“If these allegations prove to be true, I want to take every effort to protect my aunt and cousins. They had no part in any of this. It is Uncle Jonas who must answer for his actions.”
The lawyer nodded. “I will do what I can to protect both your interests and the family name.” He lifted some files from one end of the table. “These files were marked with your name and the word confidential. I have not examined their contents.” The clock chimed, and he handed her the files. “Take these papers with you. Once you’ve reviewed them, we can discuss anything you discover that might require my attention.”
After bidding Mr. Rosenblume farewell, Fanny tucked the files under her arm and arrived at the Rochester Savings Bank only minutes before the carriage appeared. Instead of stopping to pick lilacs, she instructed the driver to return home. It wouldn’t do for Uncle Jonas to be waiting and confront her when she entered the house. What if he spotted the files and inquired? What would she say? Even with the driver’s urging, the horse seemed to plod along at an unusually slow pace. She prayed her uncle wouldn’t decide to come home for the noonday meal. Since Aunt Victoria’s departure, his schedule had become irregular, and Fanny never knew when he might appear. Not that it had mattered much in the past.
Fanny leaned forward and tapped the driver on the shoulder. “Was my uncle at home when you left the house?”
The driver shook his head. “Haven’t seen him since early this morning, and he didn’t leave any instructions to pick him up until this evening. ’Course you can’t never tell about Mr. Jonas. Sometimes he hires a cab to bring him home.”
When they neared the house, she once again tapped the driver. “Go around to the back of the house. I’ll enter through the kitchen.”
The young man glanced over his shoulder and frowned, but he didn’t question her. The servants who worked for Jonas Broadmoor knew better.
“Thank you,” she said as he helped her down. “After lunch, I’ll need you to take me to Broadmoor Mansion and then on to the Home for the Friendless.” The driver nodded. Fanny gazed over the driver’s shoulder and was pleased to see that her uncle’s horses hadn’t been hitched to his carriage. She hoped that meant he had remained at his office. The minute she entered the kitchen, she quizzed the cook and was relieved when she heard that her uncle hadn’t darkened the doorway.
“When would you like to eat, Miss Fanny?” the cook asked when she continued toward the rear stairway.
“I’ll get something a little later. I’m not hungry right now.”
The cook nodded. “If you’re sure, ’cause I could—”
“I am. I’ll be upstairs in my bedroom,” she called over her shoulder.
Never before had Fanny locked the bedroom door, but today was different. She placed the files on her bed, removed the key from the top dresser drawer, and slipped it into the lock. One twist of the key and the bolt slipped into place with a soft clunk.
Apprehension filled her as she crossed the room and settled in a chair that overlooked the rear garden. She sifted through the papers and then stopped to more closely peruse a letter addressed to Mortimer Fillmore. The missive was written on her uncle’s stationery and in his familiar script. More importantly, her inheritance was the subject of the letter.
She clasped her palm to her lips when she read her uncle’s directive to falsify the records and deduct his financial losses from her accounts. He set forth a plan that clearly proved what Mr. Rosenblume and Vincent Fillmore had suspected. Her hands shook as she turned to read the final page. Your fears concerning Fanny are needless. She is a foolish young woman who lacks the intelligence to question her finances. She will never request an examination of the accounts. He’d signed the letter and added a final caveat instructing Mortimer to burn the letter. Fanny could scarcely believe what she’d read.
She had hoped to find something in the files that would vindicate her uncle. Instead, he had secretly schemed against her. How could someone who professed to love her pledge his loyalty and then betray her? Uncle Jonas had evolved into a Judas Iscariot. She shuddered at the thought.
Amanda struggled to push aside the pile of quilts that enveloped her like a smothering cocoon. Had Blake thought she might freeze to death? She would have inquired, but he appeared to be dozing in a chair near the foot of her bed. The scent of lilacs drifted toward her and momentarily replaced the putrid smells wafting from the bucket by her bed. The quilts landed on the wood floor with a dull thud that immediately startled him awake.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to waken you, but I thought I might suffocate under all of these blankets.” Amanda forced her dry, cracked lips into a half smile. “I see the rain has stopped.” She lifted a shaking hand and pointed to a nearby table. “Lilacs?”
