“First, I want to thank you for your service to my father.” She licked her lips as the words came out weaker than she wished. Williams handed her a glass of water and she drank, trying to quench her parched mouth that felt as dry as the Dakota badlands.
In as calm a state as she could manage, she explained the facts surrounding the missing will. “What it means is that my father’s stepson, Mr. Winston Kent of Chicago, is the legal heir to everything Henry Robertson owned at the time of his death.”
As they started to protest, she held up her hands. “I don’t know how long I can stay, but I will as long as I am able.”
The young groomsman stepped forward, twisting his cap as if wringing the moisture out. “Will we be sent packing?”
Her father had hired the youth only the summer before. “I don’t know, Jimmy.”
She addressed the gathering. “I really don’t know much beyond my own plight and that Mr. Moore is now in charge of everything. If he hasn’t told you otherwise, continue as if Father were still here.”
They waited in expectation.
What else could she tell them? She sipped her water and tried to swallow past the lump forming in her throat. She realized that they needed familiar tasks to take their mind off their troubles.
She singled out the mill foreman. “Mr. Hanover, with the mill on the verge of closing for the season, see that the maintenance and shipping schedules are taken care of, or there’ll be havoc for the new owner come harvest.”
“Consider it done, miss.”
“Mr. Thornby,” she said to the estate manager. “Continue preparing the fields including the test plot. Since you have the seed, plant on schedule. Leave the seedlings in the conservatory as their future is yet to be decided.”
“Yes, miss.”
“Woodward.”
The groundskeeper straightened.
“I want the grounds in peak shape in case prospective buyers come to take a look.”
“As always, miss.”
“Yes, as always. I know you’ll all do your best as you have always done. However”—she looked at each briefly in turn—“despite what I’ve just said, I don’t know if you’ll have a job next month, or next week even. So if you want to search for another job, let me know and I’ll give you time off to look. But please, don’t all leave at once.”
Her desperate attempt to soften the news didn’t even bring a smile.
As if rehearsed, they all looked to Williams, who stepped forward. He cleared his throat. “Might we inquire as to your future?”
She closed her eyes to stop the sudden pool of tears. As the silence lengthened, she opened her eyes and allowed the tears to fall. In the silence, their sniffles and discreet coughs caressed her heart. She raised her chin.
“I believe I’ll see if Rosie needs a hand in the mercantile. I always enjoyed my time there with her when Father had things to do.”
Twelve-year-old Charlie, the stable boy and the youngest employee, piped up. “You could marry a rich man, miss, and buy it back.”
She smiled. “What a grand idea, Charlie. Then no one would ever have to leave. Thank you all.”
She had no plans to marry for money, but she loved that they were thinking of ways to keep everything going as before.
Penny nudged Amelia’s arm as she tied off her lines in front of the mercantile. Amelia responded by scratching the length of Penny’s nose. Why hadn’t she realized before that all the horses would be included in the estate?
“Are you all right, dear?”
Amelia turned to face Rosie, the mercantile owner, who had taken her mother in when she needed a job and then taught her to be a lady. Father had found her serving customers with a smile he couldn’t forget.
With a final pat on Penny’s nose, Amelia climbed the mercantile steps. “As long as you’re here I am, Rosie.” She embraced the older woman as she always had.
“Time for tea, I’d say.” Rosie led the way through to the back counter. “Mind the store, there’s a dearie.”
A few minutes later, the floorboards of Rosie’s quarters creaked above Amelia’s head.
When Rosie returned, Amelia took her tray. “You should have let me do that. I can tell your arthritis is acting up.”
Rosie rubbed her knees. “I’ll admit the steps are wearing me down.” She glanced around the store. “Did those Smith brothers pick up their tools?”
“Yes, they did.” Amelia poured the tea. “And the Moodie girl dropped off her eggs.”
“Is it true?” Rosie asked without warning.
Amelia’s cup clinked against the saucer. “If you’re asking if I’ve lost everything that I hold close to my heart, then yes, it’s true.” She patted Rosie’s forearm. “Except you. I still have you.”
“I didn’t believe it.” Rosie shook her head. “When the rumor started flying, I told them they were wrong. Even now that I’ve heard it straight from your mouth I still don’t believe it.”
Amelia jumped up as a young woman approached the counter. “I’ll get it,” she said to Rosie. “Rest your knees while you can.”
When Amelia returned to her cold tea, Rosie bore red-rimmed eyes. She reached down and held Rosie’s hand. “It’s all right,” she soothed. “It’s in God’s hands. I’ll be fine.”
“I wish I could take you in, but with Aaron and the girls coming, every bit of space I have will be taken.”
“Hmm. When are they arriving?”
“About two weeks if they follow the timetable they sent me a while back. Could be here sooner or later, too.”
Amelia thought of the single trunk waiting for everything she owned. It wouldn’t take much to unpack and then repack later.
“Rosie, can I stay with you for a few days until Aaron and the girls arrive? I’ll work down here for my room and board and save you the trouble of climbing the stairs.” She gripped Rosie’s hand. “I only have a few more days at home before Mr. Moore brings the wagon out for me and my trunk.”
