerve.
“Need I ask why you are here?” He sat and leaned back against the sofa. There was only one thing she’d ever wanted.
“I brought Benjamin into this world,” she said.
That was all she’d ever done for him.
“I never thought I’d live to see him leave it.” She dabbed at one eye. “Never wanted to. No parent does.”
He couldn’t stay quiet. “Please, don’t waste your acting abilities on me. Not now. Not ever. There is no reason for you to be here. Benjamin’s holdings will all be put into a trust for Elsie.”
“I’m not here for money.”
“Good, because you won’t get any.”
She shook her head. “Your father taught you well, didn’t he? To hate me.”
“No one needed to teach me that.” He rested one foot on his opposite knee. “You managed to do that all on your own.”
Reaching up, she pulled the pin out of her hat and removed it from her head. She set the hat on her lap. “Do you honestly think I left this home because I wanted to?”
This home. Not him and Benjamin.
“I was sent away,” she said with contempt. “Forced to leave.”
He’d heard it all before, more than once, and wasn’t any more moved this time.
She picked up her drink, took a sip, set it back down. “Your father loved money.”
Karl almost cracked a smile. Not because of her. Because of Bridget. What his mother just said was the kettle calling the pot black.
“I thought I could make him love me, too. I’d been born in a house with a dirt floor. A dirt floor. As a child, I swore I would have it better than my mother ever did.”
He’d never heard that, but still wasn’t moved.
“You come from a line of hateful men. Your uncles had all left by the time I met Gerald. Your father lived here, alone, with your grandfather, Karl, whom you were named after. Your grandmother had died years before, when your father had been a little boy. That was part of the reason Gerald didn’t think he needed a woman, a wife. Why have one when you can hire help. Someone to do your cooking and cleaning. But he wanted a son, and I promised I could give him one, and I did. You.”
She pressed her kerchief to her nose, sniffed and looked away. An act. He had no doubt.
“That was my first mistake. The moment you were born, Gerald wanted nothing to do with me. I’d served my purpose.”
He agreed. Giving birth had been the only motherly act she’d ever performed.
“I tried. Tried everything I could think of, but he’d already hired Sarah Conrad as your nanny. I wasn’t even allowed to tuck you in at night. Then your grandfather died. Gerald didn’t bother coming home after that, and I was fine with that. I made Sarah let me see you. Life was pretty good. Gerald was out opening new banks, I had a child, a home, more than I’d ever had, and then you became ill. Pneumonia. Gerald came home as soon as he heard.”
She was watching him, clearly expecting some kind of reaction. Karl didn’t have one. He couldn’t remember it, but he’d heard about how he’d been very sick as a child, almost died.
“Your father brought in doctors, nurses, a priest, and he never left your side. I was amazed by that. You survived and the next few months were wonderful. Gerald was home, we...” She smiled, a distant smile. “Your brother was conceived.”
The hint of joy that had been on her face faded. Regretting how she’d left shortly after Benjamin had been born? He doubted it.
“Two weeks after Benji was born, your father gave me an envelope full of money and the key to a home in Boston. I knew then that he’d used me. He only wanted a second son. In case something happened to one of you, he’d still have one.”
He sucked in a breath of air. “Is there a point to all this?”
“I left,” she said, her voice calm, composed. “But it wasn’t because I didn’t love you and Benji. I left because I did love you.”
His composure was slipping, disappearing. There had been a time in his life when he’d prayed to hear those words from her. Prayed that she’d loved him and his brother, even just a small amount. “Again, is there a point to all this? Because I’m not seeing one.”
“Gerald hated when I’d called him Benji.” She shook her head. “‘That’s no name for a man,’ he’d say.”
Karl stood. He’d heard those exact same words, and he didn’t want his father’s memory tarnished. Not by her.
“Yes, there is a point to all this, Karl. My children were stolen from me, and I’m here to ask, beg if I must, to be able to see my granddaughter. Not once a year, on her birthday, but as often as possible.”
“No.” He withheld from expanding on his reasons. There were too many.
“Sarah Conrad is getting old, and—”
“I said no, Mother.”
She opened her mouth, but closed it and stood. “You are going to learn to love one day, Karl. It happens to everyone, and I pray that when that happens, she will love you in return, because I know the hell of loving people who don’t love you back.”
