by Holly Bush
Contract to Wed
Crawford Family 2
By Holly Bush
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Epilogue
Prologue
Boston, October 1891
Jolene Crawford Crenshaw sat on one of two chairs just feet from the burial plot. Graveyard attendants held the ropes suspending the casket above a deep hole in the ground and began to let loose their ends, inches at a time. Jolene watched the casket disappear as it was slowly lowered into the ground. Her husband’s mother shuddered when the box was no longer visible above the grass, then lurched forward, and sobbed aloud.
Jolene sat back in her chair and stared straight ahead while her brother-in-law knelt on the ground to embrace and comfort his mother. Jolene listened to the drone of the minister’s final words. The netting on her hat whipped against her face as mourners moved away and the wind was free to chill her.
“Come, Jolene,” her sister Jennifer said. “Turner’s brother will attend Mrs. Crenshaw. Come away, dear.”
Jolene looked up at her younger sister, giving direction to her, and very nearly corrected Jennifer aloud. But that would not do. No one must think her as anything but a grieving widow. She nodded at Jennifer, stood, and allowed her father, William Crawford, to wrap one arm about her and hold her other arm, as if she were going to crumble at any moment. They were stopped, almost immediately, by Evelyn Prentiss. She clutched Jolene’s hand.
“My dear, I am so terribly sorry about this, especially considering . . . well, I’m just terribly sorry.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Prentiss,” Jolene said. “We are bearing up as best we can.”
“Of course you are,” she said and looked away for a brief moment. “Where is Jane? Where is your mother today?”
“Not feeling well, I’m afraid,” her father said. “We didn’t think this chilly weather would be good for her. She is, of course, devastated that she was unable to attend.”
Evelyn Prentiss nodded. “I will wait a few days and call on her then.”
“She will be happy for the diversion, Mrs. Prentiss,” Jennifer said.
Her father turned to the waiting carriage and handed her and her sister inside. Jolene leaned her head back against the tufted leather seat and closed her eyes. How long until she was in her own rooms and able to shed this façade?
“Will you be checking in on Mother before you go home to Landonmore?” Jennifer asked. “She has letters and telegrams that have arrived for you.”
“I won’t have time to visit with Mother,” she said. “I’ll be accepting visitors this afternoon and imagine there will be a significant number of them.”
“There will be, I’m sorry to say,” her father said. “Even with Turner’s sometimes curious behavior as of late, his Boston connections are sterling. There will be some from Washington, as well.”
“What time should I arrive, Jolene? I’m going to stop in to see Mother and then will make myself available to you. Are you coming, Father?” Jennifer asked.
“If Jolene wants me there, I will,” he said and faced her. “What would you prefer?”
She would prefer that she was far, far away from the questions. That she was somewhere no one knew her. She could not take the pity, she thought, with some anger. She could not! Jolene took deep breaths to calm her racing heart and looked at her sister.
“You’ve no need to trouble yourself, Jennifer. Certainly there is something you would prefer to be doing other than holding my hand, and making dreadfully repetitive small talk.”
Jennifer stared at her incredulously. “Jolene,” she said softly. “You are my sister, and your husband has just died. A young man, no less, a tragedy. I will stay with you while you make your greetings to Turner’s friends. Julia would as well if she were able to be here.”
Julia! Their sister Julia would as likely poison her wine as comfort her or share the burden of greeting guests. “Highly unlikely, Jennifer. Julia would pay me no kindnesses, as you well know.”
Jennifer shook her head. “That is not true.” She looked to their father for affirmation, but he was determinedly staring out the window of the carriage.
The coach was silent until Jolene heard Jennifer sniffle, and she watched her sister wipe her eyes. “Turner is with little William now, and of that, I am glad,” Jennifer said.
There was a buzz in Jolene’s ear so loud that she could not think for a moment. Did not remember that she was to be the grieving widow. She leaned forward, the muscles in her face tight and pinched, and she was uncertain if she would be able to speak. But she found her voice, albeit strident and cruel, even by her own standards.
“Do not mention my son’s name in the same sentence as my husband’s ever again. In fact, do not ever say my son’s name again, you silly, ugly girl. Such sentimental drivel is, no doubt, why you are still unmarried.”
Jennifer blinked furiously, and her lip trembled. She looked away, and Jolene settled back in her seat. She was surprised when Jennifer spoke again.
“You may push away anyone that loves you, Jolene, for as long as you want. I love you, you see, and so does Julia. And I loved little William with all my heart. I will mourn him, choose to think of him, and speak about him when I wish. I was not his mother and could not imagine the pain you were, and are in, but grief is not a thing to guard jealously, as if you are the only one to feel it.”
The carriage rolled to a stop, and Jolene barely waited for the servant to help her step down. Her hands shook and her stomach rolled over as she entered the marbled foyer of Landonmore. She yanked the black satin ribbons of her bonnet and dropped it as she climbed the stairs. She entered her sitting room, dismissed her maid, locked the door to her apartments, and tore at her black jacket till buttons flew and it was off. Jolene dropped to her knees and struggled for breath.
