A Surrendered Heart

by Tracie Peterson

  “Because she wanted to buy it for herself?”

  “Yes, but I couldn’t permit a young single woman to live alone in that place. It wouldn’t be prudent or proper. I was looking out for her best interests, but you know how young people are—they simply want their way in everything.” Jonas loosened his grip on the chair arms. From all appearances, his efforts to convince Quincy were meeting with success.

  “I wonder why she didn’t mention that. Selling the house doesn’t seem like something she’d be reluctant to tell me.”

  There was a question lurking in his brother’s comment. Had he misjudged him? Did Quincy know more than he’d revealed? His confidence waned. Best to meet the situation with a direct question of his own. “Did Fanny mention me specifically or any problem she’s had with me?”

  “No, but I assumed that since she’s been living in your house, you would be the cause of her unhappiness—or at least know what the problem might be.”

  “Your assumptions are unfounded on both accounts. Fanny and I have had little contact over the last weeks. We didn’t take our meals together, and I saw her only in passing on one or two occasions. She didn’t appear unhappy or troubled on those brief encounters. And now that she’s left for Broadmoor Island with Amanda, I’m certain she’s in good spirits.”

  Quincy leaned back in his chair and stared out the window as if contemplating the explanation. “No,” he said, shaking his head. “I believe something of greater import than a change of mood has occurred with our Fanny.”

  Our Fanny. Jonas winced at the affectionate expression. When had Quincy become so worried about the girl’s welfare? And why? Normally he couldn’t be pried away from the Home for the Friendless long enough for a family gathering. Suddenly he sounded like a protective father rather than a disengaged uncle. Jonas needed to shift his brother’s focus.

  “What do you hear from Sophie and Beatrice? In her most recent letter, Victoria mentioned that Beatrice seems to be out of sorts most of the time. Strange, don’t you think, since she was the one most interested in fleeing the city? Perhaps she’s suffering from some mental ailment and should see a physician.”

  Quincy scooted to the edge of his chair. “Is that what Victoria thinks? If so, I shall ask Dr. Carstead if there’s a doctor he can recommend. Of course, Beatrice has always been somewhat antagonistic. I believe she bears a good deal of anger and jealousy, though I don’t know why.”

  Jonas guffawed. “Truly? Perhaps because you devote all your time to everyone except your immediate family.”

  “That’s not true. I’ve done my best since Marie’s death. Besides, Marie encouraged my work with the underprivileged.”

  Pleased that he’d managed to redirect their conversation, Jonas didn’t retreat. “No one would disagree that Marie offered her support to your work. I never quite understood why, for it surely placed an undue burden upon your family, though there are many things I don’t profess to understand.”

  Using the desk for leverage, Quincy pushed up from his chair. “I promised Dr. Carstead I would stop at the pharmacy. He’s likely wondering what happened to me.”

  “Don’t let me keep you from your duties.” Jonas tapped the stack of papers on his desk. “I have many matters needing my attention, as well.”

  Without further comment, Quincy picked up his hat and strode to the door. He waved his walking stick in a farewell gesture as he departed.

  Jonas exhaled a low whistle and leaned back in his chair. By the time Quincy had exited the office, he’d clearly forgotten why he’d come calling. Jonas reached into his humidor and removed one of the two remaining cigars. He’d given up purchasing the expensive Cubans—a self-imposed punishment for being lax and overlooking details in his business dealings with Mortimer. He passed the roll of thick brown tobacco beneath his nose and inhaled the fragrant odor before returning it to the box. There wasn’t time to indulge at the moment.

  He stood and looked down to the street below. Quincy was nowhere in sight. He’d likely departed by carriage. Jonas removed his hat from the hook by the door and stepped through the doorway. “I have errands to complete, Mr. Fryer. I’m not certain what time I’ll return.”

  The clerk glanced up from his journal. “I’ll lock up if you haven’t returned by six o’clock, sir.”

  Jonas could always depend upon Mr. Fryer. No matter the task, Mr. Fryer never asked questions. He faithfully appeared each morning and disappeared like a vapor ten hours later. Jonas had no idea if the man had a wife or family. They never discussed anything unrelated to business. Yet another reason Jonas was grateful for Mr. Fryer.

