“But how can you do that?”
“Oh, I won’t. Having Fanny disinherited is how you will repay your debt to me. Sit back and listen while I explain.” Jonas savored his good fortune for a moment. “When you visit us at Broadmoor Island, it will be for the purpose of identifying yourself as Fanny’s father.”
Harold’s jaw went slack. “What? But I—”
“I know you’ve been married less than ten years, Harold. You were a single man back when Fanny was born. I’m certain your wife realized that you had befriended a few women before you married.”
“But you would cause this young woman to think her mother had been . . . well, less than virtuous. I doubt that’s something you want to do. Investing her estate and keeping her future financially intact doesn’t seem worth the pain she’ll suffer.” He rubbed his forehead. “And what are my wife and I to do with her? Would she come and live with us? Would you rip her from the only family she’s ever known? This is more than I can even fathom.”
The man was a greater fool than Jonas had imagined, for he truly believed Jonas was merely attempting to protect Fanny’s estate. “I didn’t ask or expect you to understand. Only I know the depth of Fanny’s future needs. She is a young woman accustomed to wealth. Her inheritance must be protected. As for her living arrangements, once we’ve established you are her father, I can generously step forward and suggest she remain under my roof.”
“This is all so difficult to comprehend. How will I be able to prove any of this, and how can I answer any of her questions? I know nothing of her mother.”
“Relax, Harold. We have the remainder of the week, and you will learn all that you must know. As for proof that you are Fanny’s father, we will need nothing more than a letter from Winifred telling you of her plight but that she has accepted Langley’s marriage proposal.” Jonas drummed his fingers atop his desk. “I will take care of those details.”
“I don’t know, Jonas. This isn’t at all what I expected.”
“What did you expect, Harold? That I would erase your debt and require only some simple task of you?” Jonas shook his head. “You have asked much of me. I expect the same in return. Well? Have we reached an agreement?”
Harold nodded, but his enthusiasm had disappeared.
“I want you here in my office at nine o’clock in the morning. I will develop your entire story this afternoon, commit it to paper for you to study here in my office, and gather some photographs that will assist you in your endeavor.”
Harold grasped the chair’s armrests and pushed himself up. “Nine o’clock. I’ll be here.” The words lacked any fervor.
“I expected a bit of enthusiasm—and your thanks. I’ve saved you from ruination, yet you look as though you’ve lost your last friend.”
“I’m afraid I’ve suffered a much greater loss. My dignity.” He departed without another word.
Jonas smiled. He had no pity for men like Harold Morrison: they were weak and easy prey for the powerful. They deserved to fail. Survival of the fittest prevailed—among both man and beast.
24
Friday, August 27, 1897
Broadmoor Island
Preparations for the first family picnic and treasure hunt were in full swing by Friday afternoon. In a surprising announcement, Uncle Jonas had suggested the family develop a new tradition that could become an annual event. Though the family had been surprised by his uncharacteristic interest in family and fun, they all contributed ideas and had finally agreed upon the picnic and treasure hunt as a tradition that all of the family members could enjoy.
Fanny, Sophie, and Amanda had requested permission to take charge of the treasure hunt. Throughout the week they had developed two separate hunts—one for the older children and adults and one for the younger children. The three of them had agreed they would assist the small children so that their parents could enjoy the festivities. They had scoured the island, seeking easy locations to hide their clues and treasure for the children and more difficult sites for the adult set.
“All that’s left is to hide the clues first thing in the morning,” Amanda said.
“I see no reason to wait. Why not go ahead and be done with it today? There’s not a cloud in sight, Amanda. You worry far too much,” Sophie chided.
Fanny folded the handwritten notes. “It’s not merely the weather that’s worrying Amanda. If we hide the clues ahead of time, the older children are sure to sneak off and find them. They’ll ruin the fun for the others. I agree with Amanda. We should wait.”
Sophie frowned. “The two of you fret overmuch. We need not tell any of them.”
“We dare not do it. One of them would track us. Have you not noticed that they’ve been watching us the entire morning?”
