Legacy of Mercy

by Lynn Austin

  I still feel ill on Sunday afternoon, my sore throat much worse, but I drag myself out of bed, tuck Mama’s diary in my bag, and ask our driver to take me to Garfield Park. “Return for me in an hour,” I tell him. The day is cold and gray. The sharp wind blowing off Lake Michigan knifes straight through my cloak, making me cough. I have a fever and can barely swallow, but anger and a hunger for revenge propel me to see this through. At ten minutes before the hour, I enter Garfield Park at the intersection of Washington Boulevard and Central Park Avenue and sink down on the first bench I come to. In truth, I feel too weak to wander the park searching for him. He’ll have to find me—if he decides to come. A few people walk past me, mostly couples. None of them look like a wealthy judge.

  I have just checked my watch at two minutes past two when I see a man in an expensive woolen overcoat and shiny leather shoes walking toward me. He is looking all around as if searching for someone. The man is tall and slender and carries himself with a gentlemanly elegance that I didn’t see in the other passersby. My heart begins to race. I stand, my head spinning, and walk forward to meet him. We are twenty feet apart when I pull off my hat so he can see my flowing, golden hair. The instant I do, he halts on the path. I continue toward him, my feet unsteady.

  “Judge Blackwell?” He draws in a breath as if he has seen a ghost. I feel victorious. My instinct is to drive the knife deeper and hurt him the way he hurt Mama. I halt three feet from him. “Do I look familiar, Judge? I’m told I resemble my mother, Christina de Jonge.”

  “Christina …” he breathes. He looks shaken, and I’m glad.

  I gesture to the wooden bench. “Let’s sit down over there and talk, shall we?” We walk to the bench and sit facing each other, both of us perched on the edge. The mahogany hair that Mama once described has lost its luster with age, like old wood dulled from use. Wings of gray frame his temples, and his blue eyes have wrinkles at the corners. But he is still a nice-looking gentleman.

  “Christina de Jonge is my mother, Judge Blackwell. My name is Anna, and I’ve been searching for my father. Now I believe I may have found him.”

  I draw a breath, preparing to launch into my scathing rebuke, when the judge interrupts. “I loved Christina. She broke my heart when she left me without even a word of good-bye.”

  His words knock the air from my chest. “When she left you?”

  “Yes. Didn’t your mother tell you what she did? She made an appointment with my father while I was away in New York on business and threatened to blackmail him with the truth about our marriage if he didn’t pay her off. She was after our money from the very beginning, and she eventually agreed to accept a large payoff from my father to have our marriage annulled. By the time I returned from New York, she had left town.”

  I am trembling with fury. “You’re wrong! That’s not what happened at all! I know because I found her diary.” I pull it from my bag and wave it at him. “You were the one who got rid of her after she told you she was expecting your child. I’m that child!”

  “But … no. They told me there wasn’t any baby. They said Christina lied about that, too, so she could extort more money. They had proof that she wasn’t expecting at all.”

  “She was! And you left the two of us all alone! Here, read what she wrote.” I shove the diary into his hands, open to the last entry. I watch his face as he reads how the lawyer met Mama at the train station—how he told her that James had made a foolish mistake and wanted the marriage annulled. When he looks up at me again, I say, “He handed her the annulment papers with your signature on them and threatened her with jail if she didn’t sign them and go away quietly. What was she supposed to do?”

  “None of this is true!” he says, pointing to the diary page. “I never asked for an annulment. It was Christina who—”

  “Would the woman you fell in love with and married do something like that? Was she ever greedy for your money?”

  He slowly shakes his head. “No … no, she was such a pure soul. That’s why I was so shocked and hurt when she …” His voice trails away.

  “How could there be two conflicting stories, Judge? One of us must have it wrong.”

  He looks up at me, and I see the same hollow-eyed gaze that Mama must have seen after she told him the news about their baby. “My family did this to us,” he says. “That’s the only explanation there can be. I was so careful to make sure that no one knew about Christina and me, but my family must have found out… . And they turned us against each other.”

