Amanda shifted forward on the bed. “What you learned? You mean that the man you believed all your life was your grandfather, was not?”
“I’d never questioned my mother’s parentage for a moment. But I’d always wondered why Grandfather treated Grandmother so poorly. Never a kind word. Always critical of everything she did. And the unhappy, unpleasant ogre treated Mother and me in a similar fashion. He passed when I turned fourteen, but I remember my grandfather being the most disgruntled individual I’ve ever met.”
Amanda shook her head. “Why would any husband treat his wife so shabbily? Or his daughter? Or granddaughter?”
“Because Grandfather wasn’t Mother’s father.”
“You’d best start from the beginning. I’m getting confused,” Amanda admitted.
“There’s something you need to read. Actually, there are several items in Grandmother’s diary that will explain what happened.” Rosie grabbed the book and flipped through the pages. She scooted closer to Amanda. “Start here.”
Amanda leaned closer and read over Rosie’s shoulder…
August 17, 1833
The family returned home to Boston today with me in tears and fit to be tied. Father refused to even consider a courtship between me and Michael Miller, a gregarious young fellow with ambitious dreams of building a ranching empire near Milestone, Montana, a frontier town south of Butte where Father has completed his business dealings. I’m so heartbroken; I’ve fallen completely in love with this young man. But Father insists his only child deserves someone more suitable. His opinion is certainly not mine. Mother keeps insisting someday another young man will turn my head and I’ll recover from this heartache. But I know she’s wrong. They’re both so wrong. I’ll never forget Michael or stop loving him for as long as I live.
“That is Grandmother’s first reference to Michael Miller,” Rosie explained. “And then only one week later, Grandmother recorded this…” She pointed to an entry on the corresponding page.
August 25, 1833
A personable young man named Brighton Wentworth who is employed by Father’s company came to supper tonight. Father instructed Cook on the menu, and Cook created and served a marvelous spread which Brighton complimented a dozen times, pleasing Father immensely, of course. Personally, I’ve never been that taken with lamb, and I saw right through Brighton’s act. Father claims the young man has an exceptional talent for business with a promising future in his company. I feigned interest in the fellow and I’m certain Mother believes Brighton is the key to mending my heart. I still cry myself to sleep every night, knowing I’ll love no other but Michael. I’m certain Father still believes he did the right thing refusing to permit Michael and me to pursue a future together in Montana. But I now suspect Father has inadvertently ruined my life.
“My goodness, that’s strong wording… ruined my life.” Amanda met Rosie’s eyes. “Do you suppose your grandmother suspected she was with child at that point?”
“She probably did. And frantic to keep the secret from her father, while grasping for a solution to her problem,” Rosie speculated, flipping pages. “And soon enough she found one.”
Rosie read aloud the entry written two weeks later...
September 9, 1833
Brighton and I certainly shocked Mother and Father at the dinner table tonight when we announced our engagement! Father seemed surprised at first, but he’s delighted Brighton will be joining the family. Of course, Brighton proposed to secure his future with Woodley Enterprises, and I doubt he’ll ever adore me as much as he’s delighted with his rosy future at Father’s company. I suppose time will tell how our agreement will work out, but I pray for a happy outcome.
Amanda gasped. “Your grandmother would require a heap of praying to achieve a happy ending to this situation. Their agreement seems no better than an arranged marriage. What happened next?”
“This happened a couple weeks later…” Rosie flipped another page and read aloud.
September 30, 1833
Thank goodness, this business trip came about for Brighton when it did. I doubt Father and Mother even noticed I’d accompanied my fiancé to New York. Completely unchaperoned. I’m chuckling at the thought: such a thing could ruin a young lady’s reputation. We sent my parents a completely unexpected telegraph today, announcing Brighton and I have eloped and will remain in New York for a short honeymoon. All of Father’s dreams of holding the society wedding of the year and walking me down the aisle have vanished. William Woodley may pass away from apoplexy. I’m certain Father’s wondering, whatever was Lucille thinking? Mother will insist on holding a party for us upon our return. Keeping up ‘the happy couple in love’ appearances will be a challenge.
