A Daughter's Inheritance

by Judith Miller

  3

  Saturday, June 12, 1897

  The upstairs maid carried Fanny’s silk taffeta gown into the bedroom and waited for Fanny’s approval.

  “Thank you, Hazel. The dress looks wonderful.” Fanny beamed with pleasure. The color was perfect, the precise shade of the lilac blooms from the first bush she had planted many years ago with Mr. Pritchard’s help—exactly two weeks after her father’s death. At Grandfather’s insistence, the dress had been fashioned by a local dressmaker for the Summer’s Eve Ball. Outsized caps of lilac taffeta topped the full ruffled lace sleeves, and a thin ruffle edged the neckline. Crystal beads in an iris motif embellished the bodice and skirt. Had she designed the dress, she would have used a lilac motif instead.

  Hazel fastened the gown and handed Fanny a pair of long white gloves. “You look lovely, miss. That shade is perfect with your hair.”

  Fanny bent forward and pecked Hazel on the cheek. “You’re always so kind, Hazel. What would I do without you?” She took one final peek in mirror. “I’m going to go and tell Grandfather good-night before I depart.”

  Hazel fluffed the hemline of the skirt and gave an approving nod. “He said to waken him if he’s asleep. He wants to see you in your dress.”

  Fanny hurried out the door and down the hallway. When she neared her grandfather’s room, she slowed her step. After a gentle tap on the door, she entered. “Are you asleep?”

  He opened his eyes and waved her forward. “Come. Stand by the window and let me see you.”

  Fanny followed his instruction and took her place in front of the window. He waved his forefinger in a circle, and she compliantly turned slowly for inspection.

  “Lovely. Simply lovely.”

  “Thank you, Grandfather.” She leaned down and kissed his pale weathered cheek. “I promise to tell you all the details tomorrow morning.”

  He nodded. “I love you very much, Fanny. Now off with you and have a wonderful time.”

  Fanny promised to enjoy herself, and she would make every attempt. But a formal dinner followed by dancing with the eligible bachelors of Rochester, New York, didn’t rank high on her list of pleasant pastimes. She would much prefer dipping her toes off the dock at Broadmoor Island or stealing away for an afternoon of fishing with Michael Atwell. He knew the waters of the St. Lawrence Seaway and could navigate her grandfather’s skiff into the finest fishing spots along the river. Grandfather enjoyed referring to the young man as his boatswain. Michael had been charged with maintaining the Broadmoor boats and equipment for the past five years—since the summer he had turned sixteen. Through the years, the size and number of Grandfather’s boats had increased, and so had Michael’s ability. Without Michael, life on Broadmoor Island wouldn’t be nearly so pleasant. This year, however, Fanny doubted whether she’d be seeing Michael or fishing at Broadmoor Island.

  She stepped into the carriage, sat down, and smoothed the folds of her skirt before resting her back against the leather-upholstered seat. It was strange the way things occurred. Her cousins would be delighted to forego the annual summer visit at the island. In fact, except for the youngest children of Fanny’s cousins, the entire family would prefer to remain in Rochester for the summer—or at least choose a hiatus away from one another along the New Jersey shore or touring abroad. There was little doubt that time on the island would be less stressful if the entire family weren’t there at the same time. Though the house on Broadmoor Island far surpassed the Rochester mansion in size, there had been no structure created that would peacefully house all members of the Broadmoor family. The possibility remained an enigma, but that hadn’t stopped Grand-mère from insisting upon the family coming together each summer for what she had called “reunion and refreshment.” Other members of the family had created their own special names for the summer get-togethers, designations that weren’t nearly as lovely as the one chosen by Grand-mère.

  “I don’t understand why they all hate each other and the island,” Fanny murmured to herself. “They don’t understand how blessed they are to have one another. I would love to have brothers and sisters. I would give anything to have my mother and father alive and well. How can they be so flippant about the blessing of family?”

  She couldn’t reason the matter in her mind. The extended Broadmoor family seemed worse than strangers. At least with strangers a modicum of manners remained in place. With family, however, the Broadmoors seemed to have a penchant for insult and upheaval. They were masters at taking offense for the silliest things. Fanny could recall a time when much of the family had been in a complete tizzy when Grand-mère had had the audacity to serve roasted lamb at the evening meal on what was clearly a beef day.