“What’s that you say?” Rosie’s hand trembled.
“Mr. Moore is the attorney for Father’s estate. He’s the one who’s evicting me from my home.”
Rosie paled. “What trunk?”
“Mr. Moore brought one out for me. It’s very strong and high quality.”
Rosie shrank into her chair like an old apple that had been sitting in the cellar too long.
Amelia followed Rosie’s line of sight to the cash box hiding under the counter. Now why was Rosie glaring at her money box as if she wanted to smash it to bits?
Chapter 5
Jeremy left the telegraph office empty-handed. Five days had passed since he’d mailed off his report to Winston—ample time to read the report and get back to him about the Robertson estate. Even without a firm answer, Jeremy needed to continue the course of action they’d planned before he left Chicago.
Alone in his office, he flipped open his calendar. Sure enough, a large red circle proved it was the day he was supposed to drive out to the Robertson mansion and collect Amelia and the trunk. He would do it, too.
Yet each time he thought of his last visit when her initial shock had been followed by quiet acceptance he wanted to slink down in his chair. He would’ve felt better if she’d let out a wild tirade, gone on about the unfairness of it all, screamed that her father left it to her, or even threatened him with a countersuit. But no, she had looked at the trunk as if it was a special blessing.
With frustration surging through his veins, he slapped his calendar closed.
Amelia must have seen Jeremy coming because she was ready when he arrived, sitting demurely on the trunk, parasol over her shoulder even though she was under the cover of the veranda roof. A tactic to throw him off guard? He took a wide stance, fists on his hips, and said the first thing that came to mind.
“I suppose you have another parasol in the trunk. Trying to get away with two of them?”
Her mouth opened in that cute little circle women make when they express surpris
e.
“Why no, Mr. Moore. This is the only one.” She rose with elegance, bent over, and opened the lid. “See for yourself.”
Oh, he’d see all right. He ran up the steps two at a time to peer around her.
With the trunk open, the umbrella case lay nestled on the inside of the lid. Amelia popped the latches and then held it open for him to inspect the empty interior. “Would it matter if I took two parasols when you said I could take anything that would fit in the trunk, including the silver tea service?”
The repetition of his own words directed back at him by Robertson’s daughter caused his common sense to flee. “I don’t care what you take as long as I know about it.”
“In that case …” She retrieved a wooden box and lifted the lid to show him two items nestled in velvet. “The starburst pin is the only thing my mother owned when Father met her. The locket was a birthday gift from Father and holds her image inside.”
She closed the jewelry box slowly, eyeing the pieces inside as if it would be her last chance to look at them. Her hand caressed the smooth wood. “And this was Mother’s sewing box before Father gave it to me. These are the items I hold most dear, Mr. Moore. I can’t bear to leave them behind, but if you feel it would be unfair for me to take them, here.” She held her treasures out like an offering, waiting for him to snatch the last bit of familiarity from her hands.
His chest hurt, and he didn’t like it. He’d expected tears and whining, or at least a drawn-out shouting match to work his frustrations out. Not her complete surrender to someone who didn’t give a whit.
Williams stepped forward. “A word, sir. Years ago when Mr. Robertson first altered his wife’s sewing chest into a jewelry box, he tasked me with ensuring it remain in Miss Amelia’s possession. I will honor him, Mr. Moore, even in death.”
“Put it away.” Jeremy scowled for effect, relieved that Williams’s admonition had saved him from looking soft by giving in to her sacrificial attitude.
With the jewelry box back in the trunk, she looked at him with an arched brow.
A memory of sitting in the corner of the classroom with a dunce cap on his head while his pretty teacher pointed to him wasn’t the image he wanted to remember. Not when Amelia, attractive as she was, regarded him in the same manner. He hadn’t been stupid then, and he wasn’t now.
With his blood pounding through his veins, he grabbed the sides of the tray that held her jewelry box and personal items and yanked it up. Instead of being chock-full of silk and satin outfits, a stack of neatly folded black cotton clothes met his eyes.
“What game are you playing? Where are your gowns? Or the crystal and silver?”
Guileless eyes as blue as the sky searched his as if looking for something. “It’s not a game, Mr. Moore. If I am to leave my sheltered home and make my way among those with less, why would I dress in fancy clothes? Without protection, I will be open to anyone who wants what I have whether I am wearing it or carrying it in my arms. To put it bluntly, once I leave here I am a woman alone. I need practical clothes if I am to survive.”
He rammed the tray back in the trunk. “You need money to survive. I’ve given you the chance to take jewelry, silver, whatever is valuable so that you can exchange it for money.” He was spurting out the words so fast he had to stop to catch his breath. Couldn’t she see that he was trying to help her?
His head was pounding along with his heart. He moved to the railing and braced himself on it with his head bent. “Once you leave you can’t come back for anything.” He turned to face her. “Go inside and try again.”
She crossed her arms. “You’ve made it quite clear that none of this is mine. Why would I take what belongs to someone else? That borders on theft and it goes against the law as well as biblical principles, Mr. Moore. You ought to know that.”