She pictured her son William, at three, running and laughing, his chubby little legs churning. She could still feel when he climbed onto her lap, when they were alone and held her face still with his hands. He would say, “Mother! Look at me. Mother!” And Jolene would pretend to look elsewhere until they both dissolved into giggles.
Jolene crawled to a trunk near her reading chair and pulled a key on a ribbon from within the folds of her dress. With shaking hands, she unlocked the trunk and pulled a worn blanket from inside. She buried her face in William’s blanket and breathed deep. Jolene rocked back and forth on her haunches and held the tattered wool to her nose.
Chapter One
Boston, November 1891
“Thank you for coming to see me this morning, Jolene,” Calvin Billings said as he assisted her into the red leather chair across from his desk.
“The reading of the will, I understand, is not until Wednesday morning,” Jolene replied and straightened the folds of her black silk skirt. “I’m curious to hear what prompted this meeting.”
“I’m not sure I should have asked you here to tell you what I’m going to tell you,” Calvin said as he shook his head. “Turner’s will was very specific.”
Jolene shrugged. “Don’t put yourself out for me, Calvin.”
The attorney was silent a long moment and then leaned forward. “I wanted to talk to you about some of the de
tails of Turner’s will before Wednesday’s meeting so that you can process it privately, rather than in a room full of people.”
“What details?”
Billings sorted through papers laid out before him on his massive gleaming desktop. He settled on one and looked at Jolene over the tops of his glasses. “The bulk of Turner’s estate will be settled on one, Jillian Crawford Shelling currently residing with your sister in South Dakota.”
“I don’t understand,” Jolene said.
“A little over fifty million dollars will be set aside in an estate for Miss Shelling, overseen by myself and her step-father, Jake Shelling, as executers. Various charities will receive an amount totaling nearly one million dollars. Family members, including Turner’s mother, brother, nephews, and your sister Jennifer, have been gifted annual annuities. In addition, his mother’s home expenses will be taken care of for as long as she lives. A few servants and his secretary have been given lump sums ranging from fifty to one hundred thousand dollars.”
Jolene stared at her gloved hands lying in her lap. She picked at a stray thread in the crocheting and thought she’d have to correct Alice for handing these particular gloves to her to wear. But perhaps she’d best let Alice alone on this error. Perhaps she’d best contemplate what Calvin had just said. She looked up at him.
“He has gifted our fortune, my fortune as well, to Jillian? Did he not understand that he would have still been a clerk in my father’s bank had he not married me? Did he forget what I did for him? He would have been nothing without me. I made him!”
The office was silent while Calvin stared at his papers. Jolene’s palms and hairline were sweating, and her hands shook. Calvin looked up at her then and continued.
“An annuity in your name has been established with an annual income of seventy-five thousand dollars. The summer home in New York is also yours.”
“Seventy-five thousand dollars? Turner makes his point even from his grave gifting me with an amount somewhere between his char woman and his secretary,” Jolene said and leaned back in her chair. “What is the value of my personal wealth?”
Calvin shook his head. “I’m not sure you understand, Jolene. You have no personal wealth of your own other than an account set up long ago by your grandmother. There is, perhaps, one-hundred-thousand dollars, or so, in that account.”
“What of the money that I brought to the marriage?”
“It was all combined and invested years ago. Turner had full-control of your family’s finances.”
The color drained from Jolene’s face, and her lips went dry. The depth and breadth of her situation were slowly descending on her. She would be poor. Jolene could not think of anything that could be worse, other than living through the days after her son’s death again. In fact, her own death would be welcome, rather than deal with what was coming in her life and all the unpleasantness and humiliation that would surround it.
“What of Landonmore? What will be said about me?” Jolene whispered and looked up at Calvin. “What will I do?”
Calvin Billings stood and came around his desk. He knelt beside her and held her hands. “You will be fine, Jolene. Things will change for you, but you’re a survivor. You will find a way to march through this with your head high. I hope that you are able to find some peace when your life has settled into a routine.”
Jolene was uncertain that she would make it through this. But Calvin Billings was nothing if not a very smart man. And while Calvin and his wife, Eugenia, would never be on her social level, she recognized that he was nonetheless an honest and honorable man, and he’d always been kind to her, even when she was unkind to him.
“Why did you do me the favor of telling me before Wednesday? You could have very easily left it till then, Calvin. You and Eugenia and I are certainly not bosom bows, although I do know you were a friend of Turner’s. Which by all accounts would make anyone more prone to let me flounder through this announcement publically,” Jolene said. “I’ve been a target of that sort of thing before because of jealousy.”
Calvin shook his head. “You are right. You and I will never be close, but that does not mean that I would want to see you put in such an awkward situation. And while I know that you and Turner weren’t in perfect harmony in the last few years, I can assure you that he never said one unflattering word about you to me or to anyone in my hearing.”
“But let us agree that Turner did, indeed, gain the last word,” she said.
Calvin nodded. “I will see you Wednesday then.”