Blake stared at her as though he’d seen a ghost. “Quincy! Quincy! Come in here.” He jumped up from his chair and sent it crashing to the floor. Kicking aside the pile of quilts, he rushed to her bed and grasped her hand. “How do you feel?”
“Thirsty, but much better,” she said. “May I have a drink?” Her voice was raspy to her ears, and she noted the worried look in his eyes. No doubt he thought she wouldn’t manage to keep the liquid down. But the terrible stomach pains had disappeared.
He poured a small amount of water into a glass. Slipping his arm beneath her shoulders, he held her up while she swallowed the contents.
“I must look a wretched sight.” She brushed the hair from her forehead.
“Amanda! I can’t believe my eyes.” Her uncle hurried across the room and positioned himself at the other side of her bed. He touched his hand to his stomach. “Any pain?”
She shook her head while both men stared down at her as though she might disappear if they looked away. “Other than a weak, groggy feeling, I believe I’m fine.”
“The weakness is to be expected,” Blake said. He squeezed her hand. “I had nearly given up hope.”
“I had an excellent doctor caring for me,” she whispered.
“My medical ability had nothing to do with your recovery. The fervent prayers of those who love you have been answered.”
Those who love me? Did Dr. Carstead count himself among that number? She vaguely remembered his sitting by her bedside and praying, but she couldn’t recall what he’d said. Yet he had prayed for her. And he’d said those who loved her had been praying. Could he possibly love her? Should she harbor such a thought?
6
Wednesday, May 10, 1899
Broadmoor Island
Sophie held Elizabeth close and wrapped the soft blanket tightly around the baby’s legs. She pointed at two boats passing on the river. “See the boats, Elizabeth?” The baby cooed, but her gaze followed several of her young cousins romping in the yard rather than the boats. She wriggled in her mother’s arms and chortled at the children’s antics. “It won’t be long until you’ll be able to run and play, too.” Sophie nuzzled the soft folds of the baby’s neck until she squealed in delight.
Elizabeth’s antics had provided occasional moments of enjoyment, but the days had passed slowly since their arrival on Broadmoor Island. Beatrice had been like fingernails scratching chalkboard since the day they’d set foot on the island. Sophie decided her sister should be awarded a prize for the most annoying person in God’s creation. Though there might be someone who was more irritating than Beatrice, Sophie couldn’t begin to imagine the possibility. And the fact that she and Paul had parted on less than good terms didn’t help, either.
To make matters worse, she hadn’t received even one letter from him. Each afternoon when Mr. Atwell brought the mail to the house, Beatrice noted that fact with great pleasure. When Beatrice had made a huge show of the letter she’d received from Andrew yesterday, Sophie had considered throttling her. Hoping to silence her sister, Sophie had defended Paul’s inattentive behavior. “While Andrew whiles away his evenings with nothing to do but write letters, Paul is busy seeing to the welfare of others,” she’d said. The comment had led to a nasty ex
change between the sisters and had heightened Sophie’s discontent. Surely there must be some escape from this place. Although she could move about the island at will, she felt as though she’d go mad from the enforced captivity. At least she’d had Fanny to keep her company during the months before Elizabeth’s birth.
Veda rounded the corner and waved at Sophie. “Are you ready for me to take Elizabeth upstairs for her nap, Miss Sophie?”
“I suppose it is that time, isn’t it?” She kissed Elizabeth’s cheek before handing her to the maid. “Make certain you or Minnie remains upstairs while she naps. It’s impossible to hear her cry when you’re downstairs.”
“Yes, Miss Sophie.”
Sophie didn’t miss the sullen tone. The maid had likely grown weary of hearing the cautionary instruction every day. She wondered if Veda and Minnie hated being tied to the same wearisome duties each day. There must be something good to be said for such a life, but she couldn’t think what it might be. It would be similar to living on this island with nothing new or different, each day the same as the last. She tugged at her skirt and sighed. Her tiny waist hadn’t returned as quickly as she’d hoped after Elizabeth’s birth. Most of her clothing remained snug and uncomfortable. She’d need to either pass on desserts in the future or purchase new gowns. Paul wouldn’t be pleased with that option. He hoped to save enough money to reimburse Fanny one day for the cost of their house. Sophie held out little hope for that plan—not with her husband’s meager wages.