“I’ll merely explain that they will be ruining their own fun if they choose to do so,” Sophie rebutted.
Amanda shook her head. “And does that stop you from sneaking about and discovering your Christmas gifts each year, Sophie?”
“No, but it does ruin the excitement on Christmas morning. I can explain how disappointed I’ve been each year.”
“And how will you explain that you still continue the practice?” Fanny strengthened her resolve. “We must wait until tomorrow morning. If you don’t want to get out of bed, then Amanda and I will hide the notes.”
“Better yet, we could hide them tonight after everyone has gone to bed. I’m certain I could locate a few fellows who would like to help us.” Sophie’s eyes sparkled with excitement. “What do you say? We could have great fun.”
Fanny and Amanda both rejected the idea with an emphatic no.
“The two of you are less fun than two old spinsters.”
Amanda giggled. “I’m not old, but there are those who already consider me a spinster.”
“Apparently not your father, for he spends far more time worrying about Fanny’s gentleman callers than yours.” Sophie gathered up the clues and tucked them inside a bag.
“Earlier this summer, it truly bothered me when Father seemed intent upon finding the proper husband for Fanny. However, the truth is I don’t want a husband right now—perhaps ever. So there was no reason for my jealousy. Besides, Fanny and I have talked. She has never desired Father’s matchmaking efforts.” Amanda stood and walked toward the doors leading to the veranda. “Now that we’ve completed our task, we should join the others in a game of lawn tennis.”
Sophie wrinkled her nose.
“Or the three of us could go fishing,” Fanny suggested.
“Lawn tennis it is,” Sophie said. “I truly do not know how you can enjoy fishing. If you aren’t out in one of the canoes or a skiff, you’re sitting on the dock with your fishing pole. Honestly, Fanny, you should live on this island.”
“I couldn’t agree more. It’s Uncle Jonas who disapproves. I could have great fun out here in the middle of winter.”
Sophie grinned. “Yes, I know. You’d be carving a hole in the ice so you could continue with your fishing.”
“Or joining the locals for sleighing or the annual ice races. I don’t think I’d be bored for a minute. Of course I’d miss the two of you, but you could come visit me.”
They all three knew their discussion was nothing more than idle chatter. Fanny would never be permitted to remain on Broadmoor Island. She would be expected to continue to see the parade of men her uncle marched through the front doors—but only until Michael returned. That was the thought that warmed her heart.
As Sophie predicted, the morning dawned bright and clear. The three young women were up and out of the house before the others arose. With the clues in hand, they followed their preplanned course, and soon all of the papers were hidden. A treasure box filled with candy was hidden for the young children, while the treasure chest for the adults contained a note entitling the winner to either a new fishing pole, which had been Fanny’s idea, or a small piece of jewelry from Crossman’s Jewelers, Sophie’s suggestion.
“If we hurry, we may be able to
return for another hour of sleep,” Sophie said as they rounded the corner of the house on their return. But her hope proved incorrect. The excitement of the upcoming day had been enough for the children to arise far earlier than usual.
“This is as wearisome as Christmas Day,” Beatrice’s husband, Andrew, lamented as he chased after his young son. “The children thought they were going on the treasure hunt before breakfast.”
Amanda laughed. “Anticipation is half the fun.”
“Not for the parents,” Andrew growled. He scooped his son up into his arms and headed toward the dining room.
As the breakfast hour wore on, they agreed the meal had been an effort in futility, at least as far as the younger children were concerned. None of them wanted to eat. All were excited for the day of fun and festivities to begin, especially when Uncle Jonas announced he’d arranged for a huge fireworks display after dark. By ten o’clock the children were gathered on the front lawn awaiting the adults with growing anticipation.
Uncle Jonas stood on the top step of the veranda with the family gathered around. “You must listen closely to your instructions, and there will be no pushing, shoving, or cheating.” With a flourishing gesture, he motioned Amanda, Fanny, and Sophie to the veranda. “You may now give your instructions for the treasure hunt.”