  “My mother didn’t leave Chicago right away. I think she stayed because she hoped you would find her and return to her. But three years later after all of her money ran out, she decided to take me home to her family in Michigan. On the way there, our ship sank in a storm, and she drowned. I was with her, but I survived.”

  “No … no!” Judge Blackwell shakes his head. He moans so loudly, I fear someone will come over to see what’s wrong. “You’re Christina’s daughter?” he asks.

  “Yes. And I’m also your daughter.”

  “My … my daughter! You’re my daughter—and Christina’s!” He closes his eyes in anguish, moaning as he comprehends the truth. Suddenly he leans toward me and pulls me into his arms. This isn’t the reaction I expected, and it takes me by surprise. He holds me so tightly I can scarcely breathe, and I wonder if, in his heart, he is imagining I’m Mama. When he finally releases me, he has tears in his eyes. “Christina was the love of my life!”

  “And you were hers. I’ll let you read the entire diary, if you want to, and you’ll see how much she loved you. Her friend Vera kept warning her that she was just a toy to you. That you would get tired of her and discard her. That’s why, when the lawyer told her—”

  “You’re my daughter!” he interrupts. “I can’t believe it! I mean, of course I believe it, but … but I was upset on the night Christina told me she was expecting because I knew I needed to act fast. I had to find a home for us and figure out a way to support her and our baby. I started making plans the very next day. I was so happy that I was going to be a father that I wanted to announce the news to the entire world, including my family. But before I could finalize my plans or even speak with Christina again, my father insisted that I go to New York to help him with an urgent business matter. And then my mother hired another servant who moved into Christina’s room and … Oh, no, no …” he says, moaning again. “I see it so clearly now! My family orchestrated the whole lie to break Christina and me apart!”

  “And they succeeded.”

  “And now Christina is gone forever?”

  “I was three years old when she died. I only have a few memories of her.”

  “You’re her child—my child. I can’t believe it! You’re as beautiful as she was.”

  He is so much like the James Blackwell in my mother’s diary that I know he is telling the truth about what happened. I like this man—my father. I arrived here intending to hate him, but I believe his version of the story. I believe that both he and Mama were duped. And I believe that he truly loved her and would have loved me, too.

  “How can I make this up to you, Anna?” he asks. “For Christina’s sake? And for your sake?”

  “I don’t need anything, Judge Blackwell. I was adopted by a wealthy Chicago couple, Mr. and Mrs. Arthur Nicholson, right after Mama died. I’ve had a wonderful life. And now I’m engaged to marry William Wilkinson.”

  “From the banking family?”

  “Yes.”

  As I mention my marriage to William, it occurs to me that if there is a way to escape from the trap Clarice has set for me, perhaps the judge can find it.

  “Maybe there is something you can help me with, Judge Blackwell. You see, I began searching for my father because I’m faced with an impossible situation.” I tell him about Clarice, and how she has threatened to ruin me and my family if I don’t break the engagement. His eyes flash with anger when I tell him how she accused Christina of being a harlot and me of being her bastard child, cre
ating a ruinous scandal. “That’s why I’ve been trying to find out who my real father is, so I can prove that Mama was married and that my birth was legitimate. Then there would be no scandal for Clarice to use to threaten me. But now that I’ve found you, I realize that the truth would cause an entirely different scandal. I’m in the Literary Club with your wife and daughter. You’re a well-respected judge. I won’t ruin your lives just to save my own. Besides, William wants to run for public office, and he and the Wilkinsons would be just as appalled by this scandal as the first one. But if you can help me think of a way to—”

  “What’s this blackmailer’s name?”

  “Clarice Beacham. Do you know her?”

  “I know of the Beacham family. I believe they have ties by marriage to my mother’s side of the family, the Rockports.”

  “Clarice is doing this to get even with William, and she doesn’t care how many lives she destroys in the process.”