  “They’re all a bunch of ninnies,” Fanny said, shaking her head. With the exception of Sophie and Amanda, she couldn’t even pretend that any of them cared one whit for her.

  Much too soon the carriage came to a halt in the driveway of Jonas and Victoria Broadmoor’s impressive home and abruptly ended Fanny’s musings. Soft music, played by string musicians, wafted on the warm evening breeze to greet the arriving guests—pleasant melodies that were intended to delight even the most severe critic. And there were many among the social set who would judge not only the music but every aspect of the party. Each one eager to discover any faux pas or indiscretion that would fuel local gossip.

  Fanny would have preferred to enter by a rear door and mingle without fanfare, but her aunt would be scandalized by such an arrival. Aunt Victoria had obviously taken great pains to ensure an illustrious review in the society column of the newspaper. Her niece would be expected to enter through the front door and stand before the gathered assemblage for her introduction. How she longed for Grandfather’s presence and his strong arm to lean upon at this moment. She didn’t realize how much she had depended upon his support at these ghastly social affairs.

  She followed the servant’s instructions and stepped to the entrance of the oversized parlor. “Miss Frances Jane Broadmoor.” His voice bellowed above the twittering guests, who momentarily ceased their chitchat and stared in her direction. With her chin lifted to what she hoped was the proper height, Fanny entered the parlor. She could only hope she wouldn’t trip and embarrass herself. With a quick glance, she scanned the area for an out-of-the way spot where she could gain her bearings before commencing the required rigors of mingling with the other guests.

  “There you are!” Amanda pulled her cousin into an embrace and then stepped back, her gaze traveling up and down the length of Fanny’s gown. “Your dress is lovely. You didn’t mention it when we were at the house.” She touched Fanny’s shoulder. “Turn around and permit me a view of the back.”

  Feeling somewhat foolish, Fanny completed a quick pirouette. Her appearance couldn’t begin to compare to that of Amanda. Though the attention was offered in kindness, the close scrutiny only caused Fanny further discomfort. Although Hazel had maintained it would take an explosion for even one hair to escape the nest of curls she’d created atop Fanny’s head, the hairpins had already begun to pop loose. The maid truly lacked a full understanding of Fanny’s unmanageable tresses. She forced a curl back into place and glanced about the room. “I haven’t seen Sophie. Has she arrived?”

  Amanda nodded toward a far corner. “Over there, surrounded by that flock of young men. No matter where she leads, they follow.”

  Moments later the group of men separated and Sophie walked toward them. The scene was somewhat akin to the parting of the Red Sea, Fanny decided. Amanda beckoned to their cousin and she approached, her entourage following close on her heels. When she stopped in front of her cousins, the young men clustered into a tight knot directly behind her. It seemed that each one longed to escort the vivacious young woman to the supper table.

  “All my friends are wondering who will sit next to me at dinner, but I’ve told them I had no say in the decision.” She batted her lashes at the assembled group standing behind her.

  Anticipation glazed their eyes as the
y awaited Sophie’s further attention. Amanda pointed her fan toward the distant doorway and then looked at the huddled group of bedazzled followers. “You may inquire of my mother if you desire.”

  None of them moved. It appeared as if the young admirers feared leaving Sophie for even a minute. And Sophie seemed to enjoy the suffocating attention. Before Fanny could contemplate the situation further, one of the servants announced dinner.

  Amanda looped arms with Fanny, and they followed Sophie’s formally attired devotees toward the massive dining room located on the third floor. The rooms were used only for large parties, and the servants were aided by the dumbwaiters in the dining hall. Otherwise they’d not survive such ordeals. Amanda giggled when they neared the doorway.

  “Each year the young men become increasingly smitten with our cousin.”

  “And with you, also. If you didn’t shoo them away, you’d have a large assemblage following you,” Fanny replied. While Sophie’s vivacious personality attracted the men, it was Amanda’s natural beauty that wooed them. Fanny decided it was Amanda’s regal deportment that set her apart, along with her perfect blond hair and striking features.