Chapter Two
“What are you talking about?” William Crawford asked over the noise and tittering of the crowd gathered in Calvin Billings’s office that Wednesday morning.
“Calm down everyone. Quiet, please,” the attorney said. “My secretary is handing out paperwork for you to read and sign.”
Jolene’s father stood. “What do you mean that his wife is not the foremost beneficiary? There must be some mistake.”
“I don’t believe there is a mistake, Father,” Jolene said.
“How can you be so calm?” he asked her. “After all you’ve been through. All you did for him? And this is the outcome?”
Turner’s mother was sniffling into her lace hanky. His brother, Elliot, though, was staring at her with a faint but noticeable smile. He must be in his glory, the self-righteous ass, Jolene thought. Elliot had never approved of her, never made any concessions to her family situation and wealth, yet the Crawfords had raised the fortunes of the Crenshaws immeasurably. She wondered if Elliot realized he would have never been preaching at the venerable First Boston Baptist Church had it not been for Turner’s, and therefore her, influence.
“It is his will. It is legally binding.”
“And you’ve trusted Turner’s attorney to tell you the truth of the matter? I will have our family attorney review this,” her father said, and the room erupted in accusations.
Jane Crawford was seated beside Jolene and leaned close to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her daughter’s ear. “I would suggest to your father that you live at Willow Tree with us, but I can’t imagine that would suit you, and Jennifer, of course, still lives with us. At least Julia is no longer at home.”
The affectionate gesture belied her mother’s words. “No need to trouble yourself,” she said.
“I cannot believe that Turner included me in his will. I will happily give it to you, if you need it, Jolene,” Jennifer whispered in her ear as she leaned forward from the row behind. “I do hate all of this arguing. I wish Father would sit down.”
“If Turner granted you a portion, it is yours. You’d best keep it, Jennifer. One never knows when one’s circumstances may change,” Jolene said.
“Well, it is your money, Jolene,” Jennifer said. “You worked very hard to make sure that Turner knew the right people and that Landonmore . . .”
“If you expect to be rewarded for your life’s work, Jennifer,” Jane Crawford said, “you’ll be sadly disappointed. You’d best begin to understand a woman’s place in the world, your place in the world. Your father and I will not always be here to feed and clothe you.”
Jennifer was silenced and looked away.
Jolene turned her attention to Calvin Billings when he rapped a book down on his desk. “You’re more than welcome to have your attorney come here to review any and all of these documents. In fact, I welcome it.”
“That is good because that is exactly what will happen within the next day or two,” William Crawford said. He picked up his top hat and gloves and motioned to his wife and daughters. “Come along. We will see what is said by Harton and Burberry.”
“I’ll be going straight to Landonmore, Father,” Jolene said. “Lenora is joining me for luncheon.”
Jolene waited as the room began to clear and watched until her parents and Jennifer were gone. She took a deep breath and thought to herself that what she was about to do was uncommonly out of character for her; however, she felt oddly obligated, even with the like
lihood of an unpleasant scene that may proceed from it. She walked across the room to where Calvin was speaking to Turner’s mother and brother. Elliot looked at her in some surprise, Mrs. Crenshaw looked at her well-worn hanky, and Calvin nodded at her and turned away. She waited until Mrs. Crenshaw looked up at her.
“I did not say it at the funeral or at any of the at-homes, and I believe I have been remiss in not telling you that I am terribly sorry for your loss. I know that you loved Turner and are grieving most deeply,” Jolene said.
“If you’re trying to get any of my mother’s money, you’d best think again, Jolene. You have done nothing but bring misery and snobbery and hatefulness to this family,” Elliot spat out.
Mary Crenshaw laid a shaking hand on her son’s arm. “Please, Elliot. No more angry words.” She stepped close and took Jolene’s hand in hers. “I thank you for saying so, Jolene. Whatever happened between you and Turner is in the past and was between the two of you anyway. I believe you made Turner very happy, but above all you gave him, you gave us, the most precious gift,” she said and dabbed her eyes, “those most precious, short years with our little William.” She looked away and then back at Jolene and squeezed her hand. “The death of a child is the most grievous thing a mother can face. We are, unhappily, both of the same situations.”
Jolene was terrified. Years of misery and grief threatened to be unleashed with tears and hysteria. She had made it her habit to remain unemotional during life events. It would not reflect well on her to release a torrent just when others understood that she had not inherited Turner’s estate. Women of her social standing were stoic and cool without regard to those problematic emotions such as love and tenderness and passion and anger. However, she had loved. She had loved her little boy with every bit of being and with a tenderness that she didn’t think she was capable of. And Mary Crenshaw had, undoubtedly, loved Turner as well.
Jolene had not said anything and realized then that it had been moments, minutes rather, that she had stood hand-in-hand with Turner’s mother, as they stared into each other’s anguish. She could not trust herself to speak. Eventually the lump in her throat softened, and she looked away to gather her wits. “You are right, Mary,” she said in a halting whisper. “It is the most grievous pain a mother can face.”