What could he possibly say in the face of such stubbornness? Nothing at all. Shaking his head, he marched down the steps and across to his wagon. Hearing footsteps echoing his, he turned to find her following him. Behind her, Williams and the groomsman carried her trunk.
“Leave it!”
She balked. “But you said—”
“I changed my mind. I’ll come back for you another day.”
“I don’t understand.”
No, she wouldn’t. He rambled out the first thing that came to mind. “Change of plans. Until I hear something solid back from Winston, there’s no reason for you to leave your home.”
She narrowed her eyes. “What game are you playing now?”
“Look, do you want to leave today? Or would you rather stay as long as possible?”
“How can you ask that?”
“How? You’re the one arguing with me.”
Her lower lip trembled, and he knew she was on the verge of an explosion—wet or dry, but an eruption of emotion that surprisingly, he didn’t want to see or hear. Without saying another word, he climbed onto the wagon seat.
She’d asked if he was playing a game and he hadn’t answered. If he had, the answer would have been yes. Otherwise, he’d have no reason to travel down the road from town and visit the only person who made him feel alive.
He glanced over his shoulder without thinking. She stood on the veranda, hand shielding her eyes from the sun’s glare, looking in his direction.
He flicked the lines. So much for not letting his emotions get involved. She’d been the levelheaded practical one while he’d almost melted at the thought of her out on the street alone and fighting for survival. It was only because he’d been there and knew what it was like. For the first time he wondered if Winston really knew what awaited Amelia on the street.
Golden rays warmed Amelia as she lingered in the garden that stretched from the house to the trees along the drive. Precious times had been spent with Father guiding her from one plant to another, his love of botany pouring out with explanations of plant traits and requirements—not as knowledgeable as Woodward, but special nonetheless.
Their forays always ended at the old well, where they sat on the raised wooden platform hidden from view behind the taller perennials.
She sat on the well platform and closed her eyes as the bees buzzed in the garden. A familiar memory returned of her knocking on the boards.
“What’s this, Father?” she always asked with laugher in her voice.
“Something to stop my little girl from falling in,” he would answer with a twinkle in his eye. She would hug him for caring and look up in expectation, waiting for the tickle that wouldn’t end until she screamed for mercy.
Those memories of whispered secrets, dreams, and laughter were things that no one could take from her.
Four days had passed since Moore left her and the trunk behind. Four days of living with nervous staff who worked and lived under the same umbrella of insecurity. Each morning she’d woken worried that it would be her last in her family home.
But no more.
While waiting for breakfast, she’d read the apostle Paul’s inspiring verse in Philippians 4:13. It reminded her that she wasn’t alone. But more than that it gave her strength. Even when surrounded by the unpleasantness of men like Moore, the Lord was always with her. And with His strength, she’d move forward with the newness of the shiny green leaves unfurling under the warmth of the May sun.
Spotting Woodward near the edge of the garden, she headed his way.
He tugged the front of his cap. “Morning, Miss Amelia. It’s good to see you out and exploring the gardens.”
“Good morning, Woodward. The peonies are growing well.”
“Yes, miss. Your father would be pulling up a chair to watch them grow on a day like this.”
She smiled at the thought. “Yes, they were special to him. Now that the ground is fit for growth, perhaps you could dig up his favorite one and plant it by his grave?”
“That would be a grand idea. I’ll get to it today. Is there anything else I can do for you, miss?”
Amelia was struck by his gracious manner—not that
it was different from any of the other times he’d addressed her, but that it was always the same. For as long as she could remember he had been the caretaker of everything that grew on the house grounds. He’d taught both her and her father about botany, and while Father loved his garden, Woodward had been keen to share the conservatory with her. But most of all, not once had Woodward shown impatience at being pestered by a little girl’s questions.
Suddenly, it was very important that he understood how his presence affected her life. “Woodward, I—”
He raised his index finger. “If I may interrupt, miss, I have a surprise waiting for you in the conservatory.”
His eagerness persuaded her that any sentiments could wait until later. “That sounds interesting.” She strolled toward the glass structure with him by her side. “Your surprises are always a delight.”
“I hope this will be as well.”
With the outside temperature increasing, the conservatory door stood open, inviting her inside. Were the colors more vibrant today, or was she the one who had changed?
“What’s this?” She spied her surprise within seconds of entering the scented surroundings. It sat on the potting counter beside her botany instruments, an empty glass and metal structure about a foot high and long, and half as wide with a peaked roof. “It looks like your terrarium, but it’s new and there’s nothing inside.”
“I ordered it the day you told us of your leaving. I used mine as a model to make a case so you can take it with you.” He lifted a wooden box off the ground. It was higher than the terrarium, but flat on top with a carrying handle. Holding it up, he pointed out the open bottom. “Slide it on the top, and lock the latches in place. Like this.” He lowered the case until it met the wooden base.
Amelia clasped her hands to her bodice. “It’s wonderful, Woodward. Oh …” On impulse she reached out and gave him a quick hug then backed off as propriety demanded.
The American Heiress Brides Collection Page 24