Taylor bit back a smile. Sonja had talked about chickens, ducks and sheep. “Why didn’t you tell us about this before Easter Sunday?”
Leaning to her right, Elise put her knitting into a quilted bag beside her chair on the floor. “Conrad added a codicil to his will, and it wasn’t until the reading of the will that was I made aware that he’d left the estate to me and his children. Meanwhile, I wanted to wait until the entire family was together to give everyone the news.”
Taylor pressed his head against the back of the rocker and stared at the glass-topped wicker table and matching chairs in a corner of the wraparound porch. “If you were shocked when you first saw Bainbridge House, I know I speak for the others when I say we were also stunned by it.”
“I’m glad you decided to take the lead when you said you would supervise the restoration, because if you hadn’t, then I don’t think Joaquin and Tariq would’ve agreed to join you.”
“You underestimate them, Mom. I believe given the option of working for someone or one’s self, most would choose the latter.”
“Maybe for you, Tariq and Joaquin, but not Viola and Patrick.”
“Patrick is involved, Mom. Don’t forget he’s overseeing the project’s fiscal component. And I’d rather have him signing checks than a stranger.”
Minute lines fanned out around Elise’s eyes when she smiled. “You’re right about that. Patrick is more nitpicky than Conrad ever was when it comes to money.”
Taylor had to agree with his mother. His father had a sixth sense when it came to investing his clients’ money, but it was Patrick’s gift of total recall that proved invaluable to the company’s ongoing profitability.
“That’s four out of five, Taylor. I need you to convince Viola to join the rest of the family.”
“You know if you tell Viola to go left, then she’ll go right. Although she’s always talked about running her own kitchen, I feel she’ll come around even before we open as a hotel and wedding venue.”
“I hope you’re right.”
Taylor wanted to tell his mother he knew he was right. Within days of Viola graduating culinary school, her future plans included opening her own restaurant. Every once in a while she would bring up the topic, and whenever Conrad offered to give her the start-up capital, her comeback was always she needed to be more experienced.
There was a swollen silence before Taylor asked his mother a question that had been nagging at him for months. “Are you selling this house and taking an extended cruise so you won’t be reminded of Dad?”
Elise closed her eyes, and when she opened them they were shimmering with unshed tears. “It doesn’t matter where I go because I’ll never be able to forget Conrad. I knew he was special the first time he bumped into me at Princeton and spilled coffee on the front of my sweater. I yelled at him for not looking where he was going. He calmly told me he was sorry and would buy me another sweater. I told him I didn’t want another sweater, and there was no way I could go to class with brown stains on my white sweater and smelling like coffee.”
“Did you skip class?”
“No. Conrad took off his sweater and gave it to me. He stood there in just an undershirt. He told me to take off my sweater and he would have it cleaned. I told him there was no way I was going strip in front of him. The impasse ended when I walked behind a tree and exchanged my sweater for his, because all I had on was a bra. I gave him my off-campus address, and a week later he showed up with a box from Bloomingdale’s with a cashmere twinset in a beautiful shade of cobalt blue. When I told him I couldn’t accept something that expensive because I didn’t know him, he claimed if I allowed him to take me out to dinner, then we could get to know each other.”
Taylor laughed softly. “It looks as if Dad knew what to do and say to get his woman.”
Elise’s laughter joined his. “That he did. We set up a date for dinner, and when he picked me up in his dinged-up two-seater sports car I was wearing the twinset with a strand of my grandmother’s pearls. To say I was impressed is an understatement. Not only was I, a sophomore, going out with a senior, but I was totally unaware that he’d been born into wealth.”
“When did you find that out?”
“The day he proposed marriage. By that time, I was so much in love with him that I couldn’t say no even if I’d felt I was too young to marry. My father, who was a judge, married us, and we had a small reception on the patio with relatives and a few of my sorority sisters in attendance. He’d invited his aunt, but she’d declined because she had come down with pneumonia and her doctor had recommended she remain at home. We delayed going on a honeymoon until she recovered, but unfortunately she never did. Conrad honored her wishes to have her cremated, and four months after our wedding we were finally able to take our delayed honeymoon to Hawaii. We were living with my parents because we were waiting for this house to be renovated. Conrad had bought it below market value because it been abandoned for years.
“Meanwhile, I’d gone back to school to get a graduate degree in education. I’d just begun teaching when I discovered I was pregnant. I knew something was wrong because I kept cramping. I left school early and called my doctor to let him know I was coming in. I’d just walked in when I began hemorrhaging. I don’t remember anything after that, but hours later when I woke up in the hospital was told that I’d lost my baby, and because they couldn’t stop the bleeding I’d undergone a hysterectomy.”
Elise sucked in a breath, holding it until she finally let it out. “I went into a depression because I realized I would never give Conrad children. When I told him this, he said we could always adopt. It was when I spoke to my former college roommate who’d become a social worker that she convinced me to become a foster parent, because the adoption process was a lengthy one.” She smiled. “That’s when I got you.”