  “Let me give it some thought. There must be something I can do. How soon is your wedding supposed to take place?”

  “The first of January. Clarice wants my answer within the next few days, before the wedding invitations are mailed.”

  “And you’re in love with young Wilkinson and want to marry him?” I hesitate just a moment too long, and he notices. “Ah! You aren’t sure. Are you in love with someone else?” I can’t help thinking of Derk, and once again I hesitate too long. The judge shakes his finger at me. “I always knew when Christina was holding something back from me by the funny way she would chew her bottom lip. You did the very same thing, just now.” I start to speak, but he stops me. “I haven’t earned the right to ask about your secrets. But if there is someone you truly love, you need to move heaven and earth to be with him. I wish I had done the same with Christina.” His eyes shine with unshed tears. “Don’t get me wrong, I’ve had a good life with my wife and family, and I’m confident that young Mr. Wilkinson will treat you very well, too. But I loved Christina—” He stops when his voice breaks. He waves his hand as if impatient with himself for becoming emotional. “I’m sorry, Miss Nicholson, forgive me for …”

  I open my arms and offer my father my embrace.

  He walks me to the corner when my carriage arrives and helps me inside. “Are you unwell?” he asks. I assure him I’m fine, even though I’m shivery with fever again. “I’ll help you find a solution, Anna, I promise. No one is going to accuse Christina of wrongdoing and get away with it. Tell Miss Beacham you need a few more days to decide.”

  “Thank you. You’ve given me hope.”

  I want to go to bed the moment I arrive home, but the butler hands me a letter on my way toward the stairs. “This came for you in the mail today, Miss Anna.”

  There’s no return address. I don’t recognize the handwriting. It must be a letter of warning from Clarice. I undress and climb into bed before slitting it open. But the letter isn’t from Clarice—it’s from Derk.

  Dear Anneke,

  I haven’t stopped thinking of you since I left Chicago. I love you, and now I know that you love me. That’s enough for me, for now. Your Oma Geesje kept telling me that it would be impossible for you and me to be together because your way of life is so different from mine, but I didn’t want to believe her. Now that I’ve seen your beautiful home and the way you live with servants to do everything for you, I know that she’s right. I would never dare to ask you to leave all of that when I have nothing to offer you in return. I also saw how much you love your parents and how important it is that you marry William, for their sakes. It makes me sad for you, but I understand now. We’ll leave it at that. Please know that I’ll never stop loving you. Never.

  I’m wondering if our efforts in that dingy storeroom were all in vain or if you found something in your mother’s box of belongings that was useful. I’ve been praying about your situation with the blackmailer and hoping you will be able to find a way out that won’t bring ruin or scandal to you. I don’t understand how people can be so selfish and evil.

  I understand if you don’t feel comfortable writing back to me because you’re engaged to another man. But maybe you can send a quick message to me in one of your letters to your grandmother, just so I’ll know that you’re all right and that you found a solution to your problem. I’m curious to learn what was in that crate!

  You can turn to me whenever you need help, Anneke. Ask any favor. I love you more than you’ll ever know.

  Derk

  I tuck Derk’s letter back inside the envelope and put it beneath my pillow. I will have to burn it in my fireplace so no one will see it, but I want to read it a few more times and memorize it first. I’m so glad that he knows I love him, too.

  I drift off into a feverish sleep thinking of Judge Blackwell’s advice to me: “If there is someone you truly love, you need to move heaven and earth to be with him.”

  Impossible.

  Chapter 26

  Geesje

  Holland, Michigan

  Cornelia looks as though she wants to crawl into a hole in the ground and hide as we knock on Lena Visscher’s door. “Everything is going to be fine, lieveling,” I assure her. “You’ll see.”

  Lena smiles as she opens her door to us. She is holding her baby, who gurgles and coos, his chubby arms flailing. “Won’t you come in?” she says.