“So do I, Mother.” The words were out before he realized they’d formed.
“There hav
e been times that I resented you, your father, Benjamin, for stealing my joy, the happiness that I so wanted. I even pretended that I didn’t care, but I still did, and I still do.” She laid an embossed calling card on the table beside her half-empty glass. “Here is my number for when you are ready to learn the entire truth of why I left, and why I followed your father’s rules of only seeing you once a year.”
He already knew the truth and stood stock-still as she crossed the room.
At the door, she turned and looked at him with a sad, yet tender expression. “I know your father molded you in his own image, but I remain hopeful that you are wise enough to break that mold and become your own man. One who will give his niece a home full of love.” She smiled. “I know it’s possible. You’re determined. You always have been. You learned to walk in a day. Made up your mind one morning and by that evening, you were walking all over the place.”
Still smiling, she turned and left the room.
He remained where he stood as he heard her bid Willard goodbye. Heard the front door close and closed his eyes against an image that formed. Of her leaving when he was eight, after one of her visits. He’d run after her, grabbed her around her knees, held on, begging her to stay. That was the day he started hating her. Hating what she’d done to him. It was also the day he swore to never care about her again, and he’d stuck to it.
* * *
Bridget paced the foyer, each time taking a step closer to Karl’s office before turning around, torn between the need to see him, talk to him, and the understanding that if he wanted to talk—to anyone—he wouldn’t be keeping himself behind his closed office door.
He’d gone in there last night after his mother had left and was in there still this morning. As far as she knew, he hadn’t even eaten anything since yesterday before the funeral.
Huffing out a breath, she stopped one step closer to the door. What she’d told him about curses, about knowing which ones to believe in, was so very true. She was cursed. Had been her entire life. The curse was caring too much. Da had told her that over and over. He’d laughed about it, too, because he’d been cursed with it as well. He’d said the way to deal with it was to help those you can, and to use some good old common sense when it came to those you can’t.
The trouble was, this time her curse of caring too much had gone one step further.
No, not just a step. It had leaped right into love.
That scared her.
Karl deserved to be loved. Truly loved. She just wasn’t the right person. The people who had filled the church yesterday, filled the house afterward, had reminded her of visiting the first-class decks of the Titanic. They had been kind, nice, but she’d had nothing in common with them. She’d forgotten how out of place she’d felt on the ship while visiting some of the restaurants and other first-class areas, and how she’d been relieved to take Elsie to their cabin for her nap.
She’d stayed at Karl’s side yesterday, but she’d have much rather been in the kitchen, preparing food, or upstairs with Elsie, filling her duties as a nanny because she knew that was where she fit in this world.
The world was made up of different people, which is how it’s meant to be. It would be very dull if everyone was exactly the same. The world would also fail to exist. It took all types, all walks of life to maintain a balance of give and take. Like Da had said, if everyone owned a pub, there would be no one visiting theirs, and if everyone owned a grocery, there would be no one growing the crops for the grocer to sell. He’d said the trick was to find what a person had to offer, and offer it to those who needed it. Like a boardinghouse, because she wouldn’t be able to own the pub once he was gone. That wouldn’t be seemly for a woman on her own.
Da had been right on so many things. A boardinghouse would not only offer a place for people to stay—something they needed—it would also allow her to care for others.
But where did that leave her feelings toward Karl?
She was about to turn away, leave Karl to his thoughts, when the door to his office opened. Her heart took to racing, as it did whenever she laid eyes on him anymore. He was extremely handsome. Dapper.
“I was just coming to look for you,” he said.
She let her gaze settle on his face, looked for signs of... She wasn’t sure, but hadn’t expected him to be smiling. “Why?”
He stepped back, holding the door open and waved a hand for her to enter. “There’s something I want to talk to you about.”
Curious, she walked forward, into his office, eyeing the smile on his face that never faltered. She’d been worried that his mother’s visit had upset him, but he seemed excited.
“Over here,” he said, closing the door and walking toward his desk. “The idea came to me last night. I’ve been working on it since then.”
Glancing from the shimmer in his eyes to the stack of papers on his desk, she asked, “What is it?”
