Letters to Caroline (The Talmadge Sisters Book 1)

by Barbara McMahon

  Once seated with breakfast before them, Caroline looked at him gravely. "Tell me about your company."

  He looked at her for a moment, then complied and told her how he'd leveraged his assets until he'd attained controlling interest in the software firm. How he hired local talent from Tulane and some of the other southern universities and how fast it'd expanded. Now it was poised to make another leap forward.

  "I can't believe you got the financing initially. It sounds so scary. What if you hadn't succeeded?" she said at one point.

  It sounded complicated, daring and extraordinarily perilous. He had been a brave young man—assured of his abilities and leveraging them to the man he was today.

  "Nothing worth achieving's done without some risk. There was a lot involved, but I relished the opportunity. It kept me from thinking about you. It was my chance to move ahead. Without it, I'd still be a long way from my goal."

  "If it'd failed—" she began, thinking how much she worried about her own ebb and flow of home sales. Her finances were on a much smaller scale than his.

  "If it failed, I knew I'd find a job somewhere. I'd have been in debt for the rest of my life, but that was a price I was willing to pay to take the chance."

  And that was a basic difference between them, Caroline thought.

  She needed security. Brandon thrived on risk.

  She enjoyed seeing the enthusiasm with which he explained things. It gave her a different perspective of the man who was still, technically, her husband.

  For a moment her mind wandered. Dare she take a chance and refuse to sign the divorce papers, see if they could build some kind of life together?

  Would he even consider such a suggestion?

  "So what's on your agenda for today?" she asked. "How long are you planning to stay?"

  He frowned for a moment. "Aren't we going to review more of Eugenia's papers? Sort through the rest of your grandmother's files?"

  "I went through a box a day last week. There're still quite a few left. But of the ones I looked through, there was nothing further on my father."

  "Did you and Michelle make any headway?'

  "We did. We went through Eugenia's clothes and jewelry and some personal items. The appraisers finished in her bedroom, so we were able to accomplish a lot."

  "Did you tell her about your suspicions?"

  "No."

  Brandon finished his coffee and pushed back from the table. "Let's finish up with the boxes as quickly as possible."

  He carried down the remainder of the boxes in several trips. They worked companionably for several hours.

  Just before lunch Caroline heard cars in the driveway. She peered out the window surprised to see two unfamiliar cars parking next to Brandon's.

  "Who in the world?" she murmured.

  Brandon came to look out the window, then turned to head downstairs.

  By the time Caroline reached the foyer, two young women were talking with Brandon.

  "What's going on?" Caroline asked.

  Three pairs of eyes looked at her.

  Brandon spoke first. "Ladies, this is Caroline Madison. Caroline, meet Wendy and Stella. They're here to help us sort."

  Caroline blinked and then frowned.

  "Could I speak to you, Brandon?" she said calmly, stepping into the room off the foyer.

  He followed a couple of seconds later.

  "What are they doing here and who are they?" she said in a low voice.

  What was he thinking? To broadcast her grandmother's possible indiscretions to the world?

  "There's too much to do in a short time. I hired some help. These women are from a temporary agency. With their help, we should be through everything by the end of tomorrow."

  "I don't want half the town knowing about this," she hissed.

  "Relax, Caroline. One of the guarantees of the agency is discretion. And neither of these women had even heard of your grandmother. They're not reading any more than necessary to sort personal papers and discard the rest. Don't worry, Eugenia's memory will still be sacrosanct."

  "I don't care about her memory. It's my family's business I don't want broadcast to all of Baton Rouge."

  "It won't be."

  "You should've asked me," she said, mollified a little by his assurances.

  "Maybe, but you have to admit this is a lot more efficient than only the two of us plowing through everything."

  "And costly, I bet. How much?"

  "Nothing for you to worry about."

  "You're not paying."

  "Why not? I hired them. I can afford it. You're worrying about nothing. Accept the help and let's get on with it."

  "I suppose we're to feed them," she said, not wanting to examine how disappointed she was to not have Brandon alone at lunch.

  Stepping back, as if to distance herself from her own thoughts, she frowned. She'd succeeded in relegating Brandon to the back of her mind while he was in New Orleans. It wasn't fair now that they had the afternoon together, she had to share him with two strangers.

  "Rosalie can feed them on the veranda and you and I can eat inside, if you like," he said easily.

  "Well, that's dumb. That'd make more work for Rosalie."

  He smiled. “We'll do whatever you wish,” he said.

  The work went fast, Caroline had to admit later that afternoon. Wendy and Stella were efficient and hardworking. By five o'clock, most of the boxes had been emptied. Only one was still half full.

  "I'll sort those tomorrow," Brandon said after the women departed. "You have a different role. You need to read all the correspondence they separated. You know what you're looking for. And as a head start you'll have everything in chronological order."

  "What if there's nothing?" she asked, looking without enthusiasm at the stacks of paper.

  "You tell me. Can you live with the conviction that she interfered in your parents' lives as she did in ours and somehow caused your father to leave without ever finding the proof?"