“Do I need to even guess what is coming next?” Amanda whispered.
Rosie shook her head. “This entry tops that last one, and only a month later…” She passed the diary to Amanda and she read aloud…
October 28, 1833
Goodness, we’ve surprised my parents again but I’m hoping in a good way. And what wonderful news it is! There’s a baby on the way! Mother cannot imagine how this happened so quickly. Well, I certainly can. Mother could not be happier for all of us. I’ve always felt I’ve been a disappointment to them. Hopefully, being grandparents for the first time will please Mother and Father.
Amanda met Rosie’s eyes. “Your grandmother seems to have covered her tracks so far. Does it all fall apart in the end?”
“Lucille Woodley Wentworth is far too astute for that.” Rosie flipped over several pages. “And she may well have pulled if off if… just read these two entries.”
Amanda set the book on her lap and started reading aloud…
November 18, 1833
I have finally stopped crying and can see the page clearly enough to write this entry. After dinner tonight, when my parents had turned in for the night, Brighton and I got into a horrible argument in the parlor. Brighton reminded me we only married for him to secure a partnership in Father’s business. I insisted I didn’t love him. He assured me he was quite aware of that and felt the same way about me. But Brighton refuses to even consider a divorce, insisting nothing has changed. We’re staying married, as decided by the original agreement, to secure his future with Woodley Enterprises in exchange for providing my bastard (his word not mine) with a name.
November 19, 1833
I couldn’t write another word last evening after seeing the truth in my own handwriting. ‘Bastard’ is such an ugly word. I pray my child never learns the truth, never discovers Brighton is not his or her father. Worst of all, Mother cornered me today and admitted she’d overheard our argument while she was on the way to the kitchen for a late night cup of tea. Of course, Mother realized the truth of the matter and scolded me for my inexcusable behavior in Montana. I didn’t elaborate on the details, allowing her to stew about her foolish daughter misbehaving with ‘that Michael chap’. I am beside myself with worry though. Father thinks so highly of Brighton, having forgiven us for the elopement. Mother promised to keep my secret, and I pray Father never learns about any of this for fear of what he might do.
Rosie sniffled and Amanda handed her a handkerchief off the bedside table. After a moment, Rosie tamped down her emotions, feeling her face reddening and knowing her new friend had learned her most embarrassing secret. Her mother had been conceived out of wedlock, a bastard. What did that make Rosie?
“These entries completely shocked me, but it also explained so much. I finally understood why Grandfather Wentworth was so uncaring to my grandmother and to Mother. As well as his aloofness toward me the majority of my life, despite the fact my father was a valued employee in his company.”
“He started his own company?”
“Goodness, no. Brighton inherited Woodley Enterprises from Great-grandfather when he passed.”
Amanda nodded.
“Mother loved me in her own way, I suppose, but she hasn’t a maternal bone in her body. She didn’t want children but after
ten years of marriage, I suddenly appeared the year she turned thirty-four. Quite shocking and scandalous, according to Grandmother’s diary entries. There was even speculation in some social circles whether James was even my father. With this family, who knows? Maybe I’m a—”
“Don’t say it. Regardless of your parentage, it has absolutely no reflection on you as a person. None of this is your fault. You’re a lovely young lady.”
“Thank you, Amanda. I appreciate your lack of judgement.” Rosie shifted on the bed.
“Nonsense. People make mistakes, including your grandmother. Some folks are less affectionate than others, like your mother. You’re gracious and polite and friendly.” Amanda waved off her concern.
“Thank you.” Rosie touched Amanda’s arm. “Now as I was saying, while Mother completely ignored me at every turn, Grandmother treated me like a princess and provided me with everything any little girl would desire.”
