by Janette Oke
It was a few moments until Belinda continued. “And you, Ella? You aren’t getting married, too, are you?” she teased.
Ella blushed. “Not as I’ve been informed, miss,” she answered good-naturedly. “I’ll be glad to stay.”
“And, Thomas—you and McIntyre will remain caring for the grounds?” Belinda said with a straight face but a twinkle in her eye.
The old gardener grinned, but McIntyre only stirred slightly and rearranged his head on his paws.
Belinda looked back at her staff. “I am so thankful . . . so relieved,” she informed them sincerely. “You have all been invaluable to Mrs. Stafford-Smyth . . . and to me. I don’t know how the house would ever manage without you.” She paused, then said, “Now we will need to do some careful planning. Potter, I will want to talk to you at length about the staff requirements. And, Cook, I will need your help with who else will be necessary in the kitchen. We have so much to do, but at least now we know how we should proceed. Thank you. Thank you all so much.”
After giving Sarah one more hug, Belinda nodded to the little group that they were free to go about their business.
The next weeks were busy ones at Marshall Manor. There were many decisions to be made, so many needs to be taken care of.
A contractor came to assess the possibility of a lift. He laid out a workable plan for the back hall at the end of the big library. The arrangement would work well both upstairs and down and not disturb the appearance of the house. He began the installation immediately. Belinda decided she would be very glad when the construction was over and the mess cleaned up. She could tell that Potter would be even more relieved. The housekeeper was nearly frantic during the building of the lift, trying to keep the dust out of “her” house.
After several discussions, it was decided that the house could accommodate ten residents without destroying its charm and character. Belinda hoped it wouldn’t be too difficult to find the ten.
Legal papers had to be drawn up to cover all possible eventualities. Belinda had never seen so many forms and documents. She had dreams of smothering in stacks of papers, struggling to get a breath of air. The whole procedure turned out to be an exhausting as well as an exhilarating one. Belinda prayed for the day when it all would be settled and she would be free to return to her own home.
Seventeen
The Unexpected
Belinda dressed carefully in her gray suit and pinned her hat securely on top of upswept hair. She inspected herself in her mirror, hoping she looked mature and responsible. She did not look forward to another trip to the law office. Her days seemed to be filled with legal documents and decisions. She was getting most weary of it all.
Will it never end? she wondered for the hundredth time. She really wished Mrs. Stafford-Smyth had left the responsibility of her estate to the rightful heirs, her grandsons. Then Belinda told herself, Aunt Virgie was always so kind to me. Surely I can do this small kindness in return. Belinda turned from her mirror and went down to see if Windsor had brought the carriage.
Belinda reminded herself as she looked about at the lovely autumn colors that this would be her last fall season in Boston. If things proceeded as she hoped, she would be out west, back in her prairie town, before another winter set in.
Belinda sighed deeply. She was so looking forward to getting home. She knew there would be many adjustments. She had left home Belinda Davis, young girl. She was going home as Belinda Davis, mature woman. She had done some foreign traveling, she had enjoyed cultural experiences in music and theater, her manners had been refined to eastern standards—and she had grown up. It would be very different for her in her hometown. She would need to find herself a new spot in the community and in the church life. But I will do it, she told herself firmly. She would do it because she didn’t want to lose all the worthwhile things her small-town roots had given her. Family. Deep friendships. Faith. Love. Acceptance. A regard for fellowmen not based on position or possessions. Belinda longed to return to the simple absolutes that had framed her growing-up years.
When they reached the law office, Windsor helped her down and promised that he would return on the hour. Belinda shook the wrinkles from her skirts, lifted a hand to be sure her hat was properly in place, and began the climb to the law office on the second floor.
“Good afternoon, Miss Davis,” a male receptionist addressed her. She had been in touch with this office so often she was now known by name. She nodded and offered a greeting in return.