  "I don't know. It's hard to believe, even after learning what she did between us."

  "She was a difficult woman, convinced her way was right. And ruthless in attempting to make sure everyone conformed to her ideas," he said harshly. "She knew how to play on people's emotions. And your mother must have been a hot bed of emotions being pregnant. Who knows what Eugenia told her or how much she ranted."

  "I know."

  She closed her eyes, feeling memories of the past press down on her.

  "She was a difficult woman to live with. I never met her expectations. Neither did Michelle or Abby. But I don't think it weighed on them as much."

  "Because you sheltered them from the full brunt of her personality?" he guessed.

  She shivered. "Maybe. I was the oldest. I had to take care of them when Mama died."

  "And because you felt guilty your father left."

  She shrugged.

  That guilt had been relegated to the past. The guilt that plagued Caroline now was her own part in the demise of her marriage. She should have contacted Brandon. She never should have listened to her grandmother.

  Why hadn't she trusted herself and the love she once felt for this special man?

  She'd give anything for the ability to do it all over.

  But there were no do-overs in life.

  Rosalie served dinner on the veranda.

  Brandon seated Caroline, then sat across from her.

  "Do you always eat outside when it's warm?" he asked as they ate the delicious Shrimp Creole the cook had prepared.

  "No. Actually, I've only eaten out here since Eugenia's death. She insisted on using the dining room once we were old enough to not spill at every meal."

  "And you prefer a less formal setting?"

  She nodded, thinking about their apartment. She'd avoided any hint of pretension or elegance. It had been colorful, warm and relaxing. None of the furnishings had matched, but they all went well together. It had been designed for comfort, not for show.

  Her condo in
Dallas reflected a more mature blending of styles and fabrics, but essentially captured a similar feeling of warmth and comfort rather than the more austere elegance of Talmadge Hall.

  "How long are you staying?" Caroline asked after finishing her meal.

  Now that he had her consent for the divorce, there was no reason to remain, was there?

  Except to make some more memories as he'd suggested. She felt her face grow warm and quickly reached for her glass of iced tea in hopes of hiding the fact.

  "In a hurry to see me leave?"

  "No, but with all the demands you have, I expect this isn't easy—being here when so many things are happening in New Orleans."

  "I can take a day here or there," he said dryly.

  For the first time in a long while, Caroline felt content.

  When Rosalie brought out Bananas Foster and coffee for dessert, Caroline decided to take each minute as it came.

  She and Brandon discussed everything from popular movies, to books read. Caroline was surprised Brandon indulged in Netflix, but she hid it. She didn't know when he found time to watch anything, but apparently he wasn't totally consumed with work.

  When the conversation veered to his parents. Caroline expressed her regret at learning of his father's passing shortly after she last saw him. She heard the sadness in Brandon's voice when he talked about him. He'd succeeded far beyond anything his father achieved, but he'd loved and respected his father and it still showed.

  "And your mother's living in Florida now, you said."

  "She has a nice condo there. She took some of the furniture she and Dad had and then we bought new things for her new place. We could have used your help in setting her up. But it's nice," he said.

  "She's happy there?"

  "She loves it. One of her long time friends lives close by. She joined a bridge club and a touring group. Even does Jazzercise. She let me buy the condo and furnish it. I wanted to do more."

  Caroline longed to reach out to touch him.

  Bitterly angry at her grandmother for robbing her of that right, she clenched her hand into a tight fist.

  "They had a happy home. I remember thinking that each time we visited," she said softly.

  "But not a lot of material things. They didn't even have a microwave," he said in disbelief.

  Caroline laughed. "Your mother loved to cook. The convenience of a microwave would have been lost on her. Things and money aren't necessary to make people happy."

  "Easy to say when you've had it all your life."

  Caroline started to tell him she'd been totally self-sufficient from the time of their separation until the present, but didn't. It was an old argument, and not one she could change by words.

  "Do you miss your old home?" she asked.

  "Not particularly. I like New Orleans. Why?"

  "I wondered if you did, you seem so surprised we want to sell Talmadge Hall that I thought maybe you might have wished to keep your family's home."

  "Mom didn't want to stay there. I certainly never planned to move back. So she sold it and now has a nice nest egg for the future."

  "That's what Michelle, Abby and I will have upon the sale of Talmadge Hall. A nice nest egg for the future."

  She swallowed hard and fell silent. She didn't want to think about the future tonight. Not while Brandon was still here.

  "I can give you a nest egg as a settlement," he said slowly.

  She stared at him with horrified eyes.

  "No! I don't want anything. You made all that money, risked everything to buy into the company. And did it all after we separated. I'm not entitled to any of it."

  "Sure you are. It was acquired while we were married."

  "I don't want anything!" she repeated.

  "I'd feel better if you took some." He'd done it for her, after all.

  "If you keep up talk like that I'll refuse to sign the papers," she threatened.

  Chapter Seven

  The night sounds were a quiet background to the lazy murmur of the river. Caroline took a sip of the dark chicory coffee, wishing she hadn't brought up the divorce. She wanted to savor the peaceful evening, one of her favorite times of the day. And savor the darkness. It was the best time to talk, share confidences and to draw closer.

