A Rumored Fortune

by Joanna Davidson Politano

  “Hallo there!”

  I jerked as widow McCall’s voice carried through my flat from the open door, and I lifted my face, swiping madly at my tears. Her shrunken form sailed through the room to where I sat, and the frown that contorted her warted features only made me smile.

  “And just what is my li’l lass doing out after dark? Only God is invincible, you know. Ach, you and trouble ought to be the closest chums, the way you always go together.”

  “I’ve not seen trouble from anyone. At least, I don’t think so. But something odd happened.” I unleashed the tale into the room, and with every turbulent sentence that poured out, the encounter seemed more and more unbelievable. I told her about the opportunity at Rothburne Abbey and showed her the remarkable little slippers, wondering if I’d ambled into the pages of a fairy tale on my way home. What other reason would a gentleman have for so imploring the woman who sold castoff rags to follow him to a life of splendor?

  “I shouldn’t do it, should I? It’s too odd. Too risky.”

  Her eyes glistened as one reliving youth and excitement. “Precisely why you should, love. This place holds you in its grip, but it doesn’t define you. It’s as if fate is plucking your pretty little self out of this mess and placing you where you belonged from the start.”

  “Oh no, I—”

  “Now, now, don’t argue with an old woman. I have eyes, don’t I?” She reached out and rubbed the ends of my long hair between her gnarled fingers. “A sort of queen is what you are, stepping through the rubbish like you was balancing a crown on that pretty head of yours. I suppose it’s in your blood, being one of them wealthy Huguenot weavers.”

  “That’s long over for us, and we’ve been nothing but rag vendors since I was small.” If only those merchants who’d grown wealthy by importing silks knew what their prosperity had cost an entire community of local artisans. The Huguenots were no longer a respected immigrant community spinning silks from behind tall, sunny windows and likely never would be again.

  “Ah, but you’ve got a touch of the old blood in you, coursing through like a vein of gold. The way you talk, the look of your face . . . There’s something about you, lass. Finally someone else stood up and took notice of it too, and you’ll not refuse the brilliant man who’s had the sense to see it.” She lifted sharp old eyes to meet mine. “I’ll miss you something fierce, but don’t you ever come back. You’ve always belonged somewhere better’n here.”

  I sighed. “What do they want with the likes of me at an abbey, anyway? It’s a strange place to find a position.”

  Her eyes sparkled beneath the frizz of gray hair. “You’d best go and find out.”

  When she took herself away to her own flat later that night, I again looked out toward the distant station. For years it had symbolized Sully’s return, but now it meant the exact opposite. Leaving on that train would sever the last connection we had—a lifetime of memories in Spitalfields. Could I give up that dream to risk another?

  It struck me then that I’d never see the great love he wrote of on his face, never hear him say it in his own voice. Once again I drew out the stacks of letters and flipped open the first one.

  My dear Raina, it began, and that was enough to saturate my heart, for his every action since I’d known him had proven I was exactly that. He was one of the few who called me by my true name, and the use of it always touched me. The rest of the letter was doused with words from a poetic, passionate heart that had lain hidden behind the playful, lively exterior I’d always known. Why had he never spoken these words aloud before he’d left? He couldn’t have feared rejection from me, for I’d loved him ardently before I even understood what the word meant.

  What would I do, come morning’s light? I could go two ways—one was bleak, offering nothing, and the other was beckoning me away to adventure, which had been my weakness since childhood. It lured and fascinated me, causing me trouble and disrupting the ruts of life. Though for the first time in memory, there would be no Sully to rescue me from my scrapes.

  But neither would there be if I remained in Spitalfields pining away after his memory.

  So it was that I found myself taking one final walk through Spitalfields the following morning as the sun dawned over a new day and a new life, a limp carpetbag swinging against my leg, anxiety and excitement chasing each other through my veins. I slipped the carefully freshened gown and slippers back into the laundry cellar of Mrs. Hollingsworth without being observed and turned toward the station. Widow McCall had made the situation seem so natural, almost inevitable, but now that I’d come, the oddness of it all pricked me again.

  As the noonday sun heated my skin, I stood on the platform and the throng of travelers parted to reveal the man that had slipped into my life and upended my future. I shivered at the sight of such a handsome man smiling at me. What was that odd sensation he elicited in me with a mere look? I couldn’t tell if it was pleasant or scary. Either way it was addictive.

  He strode over and, with a small smile of victory, scooped up my bag. As I watched him stride away with the bag containing everything I owned, panic unfurled inside. I hugged my old patched shawl about me, a tangible reminder of who I truly was, because it seemed I’d forgotten. I dreamed so often of normal clothing and a world of acceptance, yet I still awoke every morning—including this one—as Ragna the rag vendor. Something was not right about this.

  I caught up to him as steam huffed from under the train. “I don’t even know your name.”

  “It is Prendergast. Victor Eugene Prendergast.” He considered me with amusement and extended his hand, which I did not take. “Would you also like to see my character references?”

  He had no reason to treat me as an equal when we both knew I was far from it. I looked up into his tolerant face. “What is Rothburne? What could I ever do at an abbey?”

  “It’s a monastic fortress renovated into a private estate. It’s now the country home of the Countess of Enderly.”