“Mr. Keats will be with you shortly,” he said. Belinda moved to a chair in the waiting area and sat down.
Are we really getting any nearer to finishing all these arrangements? she asked herself as she pulled off her gloves. Each time I think the end should be in sight, some new decisions and more papers are needed. Oh, I hope this will all be over soon.
“Miss Davis,” Mr. Keats summoned her into his office. He was beaming, and Belinda hoped it meant much had been accomplished.
“Well, I believe we have all these documents sorted out and ready for your signature,” he began and Belinda felt a burden start to lift from her shoulders.
“You say you have the necessary staff in place?” Mr. Keats questioned.
“Well, not totally,” Belinda answered. “We have the kitchen help, extra day staff for the laundry and cleaning, but I still need an assistant for Potter.”
“Potter? Oh yes. She’s your housekeeper.”
Belinda nodded. “She’s done it all herself in the past—but now with so many decisions and the shopping and all the detail work, she will need someone else to supervise the staff. I have interviewed a number of women, but so far none of them have seemed suitable.”
“Well, staff can certainly be a problem,” he nodded and spread some sheets before Belinda. “Now, we need your signature on these papers,” he continued briskly. “This is to set up the trust fund from which all expenses for the operation of the manor will be paid.”
Belinda nodded and took the pen he offered.
“Now, when you draw funds from this account—” the attorney began.
“Oh, but I won’t be the one drawing the funds,” Belinda interrupted.
Mr. Keats stopped, a shocked look on his face. “What do you mean?” he asked. “We have set up the funds to be self-perpetuating, so that funds will be available for the continued support of the house.”
“Oh yes,” replied Belinda. “That is exactly as I wished, but I won’t be the one paying the monthly accounts. I won’t be here, you see.”
“Not here?”
“I will be leaving for home just as quickly as we can get things settled. I thought I had told you.”
The man looked chagrined. “Well, I . . . I recall some talk. But I thought . . . I guess I thought you had changed your mind. Nothing has been said about your leaving for some time—”
“Oh no,” Belinda assured him. “I have not changed my mind. I wish to leave as soon as possible.”
“I see,” said the man, but there was a deep frown across his brow.
“Is that . . . is that a problem?” asked Belinda.
“Not a problem. We’ll have to set things up differently, that’s all.”
“How . . . ? What will need to change?” Belinda felt her heart sink in frustration.
“Well, a trust. A board. I’ll need to do some looking into it.”
“Oh, dear!” cried Belinda. “I’d so hoped we could finish it all today.”
The attorney shook his head. “The way we have it set up now won’t do if you are to appoint someone else to administer the estate,” he stated simply. “This was arranged for you to have complete charge of the affairs and to administer them accordingly.”
He pulled the papers back and stacked them carefully together out of reach of Belinda’s pen.
“Will . . . will it take long?” Belinda asked, her tone agitated.
“That depends. We will need to look into how to set up the administration to best care for the institution
and the affairs of the estate. I will need to do some looking into possible alternatives. It would have been much simpler, of course, if you had chosen to run things yourself. But . . . I’m sure something can be worked out.”
Belinda was discouraged as she left the attorney’s inner office. There were to be more dealings, more decisions, more frustration.
“Good day, Mr. Willoughby,” Belinda said, glancing toward the receptionist as she moved toward the stairs. But she saw he was not alone. A tall man, his back to Belinda, was leaning over the desk, discussing some papers.
“Oh, excuse me,” Belinda apologized. “I didn’t realize—”
But she stopped short. There was something familiar about the man. And then he straightened and Belinda saw one sleeve of his suit coat pinned up.
Can it possibly be? Belinda’s heart gave a sudden lurch. Somehow she knew who it was even before the gentleman turned to look at her.
“Drew?”
The man wheeled sharply, his eyes searching the face of the young woman before him. “Belinda! Belinda Davis! Why . . . why . . . ?”
“What are you doing here?” Belinda asked in amazement.