Taylor’s smile matched Elise’s. “You got me, and then you couldn’t stop until you filled every bedroom in this house.”
“That’s because you were the sweetest little boy any mother could wish for. Then I rolled the dice and requested another foster child. I’m not going to say it was easy raising children who had been neglected and had experienced a myriad of traumas, but I was willing to accept the challenge. And once I decided to homeschool you and saw you thrive, I knew that’s what I wanted for the others. My mother accused me of setting up a safety net for my children where they wouldn’t be able to survive outside the bubble I’d created.”
Taylor hadn’t had much interaction with Elise’s parents, who’d relocated to Florida to take advantage of the warmer climate. “Thankfully, they did live long enough to see us survive.”
“You’re right. My mother finally had to admit that Conrad and I had done a good job raising their grandchildren.”
Taylor would readily admit to anyone that he’d had the best upbringing any child could wish for. Although Conrad was a workaholic, putting in long hours at his office Monday through Friday, on the weekends he devoted himself totally to his wife and children. Once the family increased, he’d arranged for an in-ground pool and basketball and tennis courts. On Saturdays or Sundays, he could be seen shooting hoops with his sons and daughter or swimming laps with Viola.
“And I’m certain once Patrick marries and has children he will also become a good father.”
Elise’s mouth twisted into a sneer. “I shouldn’t say this, but I really don’t like my future daughter-in-law.”
Taylor angled his head. “Why would you say that?”
“She’s a bit too pushy and immature for my tastes. When Patrick doesn’t do what she wants, she tends to pout like a little child.”
Taylor wanted to tell Elise he agreed with her but didn’t think it was his place to comment on his brother’s choice as a potential wife. “It’s apparent that it doesn’t bother him.”
“Well, I still don’t like her,” Elise mumbled under her breath.
Elise stood, Taylor pushing off the rocker and rising with her. “I just have to get my keys.”
Sonja had drawn up a list of things she had to do before she relocated to New Jersey. She’d handed in her resignation, giving the gallery owners two weeks’ notice. In the interim she’d gone through her closet to select garments for spring and summer, and then went online to purchase a number of tees and khakis that she’d planned to make her work ensemble, along with boots and running shoes.
She and Taylor communicated with each other electronically, either texting or emailing her with updates and emojis. He sent her a thumbs-up after it’d taken the security company a week to set up their system, and a thumbs-down after the maintenance company used more than a dozen workers over the span of a month to clean the entire house from the turrets to the cellar.
When she wasn’t working at the gallery, Sonja went online to research Bainbridge House and had gleaned more about the house than the family for which it had been named. However, she did discover an article written about Charles Garland Bainbridge that recorded he’d been prevented from building his summer cottage in Newport, Rhode Island, like millionaire owners of The Breakers, Marble House and Chateau-sur-Mer because there were rumors that his wife may have been a mulatto. Sonja was anxious to go through the contents of the trunks to uncover what secrets the Bainbridge family wanted to hide or deny.
Bainbridge House had survived while Newport’s summer retreats of wealthy Gilded Age industrialists hadn’t after World War II. The Victorian-era mansions had become impractical and out of style. Many were converted into schools or condos, and others were neglected, razed or abandoned until the Preservation Society of Newport County began buying up Gilded Age mansions and opening them to the public as museums.
She’d just finished packing a Pullman when her cell phone rang. Smiling, she picked it up. “What’s up, boss?”
Sonja did not realize how much she’d missed Taylor until he called her. And not seeing him for weeks had exacerbated the longing she’d continually denied acknowledging. There was something about her best friend’s brother that turned her into an emotional pretzel whenever she asked herself what she wanted from Taylor and the answer continued to evade her.
Taylor’s laugh caressed her ear. “Not hardly,” he teased. “I’m calling to let you know I’ve leased a furnished condo for you less than ten miles from Bainbridge House, because the only extended-stay hotel was too far away. Your car is parked in the attached garage. Whenever you’re ready, I’ll pick you up and drive you back here.”
“I’m ready now, Taylor. I just finished packing.”
“How many bags do you have?”
“I have a Pullman, a smaller one with wheels and a carry-on bag with my laptop.”
“I’ll come up to your apartment and help you with your bags.”
“That’s not necessary. My uncle will help me.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, Taylor. I’m sure.”
“I’m on my way. I’ll call you once I reach the bridge.”
“Okay.” Sonja wheeled her bags out of her bedroom to the entryway. She’d alerted her aunt and uncle days before that she would be leaving before the weekend.
Nelson pushed to his feet. “I guess this is it.”
Sonja nodded. “Yes. But I’m not going down until Taylor calls to let me know he’s on the GW Bridge.”
Yolanda came out of the kitchen wiping her hands on a dish towel. “Don’t get so involved in your work that you forget to take time to relax.”
Sonja laughed. “I don’t plan to work weekends.” Taylor told her she was responsible for her own hours, and for her that meant taking Saturdays and Sundays off.
Yolanda approached Sonja and hugged her. “Good for you.”