  She remembered sneaking into her sisters' rooms—sometimes all three of them gathered in one bedroom, against their grandmother's strict rules. The spice of the forbidden only adding to their delight. They'd share dreams and plans for the future, always in the darkness. Abby would curl up against her when she was very young. Michelle always wanted to be on the edge of the bed. Caroline liked being in the middle, as if being surrounded by those she loved could insulate her from the fears and uncertainties that plagued her.

  "It's still early," Caroline said when she finished her coffee. "I guess I have time to start reading through those old letters and papers."

  "Want any help?"

  "No."

  She did, but thought it prudent to spend some time alone. She didn't want him to think she couldn't manage things on her own. She'd grown up a lot in the years since they'd been together.

  It was only a couple of hours later when the writing began to blur that she wished she'd said yes. His presence in the living room as she read would have kept her company. Now she felt lonely. A common feeling over the last few years, but not one she liked.

  Rising, she straightened the two piles, read and unread—the unread still much larger than the other. But Caroline had discovered more about her grandmother. And every speck of information led her to believe more strongly that Eugenia Talmadge had been a ruthless manipulative mean spirited woman—determined to get her own way in everything she wanted.

  But there were no new clues about her father.

  She switched off the light and wandered out into the foyer. The front door was locked. The rest of the ground floor in darkness. Only the chandelier over the stairs remained on.

  Slowly, quietly, she climbed the stairs. Rosalie had departed immediately after supper. Brandon must have closed up the house and gone to bed.

  She entered her room and quickly got ready for bed. Opening the wide French doors to the balcony, she looked at the empty expanse. Had she expected him to be there? To sweep her off her feet and carry her away to a world of private delight?

  As she slipped into bed and pulled the light sheet over her, Caroline admitted she had.

  Late the next morning, Caroline impatiently glanced at the wall clock again—for at least the fifty-third time. Last night Brandon suggested they go out for lunch. She hadn't seen him all morning. And she was having trouble focusing on the old documents when her mind kept wondering where he was.

  He hadn't left, his car was still in the drive. He must be in his room. Working probably. She didn't know why she was so antsy. She'd told Rosalie not to make lunch, so she sure hoped he'd been serious when suggesting they go out for lunch.

  Once again, she surveyed her piles of papers. There were three now. One to be read, one read and keep and the growing one of read and toss.

  The cream and burgundy decor of the room gave the room warmth yet enhanced a feeling of spaciousness. If she separated her feelings from living in the house, she could admit it was a lovely historic old home. Eugenia had been a good owner, keeping up all maintenance and renovations to maintain it as a lovely estate. If only it had been fused with love.

  She hoped a large family bought it so the rooms would ring with children laughing and playing and celebrating holidays with love and happiness.

  Love was the key ingredient. She wondered if Eugenia'd had any concept of the emotion.

  Not for the first time she wondered how Eugenia had lived with herself after what she'd done first to her mother, then to herself.

  She'd never made the attempt to return to New Orleans. She'd believed her grandmother's lies. But still now in retrospect, she knew she could have reached out at least once. She hadn't been thinking clearly, granted. And hearing over and over about
how he married her for her money, and never made any effort to contact her, had definitely played a part in her decision.

  How could the woman have so blatantly lied? Especially when she saw how depressed Caroline had been.

  She was proud of what she'd accomplished since moving out of Talmadge Hall a second time. She was doing well and could provide for herself. She didn't want a settlement from Brandon. Not that she'd need anything after the Talmadge's estate was settled.

  Hearing a sound in the hallway, Caroline scrambled to her feet.

  "Brandon, I'm in here."

  Caroline's face lit up when she saw him. She couldn't help it. For a moment, she felt like the college coed being courted by the man of her dreams.

  Ten minutes later they left for lunch. Caroline took them to a small family restaurant that was a favorite of hers. The hostess greeted her by name and showed them immediately to a choice patio table beneath a wide umbrella.

  Shaded beside a huge trellis, the patio had a small fountain in the back splashing merrily on rocks. An ornate cage of mourning doves to one side provided a melodious background.

  Businessmen and women were seated at tables scattered around the patio.

  Once they'd ordered, Caroline turned to him, to ask what he'd done all morning.

  "I finished sorting the last box. Not many personal papers in it. I'll bring those down when we get home. Then I had a conference call with some of the team on our problem customer."

  "Can you do remote work?"

  He nodded. "Sure. We're a high tech firm, we can do a lot remotely. That makes it easier when I travel. Not like your job. You really have to be there, right?"

  She nodded. "I have a couple of sales that are closing soon. One of the gals in the office will handle the final paperwork for me if I don't get back in time. Depending on how long the Realtor here thinks it'll take to sell Talmadge Hall, I probably won't stay until it sells. It's such a big property, I doubt it'll move quickly."

  She had to wait for the estate to be settled to cut all ties to Baton Rouge. But she knew she'd need patience until it sold.