  Jonas walked the four-block distance to the courthouse. By the time he rounded the side of the brick structure, he was puffing for air. He entered a side door that would take him through a private corridor that led directly to each of the judges’ chambers. It was Mortimer who had originally shown Jonas the entrance used by the lawyers to conduct business with the judges. The side door provided easy access. And if one was fortunate, one could slip in and out without ever being seen. Jonas hoped he could accomplish such an entrance and exit today.

  Before rapping on the door, he glanced over his shoulder. Not a soul in sight. He sighed with relief and tapped on the door where the name Harlan G. Webster, Probate Judge had been painted in black. Proper etiquette dictated he await a response, but Jonas wouldn’t chance being seen, so he turned the knob and stepped inside. The clerk’s desk was empty. “Judge Webster?” Jonas called.

  “Who’s there?” A drawer slammed. “Make yourself known!”

  “It’s Jonas Broadmoor.” He crossed the room at a near run and stood in the doorway to the judge’s inner sanctum.

  The judge traced his finger down a list on his desk. “I don’t have you on my calendar for today.”

  “I don’t have an appointment, but it’s urgent that we talk. Can you spare me a few minutes right now?” Jonas felt like a sniveling child. Judges! They took absolute delight in wielding their power. A year or two ago, Jonas could have bought and sold every judge in the state. Now he was relegated to begging for a few minutes of this pompous man’s time.

  Judge Webster waved at one of the threadbare upholstered chairs. “Sit down, but don’t get comfortable. I have another appointment in half an hour.”

  Don’t get comfortable? How did the foolish man think anyone could find a scrap of comfort in this shabby office? “There have been some problems since Mortimer’s death.”

  “And?” The judge arched his bushy brows.

  “Mortimer maintained far too many records of our business dealings regarding my father’s estate.” In a rush of words, Jonas detailed the plethora of events that had unfolded since his lawyer’s death. Judge Webster stared out the window, seemingly bored by the tale. When he had revealed all of the facts, Jonas edged forward on the chair. “Well, what do you think I should do?”

  The judge shrugged his bony shoulders. “I suggest you get your books in order and hire an excellent lawyer to represent you.” His glasses slipped down on his nose as he leaned across the desk. “Mr. Rosenblume has already been here to meet with me on behalf of his client. He has expressed a deep concern for what he considers inappropriate handling of estate funds.”

  Jonas grasped the judge’s thin arm. “You’re a part of this. You must help me.”

  With a steely glare, the judge nodded toward his arm. “Remove your hold.”

  “Yes, of course. I didn’t mean to—”

  “Now, you listen carefully, Jonas. I am no longer a party to this. This plan was developed by you and Mortimer. I will deny any knowledge of what has transpired. I’ve already told Mr. Rosenblume I am shocked and appalled by the very idea that Mortimer, a lawyer sworn to uphold the law, may have presented falsified records to the court.”

  Jonas slapped the desk with his palm. “That’s it! We can blame all of this on Mortimer, and both of us will be free from any liability. Frankly, it does appear Mortimer didn’t keep me completely apprise
d of matters, and my financial condition is much worse than even I had imagined.”

  The judge didn’t appear completely convinced. Jonas would be forced to use his trump card. “I thought you might be interested to know that when I was reviewing the files, I came upon a note you wrote to Mortimer.”

  The judge wrinkled his forehead in a frown. “I don’t have the slightest idea what you’re talking about.”

  So the judge wanted to play coy and see if Jonas was bluffing. Well, he could certainly understand that tack. Hadn’t he done the same thing countless times? Jonas couldn’t fault the man for being suspicious.

  Jonas tapped his pocket. “Your note tells Mortimer to deposit funds into an account at a Syracuse bank prior to the date of our hearing regarding the estate inventory and appraisal. Does that help jog your memory?”

  The judge narrowed his eyes. “Mortimer told me all correspondence between us would be destroyed.”