Perhaps a stroll would lighten her spirits. She downed the last of her tea and meandered along the path that led to the side of the house.
With an old woolen shawl pulled tight around her shoulders, Mrs. Atwell was stooped over, tending a small herb garden. The older woman glanced up as she approached. “Hello, Miss Sophie. Another gorgeous day, don’t you think?”
Sophie nodded. “I wouldn’t mind a little more warmth to the days. And the company of someone I enjoyed spending them with. Don’t you grow lonely during the winter when you and Mr. Atwell are out here by yourselves?”
Mrs. Atwell prodded the ground, pulling a weed here and there as she checked the plants. “Being alone for a time can be a good thing, Sophie. It gives us time to reflect and commune with God. I look forward to each season as it arrives, and I’m never disappointed. I enjoy having your family arrive at the beginning of each summer, but I’m equally pleased to see them depart.” She stood and arched her back. “Each year my back protests the gardening chores a bit more.”
“Having us arrive so early this year must have taken you by surprise.”
Mrs. Atwell shook her head and trudged toward the side of the house. “No, I can’t say I was surprised in the least.” She picked up an old milking stool from alongside the kitchen door and brought it back to the small patch of garden. “Mr. Atwell had heard that some of the families were fleeing to the islands to escape the cholera epidemic.” She sat down on the small stool. Her chin appeared to touch her knees as she bent forward to continue weeding. “I had expected the entire family to come.”
Sophie hadn’t considered the possibility that no one had explained to Mr. and Mrs. Atwell why some members of the family had remained in Rochester. She should have realized her aunt wouldn’t feel the need to provide details. Even though Michael’s parents were soon to become members of Fanny’s family, they were still Broadmoor servants. And servants weren’t entitled to know why. They were simply expected to perform their duties and not ask questions. Mrs. Atwell had probably been beside herself, privately questioning why Fanny hadn’t come with them. Yet she dared not inquire.
“You’re wondering about Fanny?” Sophie asked.
Mrs. Atwell sat upright on the stool. “Yes. Please tell me she hasn’t contracted cholera.”
“No. Fanny is fine—at least she was when we left Rochester. It’s Amanda who contracted cholera. Fanny asked to remain in Rochester so that she could accompany Amanda here once she’s well enough to travel. Although Amanda has shown some slight improvement recently, she is still very ill.”
The weeds dropped from Mrs. Atwell’s hand and fluttered to the ground. “Dear me, that is sad news. I’m surprised Mrs. Broadmoor didn’t stay in Rochester with her daughter.”
“She wanted to, but Uncle Jonas insisted all of us come here. Amanda fell ill while working at the Home for the Friendless, and the entire Home was placed under quarantine,” Sophie said. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Atwell. I didn’t even think—”
Mrs. Atwell waved as if to silence her. “Don’t you concern yourself, Miss Sophie. It’s not your job to keep me updated on your family. I received a letter from Fanny a week before you arrived. I’m certain she’ll be sending another letter soon. Fact is, it’s none of my business.”
“But it is your business. Fanny is soon to be your daughter-in- law—she’ll soon be your family, too.” Sophie settled her gaze on the horizon. “Each day I hope that Amanda and Fanny will be on the train from Rochester. I miss them very much. The island isn’t the same without them.”
“You girls have been inseparable since you were little,” Mrs. Atwell said with a smile. “I always teased that you were three girls sharing one heart.”
Sophie smiled. “Yes. I remember.” She sighed. “Life would not be the same without them.”
“Mr. Atwell and I will be praying for Amanda’s speedy recovery and for Fanny’s continued good health.” The older woman pointed at a boat speeding down the river. “Appears some of the Pullmans have returned to the islands. Mr. Atwell tells me that folks have been arriving every day. Some say they’ll not be going home before the end of summer. Others say they’ll go home the end of May and then return the end of June.”
