A Surrendered Heart

by Tracie Peterson

  “But what if there isn’t enough . . . ?” She couldn’t bring herself to say the words.

  Mr. Rosenblume patted her hand. “There will be enough. From all appearances he didn’t commingle all of the funds. He and Mr. Fillmore had a fairly detailed plan.”

  “So you’ve completed your review of the files?”

  “All but a stack of personal notes. Still, additional time will be needed to complete my findings.” He retrieved a stack of papers and pushed them toward Fanny. “If you have time, you could review these in the adjacent office before you leave.”

  “Of course.” She followed Mr. Rosenblume into a small office that adjoined his. She wondered if this was where he escaped when he didn’t want to be bothered by the worries of the world. Though the room contained a small desk, it was the overstuffed brocade chair that captured Fanny’s attention. Situated alongside a large window that offered excellent light, it provided a perfect place to read a book. She strode toward the chair. “I believe I’ll sit here.”

  “An excellent choice.” He padded back across the thick carpet, and a click of the door announced his departure.

  Fanny settled into the chair, the bright rays of afternoon sun warming her as she sifted through the papers. An ivory envelope with a gold and blue seal in the corner captured her attention. Holding the corner between her finger and thumb, she gently pulled it from the center of the stack. The envelope was addressed to her uncle Jonas, but one glance revealed the fact that it was from the medical school where Amanda had applied for training. She withdrew the letter and scanned the contents.

  “How could he?” She tried to grasp the full impact of what she’d read. Her uncle had bargained with the president of the school and had gotten what he wanted. In return for a letter rejecting Amanda’s admittance, Uncle Jonas had donated money. Lies and betrayal. Was there no end to what the man would do in order to have his way? In spite of the sun’s warmth, an unexpected shiver coursed through her body. She tucked the letter into her skirt pocket and hurried out of the room.

  Mr. Rosenblume looked up from his desk. “Done so soon?”

  “I’m suddenly not feeling well and believe I had best go home and rest. I’ll finish going through the papers tomorrow or the next day.”

  He pushed to his feet and came to her side. “You are pale, my dear. I’ll have my driver bring the carriage around and take you home.”

  She apologized for her early departure, thanked Mr. Rosenblume for the use of his carriage, and bid him good-bye. Her thoughts raced in circles during the ride home. Even though Uncle Jonas had voiced his disapproval of Amanda’s medical training, Fanny had never considered he would go to such lengths. And if he would commit such an odious act against his own daughter, how much more might he do to her?

  Jonas paced in front of the library fireplace considering where his niece might be. No one seemed to know where Fanny had gone. Neither her personal maid nor the cook could offer a scrap of information. He’d used the last hour to advantage and searched her room, but to no avail. Either she’d hidden the files somewhere else in the house, or she’d taken them and gone in search of a lawyer. It was the latter thought that caused his head to ache. If those files contained incriminating information, his life would be ruined. He attempted to calm himself with the thought that she wouldn’t be interested in the contents of the files. Or that a woman wouldn’t understand what they contained.

  The familiar click of footsteps on the hallway tile brought his pacing to an immediate halt. Fanny was home. He hurried out of the room. Had his niece not stopped midstep, they would have collided. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were right outside my door.” Her complexion was pale. “Where have you been, my dear? You don’t look well.”

  “Since when have you concerned yourself over my health, Uncle Jonas?”

  He took a backward step. Clearly, she was upset—and suspicious. If he was going to gain any information, he needed to adopt his usual attitude or she’d become even more guarded. “Vincent Fillmore mentioned that he had given you some files regarding your grandfather’s estate. Poor fellow is simply too busy with his other work to handle anything as large as the Broadmoor estate.” He straightened his shoulders and hoped he was exuding an air of confidence. “And now he’s burdened you with a portion of the files. I’m uncertain of his reasoning, but I wanted to assure you that you can depend upon me to continue handling all matters regarding your inheritance.”