“A trust fund for Titanic victims. I’ve crunched the numbers to include an initial payout and yearly dividends to survivors as well as those who may have lost the family breadwinner, and it’s doable. I’ll need to raise more capital in order for the investments to be diversified enough to grow long and short term enough to make the yearly obligations, but I have ideas for that, too.”
Her heart sank at him still being focused on everyone being compensated.
“I know what you’re thinking,” he said. “But hear me out. What you said yesterday was true. About me wanting the White Star Line to compensate everyone. That’s not going to happen. I know that. And I know none of this will change what happened, but this is a way that I can make sure Benjamin and Annette are not forgotten, and help people in the process.”
She glanced at the top of one sheet of paper, where he’d written The Benjamin Wingard Family Trust Fund.
“It came to me after my mother left.” He shook his head, sadly. “I can remember the exact moment that I decided I was never going to care about her again. I was eight.”
Bridget’s heart tumbled at the idea of a child determining that. “Why? What happened?”
He shook his head, then shrugged. “She left. Again. I haven’t cared about anyone since then. Except for Benjamin. He was four, and with our father working all the time, it was just the two of us. We had Mrs. Conrad and Willard and Mary, but in my eyes, it was just the two of us. It was that way for years.”
She laid a hand on his forearm, feeling his sincerity. His loss. “He thought the world of you. So did Annette. So does Elsie. They spoke of you from the moment I gave them Betsy.”
He smiled and glanced at the papers. “They’re part of the reason I want to create this trust fund.” Taking ahold of her hand, he looked at her. “You are the other part.”
“Me?”
“You are the reason that last night, after my mother left, I realized that not caring is no way to live. It’s not a life I want for Elsie. I want her to care about people. Like you do. You care about everyone.”
He had no idea what a curse that was. Every moment that went by, her heart was just filling up with more and more love for him.
“This trust fund is one way I can teach her to care about others. Not just right now, but going forward. Benjamin’s life insurance policy will be the seed money to start this trust fund, along with money that I will put into it, which could provide every survivor with a lump sum now. It won’t be enough to make anyone rich, but it could be enough to help. Help them now with what they need. Cover what they lost. And with the capital I know that I can raise, they’ll also receive yearly dividends for the rest of their lives.”
She could feel his excitement by the way his hold on her hand tightened. “You’ve really put a lot of thought, a lot of work, into this.”
“I couldn’t sleep last night. Had to run the numbers. See how much I’d have to raise.” He took her other hand. “I know I can do it, but I need your help.�
�
“My help?” Her pulse was racing, mainly from the look on his face. The eagerness, and the optimism. She didn’t want to disappoint him, but had to admit, “There’s nothing I can do.”
“Yes, there is. You helped with the church bazaar, and...” He shook his head. “I don’t know. I’m still trying to think it all through, but there are a lot of people that will need to be contacted. Survivors. People like Sean and Catherine.”
A wave of relief and excitement washed over her. “I could help with that. So could Catherine and Sean. They knew more people on the ship than I did.” Including the two men who had been at church this morning who needed work. And who would be helping Sean build the playhouse. At her suggestion.
Karl grasped her other hand and squeezed both of them. “I’d hoped you’d say that. I also plan on putting on a fundraising event of our own. Maybe we’ll get some ideas tonight.”
Frowning, she asked, “Tonight?”
“Yes, we are attending the opera. It’s a fundraiser for the victims.”
Bridget wasn’t sure if he’d lost his mind or if she had lost hers. “I can’t attend the opera.”
“Yes, you can. I’ve already paid for the tickets, and I bought you a dress. It’s—”
“No.” She pulled her hands out of his and stepped back. “I’m not the kind of person who goes to the opera.”
“What do you mean ‘the kind of person’?”
“I’m a nanny. I can’t go to the opera with you.” Her stomach churned and she stepped back farther. She couldn’t put herself in a situation like that. “I can’t.”
“Why not? You’re the one who said you believed no one is above or below anyone else.”
“I don’t.” Flustered, she shook her head. “I mean I do. I mean—I just can’t go to the opera with you.” She took another step back, and her foot caught on the leg of a chair.
Karl caught her before she tumbled, kept her upright. “Why?”
“Because I’m your employee. I’m Elsie’s nanny,” she pointed out, growing even more flustered.
A Family for the Titanic Survivor Page 16