The girls took their place at his side while Amanda explained the rules. With a clear view of the waterway, Fanny shaded her eyes and watched as the Little Mac approached and docked. A man stepped off of the boat, and she glanced at her uncle. “We’re about to begin. Were you expecting additional guests?”
He shook his head. “No, but we can wait a few minutes more.”
The children were running around the lawn playing tag, and their parents unsuccessfully attempted to maintain control. The rest of the family murmured and guessed who the visitor might be.
Aunt Victoria soon approached her uncle. “Who in the world is that? Did you invite a business associate without advising me?”
“No. But I believe I recognize him. I think it may be Harold Morrison. What in the world is he doing here?”
Her aunt arched her brows. “How would I know? He’s certainly not here to see me.”
“No offense intended, Victoria. I didn’t mean to insinuate he was here to see you.”
The man removed his hat and waved it overhead. Her uncle nodded. “That’s Harold Morrison, all right. Haven’t seen him in ages.”
“He owns the lumberyards over in Syracuse,” Andrew said.
“You know him?” Jonas asked.
“No. I heard he was going to expand his business into Rochester six or nine months ago, but I’ve heard nothing more. Maybe it was Buffalo. I can’t remember.”
Fanny remained on the porch with her cousins as Uncle Jonas stepped forward and greeted Mr. Morrison. He was a kind-appearing man with thinning dark hair and a rather long angular face. Not handsome but not unattractive, Fanny guessed him to be a few years younger than Uncle Jonas. Keeping a downward gaze, he nervously pressed the brim of his hat between his fingers while he spoke to her uncle.
“Mr. Morrison would like to speak to you, Fanny. Of course a private conversation would be completely inappropriate. I’ve told him I must be present if he wishes to speak to you.”
Fanny narrowed her eyes and stared at the stranger. “I have no idea why you want to speak to me, Mr. Morrison, but if we are to have a conversation, I prefer that my Aunt Victoria act as my chaperone.”
Jonas nodded. “We can both—”
“I’m certain one chaperone is more than sufficient, Uncle Jonas. You must take charge of the day’s festivities. The children are anxious to begin the treasure hunt. I’ll remain behind, and when Mr. Morrison has spoken to me, we will join the family.”
Uncle Jonas’s complexion flushed deep red, and Fanny knew it wasn’t from the heat. Her choice had angered him, for Uncle Jonas disliked confident women. Not that Fanny was feeling self-assured. In truth, she was frightened to hear what this stranger had to say.
Her uncle shook his head. “If it’s a matter of business he wishes to discuss . . .”
Aunt Victoria waved aside the comment. “Why would a stranger wish to discuss business with a mere girl?”
He tipped his head closer. “Because she will soon inherit a great deal of money?”
Aunt Victoria lowered her parasol. “Fanny hasn’t come of age, so her money is not yet an issue. I’m certain Mr. Morrison doesn’t have anything to say that I can’t handle. And if he does, he’ll need to speak with you after the treasure hunt or make an appointment to call on you at your office next week.” She grasped Fanny’s hand. “Come along, dear.”
“Why don’t we all wait for Fanny? The children can play a game of croquet,” Amanda suggested. “Fanny worked very hard on the clues, and I don’t want her to miss the fun.”
Mr. Morrison removed a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his forehead. “I’ve obviously come at a bad time for all of you.” He glanced at Fanny. “I don’t want to ruin your festivities, but I fear I’ll lose courage if I don’t speak to you today.”
“If it will help, you may tell me right this moment. There’s nothing you can’t say in front of my family.”
The children had scattered, but the adults had fixed their attention upon Harold Morrison. A daunting group, to be sure. Fanny stepped closer and offered an encouraging smile. She couldn’t help but take pity on him.
He bowed his head and mumbled something she couldn’t quite make out, all the while pressing his hat brim between his fingers.
She couldn’t be certain what he’d said, and she leaned to one side in an effort to make eye contact. “I’m sorry. I don’t believe I heard you correctly. Could you speak up, sir?”