He had taken a step toward her, his hand going out to take hers.
“It is you!” he said, shaking his head in wonder. “It truly is you! I thought I must be dreaming.”
“What are you doing here?” Belinda asked again.
“I . . . I work for this firm,” he responded. “And you?”
“You . . . you work here? Why . . . why haven’t I seen you before? I’ve been in and out of this office almost daily it seems for . . . for just forever.”
“You have?” Drew said in surprise. “You mean . . . you’ve been here? In Boston?”
“I have been for three years,” Belinda informed him.
“I can’t believe it! Here we are . . . in the same city, so . . . so close to each other and never knowing it. Why didn’t someone tell me?”
“I . . . I had no idea where you were,” Belinda explained. “My folks said you were somewhere in the East—training, but they never did say where. I don’t know that they even knew.”
Drew had still not released her hand. “I can’t believe this,” he said, shaking his head. “We . . . we have so much catching up to do.”
Belinda felt suddenly shy. She withdrew her hand discreetly and fingered her gloves. “Yes,” she agreed, the color warming her face, “we do, don’t we? Why, I know nothing about . . . about what you are doing now or your . . . your . . . situation,” stammered Belinda.
“Are you in a hurry?” asked Drew, and Belinda shook her head.
“Then how about a cup of tea together so we can catch up a bit? I have a few minutes.”
“Oh, could we?” Belinda quickly answered. “That would be so nice. I need a friend . . . someone I can talk to,” she said. She was embarrassed to feel tears stinging her eyes.
“Is something wrong?” Drew asked quickly and reached out his arm toward her.
Belinda took one step back and shook her head. “No . . . no, not really. I’ve just had too many decisions to make in too short a time. I’m . . . I’m fine.”
Drew nodded, then turned to look at the man at the desk. “Mr. Willoughby, I’m going to be out for half an hour or so. Miss Davis is a friend from home.”
Mr. Willoughby, who obviously had missed none of the exchange, nodded silently and turned his eyes back to the paper before him. Drew Simpson took the arm of Miss Davis and led her toward the door.
“I still can’t believe this,” Drew was saying. “Imagine, you in Boston.”
Drew escorted Belinda to a small tea shop and settled her at a table. “Now,” he said, “we don’t have nearly enough time, so we will have to talk fast.”
Belinda smiled. She no longer felt desperate—or lonely—or shy. She was so glad to see someone from home. She was so glad to see Drew.
“I heard that you visited home a while ago,” she commented.
“You were home?”
“Just shortly after you were. I was sorry to hear about your father.”
Drew nodded and Belinda saw the grief on his face. “It was a real shock,” he said. “To all of us.”
“How is your mother?”
“She’s . . . she’s fine. She still has Sid, but I’m afraid she never has really adjusted to country living. Still wants Sid to get more education. I’ve been trying to think of some way . . . but so far . . .” Drew shrugged, then changed the subject. “But tell me, what are you doing in Boston?”
They were momentarily interrupted while the waitress set their tea before them. As soon as the girl moved on, Belinda smiled. “Well, it’s rather a long story,” she said, “but I will save you all the details. My nursing brought me here.”
“You nurse in a Boston hospital?”
“No. No, I nursed privately. For an elderly woman but . . . she is gone now. I’m trying to get the estate settled. That’s why I was at the office today.”
“I see,” said Drew. “So you went right to the top?” he smiled teasingly.
“To the top?”
“Mr. Keats. He’s the senior partner.”
“I didn’t know that,” Belinda admitted. “All I know is that settling an estate is an everlasting chore. It seems I’ve been in and out of the office so often that I should have part ownership.”
Drew laughed. “That’s how most folks feel by the time they have sorted through legal papers,” he admitted.
“But you . . . what are you doing?” began Belinda. “You said you work there. Doing what?”
Drew smiled again. “Exactly what I was told to do, Belinda Davis. If you remember—practicing law.”