She returned her aunt’s hug and kissed her cheek. “I have some time before Taylor will be here to pick me up—I’ll help you in the kitchen.” Since she’d retired, Yolanda spent most of her time in the kitchen scrolling through the internet and trying out new recipes.
“I’m making your uncle’s favorite. Puerto Rican lasagna.”
“It’s called pastelón.”
Yolanda waved her hand. “It should be called delicioso, because the first time I tasted your mother’s I’ve always wanted to make it. And this time I won’t get a recipe from a book or the internet because Maria sent me her recipe.”
“You’re kidding? Mami never gives out her recipes.” Sonja’s grandmother had earned a reputation as one of the best cooks in her neighborhood and had passed her culinary skills onto her daughter.
Yolanda flashed a Cheshire cat grin. “I told her Nelson missed her pastelón. I wanted to know if she would send me her recipe. At first she said if he wanted some then all he had to do was drive up and she’d make a pan for him. When I opened my email to find the recipe, I had to assume she changed her mind.”
“Lucky you.”
“If you want, I’ll forward a copy to you.”
“Gracias, Titi.”
Sonja sliced overripe plantains on a cutting board, making certain she yielded four slices per plantain and set them aside to be fried. The mouthwatering aroma of sautéed garlic and sofrito filled the kitchen, and she recalled the times when she’d sat on a stool watching her mother concoct the most delicious Caribbean-inspired dishes, and when older she became Maria’s sous-chef. Sonja had inherited her love of cooking from her mother and grandmother, and she was looking forward to moving into the condo, where she could cook for herself.
When she got the call from Taylor that he was on the George Washington Bridge, Nelson helped her with her luggage, riding the elevator with her to the street level. “Will you get time off for a vacation?”
Sonja stared at Nelson as if he’d taken leave of his senses. She was only moving two—not two hundred—hours away. “Of course. If I decide to come home on a weekend, I’ll call you beforehand.” She did not want to remind Nelson that he played baseball with his retired buddies on Sundays, and when he wasn’t playing ball he spent hours in front of the television watching whatever professional sport was in season.
She spied a gleaming silver SUV with Connecticut plates. “That’s Taylor’s Infiniti.”
Nelson’s eyebrows lifted. “Nice ride.”
Taylor slowed and maneuvered next to a parked car. He tapped a button and the hatch opened. Sonja and the man he assumed was her uncle were wheeling the luggage to the rear of the Infiniti at the same time he got out. He took the handle of the Pullman from Sonja, lifting and placing it in the cargo area with the smaller suitcase and carry-on.
Smiling, he extended his hand to the slender middle-aged man. “Taylor Williamson.”
Nelson stared at the proffered hand, and then took it. “Nelson Rios. Sonja’s uncle. Make certain you take good care of my niece, Taylor Williamson.”
“Tío!”
Taylor noticed the rush of color darkening Sonja’s face. Her uncle had obviously embarrassed her. “It’s okay, Sonja. Your uncle is just trying to protect you.”
“I don’t need protection,” she snapped angrily. “Not from any man.” Turning on her heel, she walked over to the passenger side of the Infiniti, got in and slammed the door harder than necessary.
Nelson threw up both hands. “What the hell did I say?”
“It must have been the wrong thing, for her to go off on you like that.”
Nelson shook his head. “Tell her I’m sorry.”
“I think it would be better if I don’t say anything to her for a while.” Taylor hadn’t seen this side of Sonja, and instinct told him this wasn’t the time to try to defend her uncle. “And I do want you to know that I intend to take good care of her.”
Nel
son nodded. “Thanks, son.”
Taylor closed the hatch, then rounded the SUV and took his seat behind the wheel. He gave Sonja a sidelong glance as he fastened his seat belt. She was so still she could’ve been carved from stone and it was obvious she was in a funk. There was something about her expression that reminded him of Patrick’s fiancée. Sonja was pouting like Andrea.
Well, Taylor mused, he wasn’t his brother and Sonja wasn’t his fiancée. He didn’t have to plea and cajole her to talk to him, and there was nothing for which he had to apologize.
There was just the sound of the radio for nearly a half hour before he detected a grunt.
“Did you say something?”
“I said I don’t need you to protect me.”
Taylor’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. “I didn’t say I would protect you. It was your uncle asking that I take care of you. Try and see his side, Sonja. He sees you moving out and going away with a man he’s never met and knows nothing about. That’s what I call being concerned.”
“I told him I would call and let him know where I’m staying.”
“Why did you tell him that, Sonja?”
“Because he’d know where to contact me in case of an emergency.”
“Couldn’t he do that if he has your cell number?”
“Yes, but—”
“But nothing,” Taylor interrupted. “Even if he didn’t know your address, he could always track your cell. It’s obvious the man loves you, but you failed to see the pain on his face when you screamed at him.”
“I didn’t scream at him.”
“Yes, you did.”
“Are you saying I should apologize to him?”
“It would behoove me not to tell you what to do. After all, you’re a strong, independent, professional woman in control of her life and her destiny.”
A New Foundation Page 9