  “Thank you. We can’t stay long. Cornelia is expected at work in a little while.” Mrs. Visscher’s house is small but very neat and tidy, the worn cushions on the settee inviting. The rocking chair looks as though it has rocked many Visscher children to sleep before this baby. The aroma of cinnamon fills the room.

  “Please sit down. Would you like some coffee or tea?”

  “No, thank you. We just had some at home. Cornelia has something she wants to give you.”

  Cornelia wipes her palm on her thigh before opening her sketchbook to remove the drawing she has made. She already tore it from the book before leaving home, but she has carried it there to keep it from getting wrinkled. I helped her practice what she wants to say in English, since Lena doesn’t understand Dutch. I know Cornelia is nervous. She swallows before speaking.

  “I am sorry that I take the baby. I know you are scared by me. Your arms are feeling empty yesterday. Will you please forgive me?”

  “Of course, Cornelia. Of course. You meant no harm.” I hope Cornelia hears the warmth in Lena’s voice.

  “This … this is for you. To say how I am sorry.” Her hand trembles as she passes the drawing to Lena.

  “Why, it’s him!” she says in surprise. “This looks just like my Willem! Thank you, Cornelia!”

  “You are welcome.”

  “She is a very gifted artist,” I say. I had forgotten that the baby’s name is Willem—the same name Cornelia gave her son.

  Willem bats at the paper with his little fists, making baby sounds as he tries to grab it. “Hey, now! Don’t you tear your pretty portrait,” his mother says. She smiles at Cornelia. “Will you hold him for me while I put this someplace safe?”

  I stop breathing. I can feel my heart beating as Cornelia gives me a questioning look. I nod, and she carefully lifts Willem from his mother’s arms. Cornelia sits down with him on the settee and starts singing quietly to him in Dutch as he bounces on her lap.

  I want to hug Lena Visscher in gratitude.

  Cornelia seems happy as I walk with her to work at the store. I leave her at the door, and I can hear Mrs. Van Putten greeting her as she goes inside. I’m grateful that everything has worked out, yet I feel a lingering uneasiness at the harsh way I spoke to Dominie Den Herder yesterday, even though he deserved it. Besides, I don’t think he really heard what I said.

  Derk is just walking out of his front door as I turn onto our street, and he hurries toward me. “I need to talk to you,” he says. “Do you have a minute?”

  “Of course. Shall we go over to my house?” I’m wary of running into the dominie at Derk’s house before I’ve had a chance to decide what I need to say
to him.

  I offer Derk a kitchen chair as I put another log in the stove and poke the coals, but he doesn’t sit down, pacing the floor instead. “What’s wrong?” I ask.

  “I have a confession to make, and I’m afraid you’re going to be mad at me.” I wait, watching him rake his fingers through his hair. “I ignored your advice and I … um … I went down to Chicago to see Anneke.”

  “Oh, Derk.” I sink onto a chair. “Was she home? Did you see her? What happened?”

  “It turned out that she really needed my help that day, and she was very glad I came. She said I was an answer to her prayers. She’s trying to find information about her father, and I was able to help her dig through an old storeroom and find a box of belongings that were her mother’s. I don’t know what was in the box because I had to race back to the train station so I wouldn’t miss all my connections, and—”

  “You went down and back in one day?”

  “That’s all the time I had.” He finally sits down. “I know you’ve been telling me that it’s hopeless to think about marrying Anneke, but I guess I had to see for myself. She lives in an enormous house, Tante Geesje, and has rooms full of servants to wait on her. Her life is so different from ours … and yet she dug through a dingy storeroom with cobwebs and rats and cockroaches because she loves her parents. Her father will lose everything if Anneke doesn’t marry William.”

  I’m not following everything he says, not seeing the connection between the storeroom and Anneke’s marriage. I can straighten out the details later, after I find out if he confessed his love to her. And if his heart was broken. “Did you accomplish what you went there to do, lieveling?”

  He looks at me, and his smile could light up a room. “I did. It was well worth the long trip down there and back. I told Anneke I loved her, and … and she said that she loves me, too.”