“I’m happy about that.” Amanda covered her mouth with her hand and whispered, “Any more scandalous entries in that diary?”
Rosie chuckled. “You haven’t heard enough already? There is the day my mother was born.”
“Share it with me, please.”
“Of course.” Rosie clasped the book in her hands, flipped to the page, and read…
May 10, 1834
The baby was born early this morning at 2:15 a.m. Miss Anna Lucille Wentworth came into the world after thirty hours of labor, me screaming in agony and swearing I would never endure such pain again. I fear this loveless union between Brighton and myself is doomed, but it has never been a true marriage anyway. The baby is beautiful though and there are no words to describe my relief it’s all over.
May 13, 1834
With a newborn in the house, I’ve barely had time to think, never mind write a single word until now. If Father is questioning my baby’s early arrival, he hasn’t voiced any suspicions. At only five pounds, my claim the little girl came six weeks early is slightly believable. But I suppose one sees what one wants to. When I became so big so early, Father had speculated a set of twins were on the way. When only one wee girl arrived, Father barely contained his disappointment and Brighton has hardly looked at the child. Perhaps if the baby had been a boy, they would have been more receptive. What will become of Anna? I worry about all our futures. And I have insisted on separate bedrooms, eliminating any pretense of a happy marriage. Mother is heartbroken, knowing more grandchildren are solely wishful thinking. Despite the agony I suffered bringing her into the world and my feelings toward Brighton, I do adore Anna. Hopefully, that child will never learn the truth of her parentage.
Amanda smiled. “I’m so happy you had such a wonderful lady in your life. I wish I’d known her. She must have been a remarkable person.”
“The best,” Rosie whispered and dabbed at her tear-filled eyes while Amanda rubbed her back. “Until the day she passed, Grandmother loved me. In truth, she seemed the only person in the entire world who did. And having found her diaries and read these entries after she passed, I now understand why that was.”
“I cannot believe Anna never loved you,” Amanda observed. “What mother doesn’t love her baby?”
“A mother who never wanted me in the first place.” Rosie shook her head. “The question that infuriates me most… why did Michael Miller not marry my grandmother? What kind of man wouldn’t marry a disgraced young lady carrying his child?”
“As you speculated, I would guess Michael Miller never knew your grandmother was with child. Lucille met Brighton a week or so after she returned from Montana. Only a month later, she married him.” Amanda noted each item on a finger as she spoke. “She wouldn’t know she was carrying you until several weeks after she returned home from the west, and then she instantly grasped at the first opportunity to cover her indiscretion with Michael.”
“Mother was definitely a five pound indiscretion,” Rosie whispered and then straightened. “You’re right about the timing and that would explain it. But why would Grandmother not send Michael a letter informing him she was carrying his baby?”
Amanda shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know. Perhaps with her father being so adamant that she not be involved with Mr. Miller, Lucille might have determined that option not feasible and decided on a more suitable father for her child.”
“Possibly.”
“We need to talk to my papa. He knew Michael Miller better than anyone,” Amanda said.
“Truly?”
“As a young man, Papa worked on Mr. Miller’s ranch. He treated Papa like a son and Papa loved him like a father. When Mr. Miller passed away with no heirs, Papa learned that the dear fellow had bequeathed the Double M to him. Our family has lived on the ranch ever since, and Papa built the ranch up to the diverse success it is today to honor the man who entrusted it to him.”
“Your father sounds like a truly good person. Like his daughter. Thank goodness, you found me on the street. I don’t know what I would have done had you not approached me.” Rosie smiled as she spoke.
Amanda reached over and grasped her hand. “Milestone is a small friendly town, and someone would have come to your rescue. But I’m delighted it was me, and now we’ll become the best of friends.”
“I’d like that.” Rosie place her other hand atop Amanda’s and squeezed it gently. “I grew up in a home where we seldom entertained unless Mother planned an elaborate social event, and my schooling centered around a collection of tutors which limited interactions with other children. Except for a couple of girls whose fathers were employed by my grandfather’s company, I haven’t developed any friendships.”