  They parted at the table in search of their place cards. This was yet another scheme Aunt Victoria utilized at her dinner parties. She insisted that her guests delight in the process of locating their assigned seats. “Utter chaos,” Fanny muttered while she circled the table in search of her name.

  “Over here, Fanny.” Lydia Broadmoor, Grayson’s wife, waved her forward. “You’re on the other side of Grayson.”

  Although Aunt Victoria enjoyed the unconventional method of requiring her guests to search for their place cards, she continued to insist upon a traditional male-female seating arrangement. Accordingly, Fanny knew she would be flanked by men. Sitting next to Amanda’s oldest brother wouldn’t have been Fanny’s first choice, but at least he was a relative. After rounding the table, she glanced at the place card to her left. Mr. Snodgrass. So she would have Amanda’s older brother on one side and old Mr. Snodgrass, Uncle Jonas’s favorite banker, on the other. This would be a long dinner!

  She exchanged pleasantries with Grayson and Lydia and politely inquired after the health of their three children. Fanny hadn’t seen any of them since Christmas. “Are the children looking forward to the summer on Broadmoor Island?”

  Lydia silently waited for her husband’s response. “They enjoy their time at the island, but our plans remain indefinite.”

  “How is that possible? Nothing has changed.”

  Grayson looked at her as though she’d lost her senses.

  “Grandfather? You do realize the gravity of his illness, do you not?”

  “Yes, of course, but that changes nothing. He still expects—”

  “It changes everything, dear Fanny. While the youngsters and one or two older members of the family enjoy summering on the island, the rest of us will be relieved and, dare I say, delighted to end that compulsory tradition.”

  Fanny’s jaw went slack. How could they find anything objectionable with that lovely island? She felt as though she’d been jabbed in the stomach by a sharp elbow.

  “Appears as though Victoria surrounded me with both beauty and youth this evening.” Fanny turned to see Mr. Snodgrass smiling down at her. The lanky old man towered above her; he looked to be at least six feet tall. Beatrice, one of Sophie’s older sisters, had been positioned on the other side of the banker. Though Fanny wouldn’t have described Beatrice as either young or beautiful, she couldn’t fault Mr. Snodgrass. Fanny didn’t consider herself pretty, either—young, but certainly not pretty.

  Fanny nodded and returned a smile. “Good evening, Mr. Snodgrass.” She leaned forward. “How are you, Beatrice?” Most of the time, Beatrice seemed to be either in pain or sad. Fanny couldn’t decide which it might be this evening. Even when Beatrice smiled, her lips drooped at the corners.

  “I’m well, thank you, Fanny. When did you return to Rochester?”

  “I’ve been home nearly two weeks now.” She scoured her thoughts for some tidbit that might keep the conversation flowing. “How is Miranda?”

  “Fine. She seems to think she’s all grown up; she was insulted that she wasn’t invited to the ball this evening.” Beatrice forced her drooping lips upward. “I explained that eight-year-olds aren’t considered adults, but she would hear none of that.”

  “I’m certain she’s looking forward to spending July and August at the island.”

  “Island?” Mr. Snodgrass pointed a bony finger at Fanny. “You mark my words: this country will have men in Cuba before the end of the year. With the newspapers pushing for intervention, Congress will follow suit. We’ll march onto that island, even if it’s not the intelligent thing to do. And you can quote me on that!” Everyone at the table was now staring at them.

  “We weren’t discussing Cuba, Mr. Snodgrass,” Fanny shouted. She disliked speaking so loudly, but she didn’t want the old man to misinterpret anything else she said.

  “Well, even if you weren’t, you should be. This country is going to find itself in a real mess. Folks need to wake up before we’re in the middle of someone else’s war. I say, let those Spaniards and Cubans fight it out for themselves.”

  Aunt Victoria nudged Uncle Jonas into action.

  “No talk of war or fighting at the dinner table, William.

  Victoria insists it ruins the digestion.”

  Wisps of white hair appeared to be waving at the guests as Mr. Snodgrass enthusiastically nodded. “The whole matter is more than I can digest, too, Jonas. That’s why I say we need to stay out of it. What do you young fellows say? You don’t want to see this country involved in war, do you? Why, you’d likely go over there and get yourselves killed.”