  Jonas took a modicum of pleasure watching the judge squirm. The old man didn’t appear quite so supercilious at the moment. “Obviously Mortimer lied to both of us.”

  “I suppose there is merit to joining forces and placing all of the blame on Mortimer. If we both disavow knowledge of what he was doing, we should be able to avoid being drawn into the fray. The fact that your finances are in worse condition than you thought will help substantiate our claims to lack any knowledge regarding Mortimer’s wrongdoing.” The judge leaned back in his chair and stared into the distance. “Yes. This is perfect. Who will doubt us?”

  “Then if we’ve agreed, I’ll be on my way. I don’t want to further interfere with your busy schedule.”

  The judge pointed to Jonas’s pocket. “I would be grateful if you’d give me that note I wrote to Mortimer.”

  Jonas withdrew an envelope from his coat pocket. “Oh, this? This is a letter from my wife. Surely you didn’t think I would carry your note on my person.”

  The judge gripped his pencil with a fury that caused it to snap. He stared at the two pieces of wood as though he couldn’t determine how they’d come into his possession. “You may bring it to me the next time you pay me a visit.”

  Jonas forced a smile. “Of course.” If the judge thought he would gain possession of that note before all of the legal proceedings had been completed, he was a fool. And Jonas didn’t think the man a fool. “I do hope the rest of your day passes without interruption.”

  The judge’s obvious irritation created a warm feeling of self-satisfaction that lasted until he returned to his office. He settled at his desk and reviewed the ledgers and bank accounts. Their plan would cause little difficulty for the judge. But Jonas realized he would be faced with an onslaught of questions from both Quincy and Fanny. They would make prying inquiries that would require both precise and consistent responses. Before any of their questions arose, he must be prepared with answers that would nip any thought of wrongdoing in the bud. If he was to succeed in his ploy, he must appear shocked and surprised by Mortimer’s mishandling of the estate.

  Jonas hoped the files Vincent had given to Fanny held nothing that would incriminate him.

  11

  Monday, June 19, 1899

  As the train came to a hissing, jerking stop at the Rochester train station, the three cousins stood and then edged down the aisle. Sophie grasped Amanda’s arm when they stepped onto the platform. “Do you think Dr. Carstead will be surprised to see you?”

  “I imagine he will. And what of Paul? Did you tell him that we were coming to Rochester to shop for Fanny’s wedding gown?”

  The fashionable feathers on Sophie’s hat waved back and forth as she shook her head. “No. He would have insisted I bring Elizabeth with me. Had the baby accompanied us, we would get little shopping completed.”

  “I wouldn’t have minded in the least. She’s a good baby, and I’m sure Paul would have been willing to look after her while we shopped,” Fanny said.

  Sophie stopped in the middle of the depot and planted her hands on her hips. “Whose side are you on, Fanny? I came along to help you, and you are taking Paul’s side against me.”

  Fanny sighed. “I’m not taking sides, but I imagine Paul misses the baby and will be sad that you didn’t bring her.”

  “From his lack of attention, I doubt he misses either of us overmuch. He hasn’t yet come to Broadmoor Island for a visit.” Sophie tipped her head to the side as if to challenge anyone who might defy her. “Here’s a cab. Come along.”

  “But ever since you wrote to him, he’s been writing with regularity. And you said he was needed to help with several of the churches in town, didn’t you?” Fanny truly couldn’t understand Sophie’s recent behavior. The only things that now evoked any excitement in her cousin were the mention of shopping or the latest invitation to a dinner dance at one of the island hotels. She was acting like a silly debutante seeking a husband instead of a married woman with a delightful infant daughter.

  Sophie shrugged. “If his work is of greater import than his family, so be it. He’s become much like my father, tending to the needs of others instead of his own family. I’m capable of being occupied without him.” She clasped Fanny’s arm. “I do need to stop by the house and retrieve a piece of jewelry that I forgot to pack.”

  “Your mother’s necklace?” Fanny asked.

  “Yes. The amber stones match my gold satin gown. And now that Aunt Victoria has had it altered for me—”

  “You’ll suffer Beatrice’s wrath if you wear the necklace in her presence,” Amanda said.