Sophie perked to attention. “Has he heard if any socials have been scheduled at the Frontenac Hotel?” She didn’t await an answer. “Do you have a copy of the paper? In the summertime they list the parties on the society page. With folks returning early, perhaps they’ve already begun.”
“The paper should be in that stack near the kitchen door. To tell you the truth, I don’t look at the social page, so I don’t know what they’ve listed in there.”
Sophie bounded off toward the kitchen and shuffled through the papers until she located the latest edition. She spread it on the worktable and quickly turned the pages of the meager weekly offering. The social news had dwindled from the full page of last year’s summertime news to half a column of winter offerings. Disappointed, she flapped the pages together and was about to shove the paper back in place when she noticed a small article on the front page.
“Wonderful!” she whispered. A party had been scheduled for Saturday evening at the Frontenac Hotel. All who were seeking refuge in the islands were invited to attend.
Of course, those who read the article knew not everyone was invited. The party was being hosted by Mr. and Mrs. Edward Oosterman. Certainly they weren’t Sophie’s favorite host and hostess, for they generally catered to an older crowd. All the same, it was a party. Perhaps Georgie and Sanger Pullman would be there to add some fun. Both Jefferson and George, Amanda’s unmarried brothers, had booked passage for Europe when threatened with banishment to the island for several months. Not that Sophie blamed them, but she was jealous of the freedom and wealth that permitted them such an escape.
She hastened back outdoors. Mrs. Atwell had disappeared, but Sophie didn’t bother to seek her out. Right now she was more concerned about what she would wear to the party. The better question was what could she wear? Stones skittered beneath her slippers as she quickened her step and returned to the house. She’d packed several gowns, but none of them fit. The green silk might have adequate fabric to release the seams. Yet even if the alterations permitted an extra half inch, she’d need her corset laced as tight as possible. Minnie would be the best choice to alter the dress, but Veda was far superior at squeezing her into a tight corset.
Veda looked up from her sewing when Sophie entered the nursery. She crooked her finger at the maid. “C
ome here,” she whispered.
The maid tiptoed across the room and followed Sophie into the hallway. “I have need of a dress that will fit me for a party Saturday evening. Where is Minnie?”
“Minnie doesn’t have a party dress,” Veda replied.
Sophie sighed. Sometimes Veda didn’t have the sense God gave a goose. “I don’t want to borrow a dress from Minnie. I want her to alter one of mine.”
“Oh, I see.” Veda’s head bobbled like a worn-out spring. “You might look in the servants’ quarters. She was going to—”
With a brief wave Sophie turned and hurried off. Veda had a way of explaining things that took forever, and Sophie didn’t have forever. She had only a few short days. The thick hallway carpet muffled her footsteps—and those of her aunt Victoria, as well. They had a near collision when Sophie rounded the corner.
Her aunt gasped and took a backward step. “Where are you off to in such a hurry?”
“Oh, Aunt Victoria, you startled me. I was going to look for Minnie.”
“Whatever for? Isn’t Veda looking after Elizabeth?”
“Yes, but I wanted to see if Minnie had time to alter one of my gowns. There’s going to be a dance at the Frontenac Hotel on Saturday evening.”
“I’ve heard nothing of a party. Did you receive an invitation?”
Sophie did her best to remain patient while she described the article in the paper. “I knew you’d approve since Mr. and Mrs. Oosterman are hosting the event.”
Her aunt frowned. “I’m not certain you should be attending unescorted. I wonder if Andrew will be coming to see Beatrice and the children this weekend. If Beatrice wants to attend, you could accompany them.”
The thought of Beatrice and Andrew acting as her chaperones was enough to cause Sophie to rethink her plan. If she had to spend the evening under Beatrice’s watchful eye, she didn’t want to attend. “Wouldn’t you like to go? Mrs. Oosterman will be disappointed if you don’t attend, and you could act as my chaperone if you truly think I am in need of one. Since I’m now married, an escort shouldn’t be required, but I’d be delighted to attend with you.”
A Surrendered Heart Page 7