“You mean you . . . you practice law . . . with them?”
Drew nodded.
“I’m so glad you were able to get your schooling—that you have done your training,” she hurried on.
“Finally! Though there were times when I thought I’d never make it, I now am a member of the firm Keats, Cross and Newman. Though my name doesn’t appear on the shingle yet.”
“That’s wonderful!”
Drew sobered. “It is,” he admitted. “And I’ve never forgotten who made me believe in my dream.”
Belinda flushed and toyed with her teacup. “I—we’ve been out of touch for so long, I guess I don’t know much about . . . about how you’ve been.”
“Nor I you,” he admitted. “I’ve been calling you ‘Miss Davis,’ but I know it’s highly unlikely you haven’t married.”
Belinda shook her head. “I haven’t married,” she said simply.
Drew smiled.
There was silence for a bit.
Belinda broke it. “And you?”
Drew shook his head.
It was Belinda’s turn to smile.
“How are your folks?” Drew said, lessening the emotional tension at the table.
“Fine. They said you had called. They were pleased. And Luke was . . . was glad that there is . . . that you have no . . . no hard feelings.”
“I like your brother Luke,” Drew said slowly. “I hadn’t realized what a special man he is until I talked to him this last time I was home.”
Belinda felt her eyes mist over. “I think he’s special, too,” she admitted.
They chatted on for some minutes, talking of the hometown they both knew. Belinda didn’t want the little visit to end. And then Drew pulled a watch from his vest pocket to check the time. “I hate to say this, but I must get back,” he told her, and Belinda couldn’t keep the disappointment from her face.
“We won’t lose touch again, will we?” he went on. “I mean . . . now that we know we are both in Boston . . .”
“Oh yes. Let’s keep in touch,” Belinda said. She was embarrassed that it sounded a bit too eager.
“You have a telephone?”
Belinda nodded and Drew pulled a small pad and pencil from his pocket. Belinda dictated her number.
“I’ll be in touch,” he pro
mised.
Belinda waited while Drew paid for their refreshments and walked with him back toward the office.
“How will you get home?” he asked her.
“Windsor will soon be here to pick me up,” she informed him.
Drew didn’t ask who Windsor was, and Belinda didn’t think to explain.
They had almost reached the law office when Belinda had a sudden inspiration. “Would you . . . could you . . . I mean, would it be possible for you to take . . . to take my—what do you call it—legal . . . legal case?”
Drew smiled at her fumbling but shook his head. “Mr. Keats, senior partner, is working for you,” he reminded her. “I’m just one of the juniors of the firm.”
“But you’re my friend!” Belinda responded.
“Mr. Keats would say that’s all the more reason for me to refrain from acting on your behalf.”
“But . . . but couldn’t you just give advice . . . counsel?”
“I wish I could,” said Drew sincerely, reaching to take Belinda’s hand. “I do. Really. But it’s one of the rules of the firm. No interference of any kind with another attorney’s client.”
Belinda shrugged. She had so hoped to be able to talk things over with a friend. However, she did understand Drew’s sensitive position.
“Very well,” she smiled. “I promise not to plague you about my . . . my legal tangles.”
Drew smiled. “Who wants to talk ‘legal’?” he asked lightly. “We have too much other catching up to do.”
Belinda forgot her worries momentarily and nodded in agreement. “You’d best run—before you get yourself released from your position,” she countered.
Drew pressed her hand. “I’ll call,” he promised, and then Belinda was standing on the sidewalk alone, looking down the street for the carriage and Windsor.
Eighteen
Friendship
All the way home Belinda marveled at her new discovery. Drew is in Boston! she told herself over and over. Drew had not married. Drew was . . . was all that she remembered him to be, and more. Belinda feared and blushed by turn. Is it possible, she finally allowed herself to wonder, that after all this time Drew might still feel something for me? Is it possible that I still feel something for him?