  Aunt Victoria visibly paled. From all appearances she was about to faint. Lydia signaled across the room, and one of the servants soon arrived with a cool cloth for Victoria. Mr. Snodgrass appeared not to notice, for he continued to solicit comments from several of the young men. If he received an answer that didn’t suit, he immediately shouted an angry rebuttal and then turned to the next fellow.

  Although a hint of color returned to Aunt Victoria’s cheeks, her displeasure remained evident. Uncle Jonas tapped his water goblet with a spoon until the room turned silent. “My wife does not wish to hear any talk of fighting or war at the dinner table, William.” He shouted loud enough that Fanny was certain anyone within a two-block radius could hear the admonition.

  Mr. Snodgrass appeared unperturbed by the comeuppance. “Fine. We can discuss it over a glass of port and a good cigar later in the evening,” he muttered.

  Throughout the meal, which progressed at the usual snail’s pace, Fanny did her best to talk with Grayson and Mr. Snodgrass. The extravagant floral centerpiece prohibited much visiting with guests seated across the table, though it mattered little. Fanny doubted she could interest them in discussing fishing at Broadmoor Island.

  Several servants returned to the dining room and started to remove the dinner plates. When one of the servers approached Fanny, Mr. Snodgrass shook his head and turned a stern eye on Fanny. “You’ve eaten only a few bites of your food, young lady. Do you realize what food costs nowadays?” Before Fanny could respond, he cast a look of doom at the guests seated around him and proclaimed the country would be hard-pressed to recover from this latest depression. “I’m a banker, you know. I understand economics, and even though you all think this country is on the mend, we’ve a long way to go. Best think about that when you’re agreeing to this war, too.”

  Thankfully, the servant ignored the conversation and removed Fanny’s dinner plate while Mr. Snodgrass predicated the country would soon lapse into complete ruination.

  Uncle Jonas cleared his throat. “William . . .”

  Mr. Snodgrass waved at Jonas with a quivering hand mottled with liver spots. “I know, I know. No talk of war, no talk of financial ruin, no talk of anything other than the weather and the ladies’ gowns.” He di
pped his head closer to Fanny. A strand of white hair dropped across his forehead. “Do none of you young ladies have interest in anything other than frippery?”

  “William!” Uncle Jonas shook his head. Mr. Snodgrass failed to take into account that his whispers could be heard by everyone in attendance.

  “Fine, Jonas!” Mr. Snodgrass turned toward Fanny and cocked an eyebrow. “Tell me, Miss Broadmoor, who fashions your gowns for you? And what color do you call that particular shade of purple? Did you bead the gown yourself?”

  The old man’s voice dripped with sarcasm, and several of the other men snickered until their wives disarmed them with icy stares. While one of the servants placed a dish of lemon ice in front of Fanny, she leaned close to Mr. Snodgrass. “The color of my gown is referred to as lilac, Mr. Snodgrass.”

  He grinned. “Makes sense. Same shade as Rochester’s famous blooms, right?”

  “Yes. My favorite flower, too.”

  “Well, I find lilacs quite lovely myself. What about you, Jonas? You prefer roses over lilacs?” The old man winked at Fanny.

  Her uncle was clearly annoyed. “Neither. I prefer deep purple irises.”

  Mr. Snodgrass swiveled toward Fanny and arched his bushy brows. “Your uncle dislikes the color of your dress, Miss Broadmoor. This bit of news will likely render you unable to digest your supper. I’m certain you’re wishing you had purchased a deeper shade of purple.” Mr. Snodgrass tipped his head back and laughed. “Shall we discuss the beading on your gown, or perhaps I could ask Mrs. Winberg if she prefers lilac over purple.”

  Unless Uncle Jonas vehemently objected, Mr. Snodgrass’s name would likely be permanently removed from Aunt Victoria’s guest list. Perhaps he would depart early this evening, for he’d evidently not read his invitation. Dinner guests were expected to retire to the ballroom immediately after the evening meal. For this auspicious annual occasion, Aunt Victoria always invited fifty guests to partake of dinner prior to the dance. However, many more guests had been invited for the ball—a veritable array of New York society. Instead of enjoying a cigar and glass of port, Mr. Snodgrass would be expected to locate a dance partner. Fanny wondered if the man’s legs would support him for an entire waltz.