  “Truly?” She folded her arms across her chest.

  “Indeed. Why don’t you tell me where you’ve stored the files, and I’ll see to them this very minute.”

  “That won’t be necessary, Uncle Jonas. I have already employed a lawyer. Mr. Rosenblume has agreed to act as my legal representative and ease me of the burden.”

  His stomach clenched in a tight knot. Under any other circumstance, he would have been tempted to throttle the girl. But not now—not today. He must maintain his decorum and continue to try to win her over. “Mr. Rosenblume will understand if you advise him you’ve changed your mind. Women are permitted that concession.”

  “I feel quite confident that Mr. Rosenblume will be a perfect representative for my interests. After all, Grandfather thought him to be the best lawyer in all of Rochester.”

  She flashed a smile, though her complexion remained pale. How much did she know, he wondered. “In that case, I’d be more than willing to deliver the files to Mr. Rosenblume. I can drop them off tomorrow morning.”

  “That won’t be necessary. They’re already in his office.”

  His head throbbed as she headed off toward the kitchen without a backward glance. He touched his fingers to his temples. This encounter had not gone at all as he had hoped. If he didn’t devise a plan, his life would be a shambles. While Mortimer lay cold in his grave, Jonas could be prosecuted for their criminal actions. To the world it would appear otherwise, but Jonas decided he had drawn the short straw. Death would have been easier than facing disgrace.

  He dropped into his chair and continued to massage his temples while misery threatened a tighter hold. “I’m alone, with no one who would understand,” he whispered.

  Had his brother Langley felt this same sense of despair and loneliness during the ten years following Winifred’s death? Had the possibility of a future filled with pain and solitude provided the impetus for Langley to take his own life? A vision of his brother slumped beneath a tree on Broadmoor Island flashed through his mind. When Jonas had arrived on the scene that day, he’d discovered the empty bottle of laudanum and a grief-stricken young Fanny. Jonas had thought Langley a coward—a man afraid to face life. Now he wondered if he might sink to that same depth of hopelessness.

  “No,” he muttered, silently vowing to save himself at all cost.

  Ellert hadn’t planned to see Jonas Broadmoor. In fact, he hadn’t thought about him in years. Even his journey back to Rochester hadn’t brought his former acquaintance to mind. Had they not run into each other outside the bank, Ellert would have left town that same afternoon. Jonas hadn’t been himself during their luncheon. At first Ellert thought it simply the span of time between visits. But as their conversation continued, he knew there was more to it. His years of dealing with shrewd businessmen had instilled an ability to know when something was amiss, and something was very wrong with Jonas Broadmoor.

  It hadn’t taken much time or effort to discover that Jonas had recently suffered some significant financial losses, although he managed to keep the details to himself. The most Ellert could gather was vague information about Jonas’s investments. Since the entire country was suffering through a financial downturn, perhaps that was the sum total of his old acquaintance’s problem. But Ellert sensed there was something more than bad investments. Jonas had been far too careful with his answers during lunch. And although Jonas had alluded to the possibility of needing to locate financial backing, Ellert hadn’t responded. First, he’d wanted to conduct his own research.

  The tw
o men had parted outside the men’s club, but Ellert returned a short time later. Discovering exactly what had happened with Jonas’s finances had proved a costly endeavor. Ellert had crossed the palms of more greedy men than he cared to recall, but the end result had been worth the effort—and the money. Mortimer’s clerk had been easily persuaded. On the other hand, Judge Webster had turned out to be the most difficult piece of the puzzle—and the most expensive. But in the end Ellert had succeeded. Money spoke volumes to men at the top of the ladder, and even more so to those like Judge Webster, who teetered near the bottom rung with only a powerful position to make him acceptable. The judge had upped the ante, and Ellert had complied. The information he’d gained had been more than he could have ever hoped for—enough to bring Jonas Broadmoor to his knees.