  “I don’t care if she becomes angry. Father gave the necklace to me, and Beatrice can complain all she likes. Jewelry shouldn’t be stored away; it should be worn. Don’t you agree?”

  Amanda peeked around Fanny’s flower-bedecked hat. “Why don’t the two of you go to Sophie’s house while I stop by the Home for the Friendless? Blake is always there on Monday, and I’d like to speak to him. Then we can begin our shopping in earnest.”

  Fanny hesitated. “I suppose that would be acceptable, but we do want to reserve enough time to choose fabric and flowers.”

  “We will not leave Rochester until we’ve made the perfect selections for you. Even if we must remain several days.” Amanda tapped on the window and gave the driver Sophie’s address.

  Sophie shook her head. “We need to complete our shopping by Friday at the very latest. The Armbrusters are hosting a party at the Crossman House on Alexandria Bay. I do enjoy parties at the Crossman, don’t you?”

  Amanda made a tsking sound and shook her head. “I should think you’d refrain from attending all of the parties, Sophie. It gives the wrong impression.”

  “Oh, do cease your chiding, Amanda. I’ll begin to think Beatrice is at my side rather than one of my favorite cousins. Besides, your mother has given her approval to every party I’ve attended.”

  “That’s because she doesn’t know that you disengage yourself from the couples she’s arranged to act as your escorts.”

  Sophie giggled. “Well, you had best not tell your mother, or I’ll be slow to forgive you. I’ve done nothing improper. A few dances and a bit of conversation with a gentleman or two mean absolutely nothing.”

  Fanny didn’t wish to enter into the fray between Sophie and Amanda, but Sophie’s comment was a sudden reminder of how easily she had been enchanted by Wesley Hedrick not so long ago. There was little doubt Sophie could be easily swayed by the charms of a smooth-talking man. But surely she’d never do anything to threaten her marriage to Paul.

  Worry loomed in Fanny’s mind as their carriage came to a halt in front of Sophie’s house. Fanny and Sophie stepped down. “Once you’ve seen Dr. Carstead,” Fanny said to Amanda, “why don’t you return and then we’ll go shopping.” Fanny drew close to the carriage window and lowered her voice. “If Paul is at the Home, you might tell him Sophie is here.”

  Sophie nudged her cousin in the side. “I can take care of arrangements for meeting my own husband, Fanny. Didn’t you say you wanted to allow
ample time for shopping?”

  Amanda leaned forward and pointed at the runabout sitting near the side entrance to Sophie’s house. “I think you two may stop arguing. I’ll return shortly.”

  The carriage driver slapped the leather reins against the horse’s backside. Once the carriage had pulled away, Fanny turned her attention to Sophie. “I didn’t mean to anger you, but I do find your lack of concern toward Paul disturbing. You do love him, don’t you?”

  Sophie frowned, her displeasure obvious. “Of course I love him, but he’s the one who banished me to the island. I wanted to remain in Rochester, and he wouldn’t even consider my wishes. I could have been a great deal of help to him. That’s what I wanted to do—assist him with his work. It is Paul who decided on this separation.” She strutted toward the front door as though she’d sufficiently defended her behavior.

  Fanny quickened her pace and came alongside her cousin. “He didn’t want you or Elizabeth to contract cholera. And I believe he hasn’t come to visit because he didn’t want to take the chance he might carry the disease to any of us. Neither your father nor Uncle Jonas has set foot on the island, either.”

  “And none of them have become infected with cholera. There was no reason to send Elizabeth and me to the island.”

  “I disagree, but now I realize that you’re behaving badly to teach Paul a lesson.” Fanny tugged on her cousin’s arm. “I’m correct, aren’t I?”

  “That was my intent at first, but now I’m simply enjoying the parties. And I’m not behaving badly.”

  “By whose standards?” Fanny followed her cousin up the porch steps.

  Sophie glanced over her shoulder as she turned the doorknob. “Do stop these tiresome questions. You’re beginning to sound like Amanda.” She stepped across the threshold. “Paul! Are you here?”