“That’s rather sad.” Amanda hugged Rosie, impulsively. “But we’ll be friends. And I have a whole passel of sisters-in-law who’ll be friends with you also. And the ranch housekeeper, Mrs. Sheridan, is a dear as well. You’ll love her.”
“When will I meet with your father?”
“Get a good night’s sleep, and we’ll travel to the ranch in the morning.” Amanda added in a whisper, “Don’t mention this to Sawyer.”
“All right. I hope I’m not putting you out. The hotel wasn’t an option, but I could have stayed at a boarding house if one exists in Milestone.”
“I wouldn’t thrust Frances Landers on you. She runs a boarding house, but the woman is not the nicest person you’d want to meet.” Amanda patted Rosie’s hand. “Be thankful you’re with us tonight.”
“I couldn’t be more thankful.”
“Good. Now I’m off to bed.” Amanda gathered up the tea things and reached for the lamp. “I’ll take these downstairs to soak until morning. Get some sleep.”
“Thank you. I’ll try my best. But I’ve had so much information ricocheting through my mind these past weeks, sleep doesn’t come easily,” Rosie admitted, glancing at the other lamp on the night table. “I might write a few words in my notebook first. I fancy myself a bit of a writer, but I haven’t worked up the nerve to offer anything for publication.”
“How wonderful you’re a writer. But you’ve nothing to worry about. And talking with Papa tomorrow should answer most of your questions,” Amanda predicted. “Then you’ll be free to decide what’s next for you. And maybe you’ll discover your future should be spent with us in Milestone.”
“I never would have considered that a possibility when I left Boston, but now… perhaps it will be an option.”
A minute later, Rosie lay in bed surrounded by darkness, having forgone writing in favor of much-needed sleep. Perhaps she should have written down the questions racing around in her head, for fear of forgetting to ask something important tomorrow. On the way to the ranch she would make some notes. For now, she needed to somehow fall asleep. And after enduring that seemingly never-ending journey, slipping under the covers in this wonderful bed removed any excuse for insomnia.
Tomorrow she would learn all she could about her grandfather, and her mind would be put at ease. Making this trip would be totally worth it. She refused to think o
therwise.
Within minutes, relaxed and exhausted, she fell into a deep sleep.
Chapter 4
Next morning, Rosie stared across the verdant Montana valley as she rode along in the buggy with Amanda. Their conveyance shifted from side to side and bounced across the uneven, often rutted land. Making notes was completely out of the question; she wouldn’t be able to read a word she’d written. She would simply rely on her memory, and any spur-of-the-moment questions that popped into her head during the conversation with Mr. McLennon.
Rosie marveled at Amanda’s competence in handling the rig. Since early childhood, Rosie rode Thoroughbred horses on her great-grandparents’ estate in Boston. She’d become an accomplished horsewoman for pleasure riding, but she wouldn’t know the first thing about handling a horse and buggy.
“Are you warm enough? There’s a quilt under the seat if you feel a chill,” Amanda offered.
“Truly, I’m fine.” Rosie snuggled into her cloak and smiled. Having seldom traveled outside the city, she stared in disbelief at the towering mountain ranges, glimpses of the river wending its way along the mountain base, and the long stretches of valleys they passed through.
She closed her eyes and welcomed the warmth of the sun on her face and the pleasant scent of sage that drifted on the morning breeze. The troubling purpose necessitating the trip to the Double M would in all likelihood ruin this beautiful day, but she needed to learn some truths. She clasped her grandmother’s diary in her hands. The yellowed pages within provided proof of her allegations about Mr. Miller, in case Amanda’s father doubted her story. She’d wager disgruntled Michael McLennon would definitely have already spoken with his father on the matter.
A Lost Love's Legacy (Sons Of A Gun Book 5) Page 3