  A feeling of self-satisfaction washed over him. He would be more than pleased to speak with Jonas about a loan or investment. After the many social snubs he’d endured from the entire Broadmoor family, nothing would give him more satisfaction than to bring Jonas to ruin. There had also been the incident when Ellert had wanted to invest in a silver mine. He’d attempted to secure a loan through every means possible before he’d gone to Jonas Broadmoor. After a great deal of cajoling, Jonas had finally agreed—but at a huge cost to Ellert. He had repaid the loan and the exorbitant interest, but Jonas never knew that it was the silver mine that had set Ellert on his path toward financial security.

  He raked his fingers through his thick white hair. Indeed, he would be very pleased to offer Jonas help in his time of need—the same way Jonas had helped him—at a very dear price.

  8

  Friday, May 19, 1899

  “What are you doing out of bed?”

  Amanda whirled around. Seized by a bout of dizziness, she dropped to the side of the bed. “You startled me!” She pressed her fingertips to her temples in a futile attempt to ward off the sickening feeling. Would she never regain her strength?

  While the room continued to swirl in a tilting motion, Blake drew near. “What must I do? Shall I be forced to tie you to that bed in order to keep you there?”

  “Don’t you dare think such a thing!” She shouldn’t have shouted. The dizziness returned with a vengeance, and she was forced to lie back on her pillow. Exactly what Blake wanted. He stood peering down at her. “Are you happy now?” she whispered.

  “I’m not pleased if you’re feeling worse, but it’s good to see you back in bed.” He placed his palm across her forehead. “No fever. That’s good.”

  “I know I don’t have a fever. And I wouldn’t have experienced the dizziness if you hadn’t startled me.”

  He chuckled. “So my voice alone is enough to cause you to swoon. Is that what you’re saying, Miss Broadmoor?”

  “I didn’t swoon. I am not one of those young women who swoon in order to gain a man’s attention. And I see no reason why I must remain abed. Only yesterday you said I was much improved. Can I not trust your medical opinion, Dr. Carstead?”

  “I’m ashamed of you, Miss Broadmoor. You are twisting my words in order to achieve what you want. However, your little game is not going to work. I said you were coming along nicely. I did not say you could or should be out of bed.”

  Now that she was lying down, the dizziness had subsided, and she continued to wage her argument. “You obviously need my help. Do you not think I know how many patients are in those adjoining rooms? Uncle Quincy is worn to a frazzle, and you look like you haven’t slept or taken a razor to your face in days,” she said, pointing at the several days’ growth that covered his jawline. Though she’d never reveal such a thought, Amanda found his unshaven appearance somewhat appealing. “I am bored with nothing to do but stare at the paint chipping from the ceiling.”

  Blake looked up and then grinned. “The ceiling does appear to need some repair, doesn’t it? I’ll mention that to your uncle. I’m certain he’ll want to have it repainted once—”

  “Don’t attempt to turn this conversation into a discussion of building repairs. We are discussing the fact that I am well enough to help you with the patients.”

  “You are having a memory lapse, my dear. We were discussing the fact that you need to remain in bed.”

  My dear? Had she heard him correctly? She’d not mentioned the memory that had lingered since the turning point in her recovery when she’d rallied and been awake for nearly five minutes. Even now the picture of Blake sitting at her beside and declaring his love remained vivid. As she’d continued her period of recuperation, she’d thought the memory genuine. During those first days, Blake had been nothing but attentive and kind. But as she had continued to gain strength, he’d been provoking her at every turn. The remembrance of his declaration couldn’t be real. If he loved her, he wouldn’t be such a disagreeable boor now.

  She could only assume that the words my dear had been nothing more than a calculated plan. Clearly he hoped she would embrace his decision. Well, it would take more than a few words of endearment to convince her that she should remain abed while others suffered without proper care. “I suggest we strike a bargain. If I am able to carry out my normal duties for the remainder of the day, then you will admit that I am well and permit my return to work. I assume you will prove you have confidence in your medical opinion by agreeing to my terms.” She pushed herself upright and held her breath. Her words had been full of false bravado. She could only hope he would take the bait she’d dangled in front of him.