Mr. Morrison straightened his shoulders and looked at her. There was a sorrowful look in his eyes. “You are my daughter, Frances. My name is Harold Morrison, and I am your father.”
Her legs felt weak and shaky, and she grasped the railing. She didn’t want to faint. Questions flooded her mind, yet the words stuck in her throat. Mouth agape, she stared at him as though he had two heads. Aunt Victoria held her around the waist, and Jefferson hurried forward with one of the wicker chairs from the far end of the veranda.
Fanny dropped into the cushioned seat and cleared her throat. “I believe I must have misunderstood you, Mr. Morrison.” She looked into his eyes. “I thought you said you are my father.” She watched him nod his head in agreement. “That’s impossible, sir. As you can see, I am surrounded by my true family. I am the daughter of Winifred and Langley Broadmoor.”
Mr. Morrison glanced over his shoulder. The entire family had drawn near, eager to hear every word that passed between the two of them. Even the children had returned to their parents’ sides and grown quiet.
Mr. Morrison turned back to face her. “Perhaps we should go indoors with your aunt and speak privately.” He touched his fingers to his jacket pocket. “I have a letter from your mother.”
Victoria glowered. “And I have a number of questions for you, Mr. Morrison.” She leaned forward and grasped Fanny’s hand. “Come along, dear, and we shall see this matter settled.”
“I can’t believe this stranger would declare such a thing, Aunt Victoria,” Fanny whispered. “Must we truly discuss this any further?”
“I think it best we hear him out and put the subject to rest.” She patted Fanny’s hand. “Mr. Morrison’s assertion is momentous. I believe it’s probably best that your uncles come inside with us.”
Her aunt was likely correct. Fanny’s thoughts were no more than an incoherent muddle. She would need clearheaded people to guide her through this maze. The five of them entered the parlor. Uncle Quincy and Uncle Jonas stood at either end of the fireplace, while Mr. Morrison sat down opposite Fanny and her aunt. Instead of heading off for the treasure hunt, the remainder of the family had gathered on the front porch, where the open windows provided access to the ongoing discussion.
Fanny
inhaled a deep breath. “Well, Mr. Morrison. I believe you mentioned a letter?”
Mr. Morrison withdrew the missive from his pocket. “Please understand that I hold the memory of your deceased mother in deepest respect.”
Her uncle Jonas cleared his throat. “I imagine she’s more interested in seeing that letter than hearing of your respect for her mother.”
“Yes, of course.” Mr. Morrison blushed, and the letter trembled in his fingers. “Years ago your mother and I were friends—more than friends. We had a short-lived but passionate romance. She was a fine woman, and I don’t wish to disparage her in any way, Miss Broadmoor.”
“Oh, do get on with it, man,” Jonas commanded.
“I loved your mother. I believe she loved me. It was through that love that you were conceived.”
A chorus of gasps fluttered through the open windows, and Fanny captured a fleeting glimpse of her cousins. Like her, they appeared stunned into silence. Fanny extended her hand and took the letter. She withdrew the missive from the envelope and slowly read the words.
“Anyone could have written this letter, Mr. Morrison. I have a birth certificate and baptismal record that list my parents—my real parents.”
“May I?” Her aunt nodded toward the missive. Fanny handed her the paper and watched her aunt scan the contents. “As well as I can recall, this does resemble your mother’s script, and the dates and personal information appear correct.”
Harold withdrew a photograph from his pocket. “This is a picture she gave to me.”
Fanny had seen a similar picture of her mother wearing the same dress—in a photo album at her grandparents’ house. She stared at this stranger who claimed to be her father. Her stomach churned, and she feared she might expel its contents. She swallowed hard and shook her head.
“Why, after all these years, have you come forward? This makes no sense.”
He massaged his forehead. “I could no longer live this lie.
I’ve developed a weak heart over the past year, and I couldn’t bear the thought of going to my grave without speaking the truth. Whether you choose to believe me or not, I knew I must make an effort to do the right thing.”
A Daughter's Inheritance Page 24