  A countess. He wished me to work for a countess? I pressed my lips together and watched hundreds of more appropriately dressed people swarm onto the train ahead of us, wondering again why he’d chosen me. With one more powerful billow of steam pouring across my vision, I followed him and glanced back for the last time at everything I was leaving behind.

  “Final boarding!” A red-coated man hung out of the door of the train car before us, urging us on.

  I hesitated, waiting for the steam to clear for my final view of home, but my new employer tugged my arm. “Come, Cinderella. It’s time to go.”

  “Raina. My name is Raina.”

  When I glanced back again, uncertainty weighting my steps, a blue cap descended into the steam, the black boots of its owner landing firmly on the solid wood platform. Heart exploding in my chest, I braced myself against the doorway, willing the steam to clear so I could be sure of what I saw. It couldn’t be him, but I had to know before I left. Through the haze I saw a lanky sailor with a jacket tossed over one arm, bag in hand. How well I knew that stance—but it was impossible. Impossible! If only I could see his face.

  “Doors closing.”

  I gripped the metal bar outside the train but strong arms lifted me from behind into the narrow doorway and I cried out, fighting back. “Wait! Stop!” The chaos of the station drowned out my cries.

  At my cry, the sailor’s wandering gaze lifted to mine through the steam, catching and holding it, but before I could cry out again, the train door shut and latched before my face.

  Discussion Questions

  Throughout the book, Tressa regularly shows loyalty for those she loves, even Donegan eventually. Some deserve it, others do not. Do you think this is foolish or admirable? Would you do the same?

  How did Tressa’s relationship with her earthly father shape her perceptions of God? How have people in your life shaped your idea of God?

  When Tressa meets Donegan, she’s not impressed. How did you feel about his blunt speech and informal attitude? Did your opin
ion of him change throughout the book?

  In the beginning, Tressa feels alone and depleted. What or who does Tressa attempt to cling to throughout the book in order to draw life, and how does each one turn out? What do you feel keeps you anchored, something with which you could never imagine parting?

  In vineyards, a fruit tells the truth about the entire plant. How would you describe the fruit that we saw come from some of the characters? Which character’s true “fruit” ended up surprising you? What fruit do people see coming from you?

  How did you feel about Tressa and Donegan’s balcony scene at the art gallery? Did you sympathize with Tressa’s ache that drives her into that moment or did you feel she was wrong? In what ways do we try to heal something that is only meant to be fixed by God?

  The verse “speak the truth in love” (Eph. 4:15) was mentioned in this book. At which part do you excel—truth or love? Who in your life teaches you the other part?

  In Tressa’s quest for buried treasure, she finds it in one surprising place—Donegan Vance. Even her mother shows surprising depth toward the end. Who in your life might contain buried treasure that you’ve overlooked? What can you do to draw it out?

  How do you imagine the scene playing out when Tressa’s father walks into Trevelyan and sees the servants? His wife?

  The vineyard setting contains a lot of symbolism, from grafting of opposites to clinging branches, depth of a plant’s roots to fruit produced, and many others. Which one stood out to you and why? How does it translate into something in your own life?

  Tressa’s father knows a lot about vines, but he has never clung to the true Vine. Now that Tressa has gone on this journey of pruning and abiding with God, and she has a brand-new relationship with her father, how do you think she might explain to him how to have the peace and love he’s always sought?

  The love story in this novel is a romance of polar opposites, yet they have some important similarities too. What do you think their marriage will be like? What difficulties and joys might they have, and what aspects remind you of relationships in your life?

  Donegan and Tressa are now in possession of more money than most people will ever see. What do you think will become of the treasure, and how do you see them using it? How would you spend a fortune like that?

  Acknowledgments

  I give the deepest heartfelt thanks to the entire fiction team at Revell for choosing to publish another book from me and for pouring their talents so generously into its success. From the editors to the designers to the promotions coordinators, you all go above and beyond in every way. You amaze me so often! I’m thankful for you all and the talent and enthusiasm you invest in your authors’ books.

  Secondly, I wouldn’t have a finished story without the people who read it and made me rewrite, gave suggestions, and talked me through some of the stickiest plot points: my dad, Bob Davidson, who reads everything first; Allen Arnold; Susan Tuttle; Dawn Crandall; Crystal Caudill; and Stacey Zink. This book took a ton of reworking and rethinking, of which you all played a huge part and gave of yourselves to help me. Thank you all so much for pouring into me and my writing. You all help me live and write better. Each of you added your own brushstrokes to this rough sketch to make it far better than it was when I sent it to you.

  Also, I know I dedicated this book to you, Vince, but I just wanted to thank you again for loving all the parts of me—including the part that is a neurotic, scatterbrained, slightly crazy writer. I love you dearly.

  Joanna Davidson Politano freelances for a small nonfiction publisher but spends much of her time spinning tales that capture the colorful, exquisite details in ordinary lives. Her manuscript for Lady Jayne Disappears was a finalist for several contests, including the 2016 Genesis Award from ACFW, and won the OCW Cascade Award and the Maggie Award for Excellence. She is always on the hunt for random acts of kindness, people willing to share their deepest secrets with a stranger, and hidden stashes of sweets. She lives with her husband and their two babies in a house in the woods near Lake Michigan and shares stories that move her at www.jdpstories.com.

  Books by Joanna Davidson Politano

  Lady Jayne Disappears

  A Rumored Fortune

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