  “I’m not one to pass up a wager so easily won.” He gestured for her to remain still a moment longer. “Your duties will be what I assign. I don’t want you fainting atop one of the patients.”

  “I see. You plan to wear me down scrubbing floors and emptying pails of—”

  “I will not assign any duties you didn’t perform before you contracted cholera. Do you still wish to bargain with me?”

  “Indeed.” A quick nod created another wave of dizziness, but she forced herself to remain upright and smile. If she was to win this contest of wills, she must remember to make all movements in a slow and determined fashion.

  “Come along, then. And remember that when I win this wager, you must follow my orders without question. I have a great need for bandages. You can tear and roll the old sheets in between your other duties. Fortunately for you, the sheets have already been laundered.” His lopsided grin was enough to lend added resolve.

  “If they weren’t, I’m sure I could accomplish the task,” she countered.

  His hazel eyes sparkled from beneath thick dark brows. “Then you should have no difficulty preparing the necessary medicines for my patients. You may place the individual doses on the trays, and I’ll deliver them. Don’t hesitate to call me if you have any questions or need any assistance.”

  The patronizing offer set her teeth on edge, but Amanda resisted the urge to tell him so. He might withdraw his proposition and send her back to bed. Blake followed her into the small room adjacent to his office and pointed at the cabinet lined with jars of medicinal remedies. She opened one of the glass doors and peered inside. There was little evidence of powders or liquids in the bottles. “How could you permit the supply to fall so low? I trust we’ll receive more today.”

  “Let me refresh your memory, Amanda. There has been sickness throughout the city. Even though the entire city has not been placed on quarantine, many people fear doing business in Rochester. Supplies of every variety are in high demand. I have placed orders with all three pharmacies. They bring what they have to the front gate.”

  “Then I suppose we must make do.” She looked about the small room. “Where is the chair?”

  “In the women’s quarters. We’re housing more people than usual, and they had need of additional seating.” He narrowed his eyes. “Are you feeling too weak to stand and complete the task?”

  “Not at all. I was merely inquiring.” She waved him from the room. “I don’t require supervision.”

  He returned to his office but reappeared minutes later w
ith a small brass bell. “Ring this if you need me.” The clapper bounced against the bell with a soft clunk when he set it on the table. “Don’t let your pride get in the way of your good sense, Amanda.”

  Before she could reply, he strode out of the room. She heard his soft footfalls on the carpet and then the louder click of his shoes on the wooden floor of the hallway. She peeked into his office to make certain he was gone before she scanned the room for a chair. Blake’s large chair remained, but she couldn’t possibly move it from behind the desk and through the small entrance to the adjacent room.

  After reading the names of the patients and the list of medications, she began the process. She placed the powders on tiny squares of paper until only two names remained. The jar of medicine she needed was nowhere to be found. Could Blake have used the last and forgotten? Resting her hands on her hips, she stepped back and surveyed the cabinet one final time. There! On the bottom shelf at the very back, a dark blue bottle—exactly what she’d been searching for.

  Bending at the waist, she leaned forward and immediately knew she’d made a mistake. “I should have crouched down instead,” she whispered as she lunged for the brass bell.

  The bell was the last thing she remembered until she forced her eyes open to stare into Blake’s frowning face. “You are a stubborn woman, Amanda Broadmoor. Why didn’t you ring the bell?”

  “I couldn’t reach it,” she whispered.

  He gently lifted her into his arms and carried her back to bed. “I believe we had an agreement. You will remain here until I declare you well enough to be up and about.”

  “But what am I to do? Can you not understand my boredom?” Thoughts of Sophie during her months of confinement came to mind. No wonder she had complained so arduously about remaining abed for all that time. “At least bring me something to read and some paper so that I may write to my family.”