Carpenter's Inheritance

by Laurie Alice Eakes

  “It’s too soon, Miss Howard.” Lucinda plucked at the edge of the tablecloth. “No, that’s not right. I mean, it is too soon, as we’ve only known one another for two months. And I doubt we can ever be more than friends with my needing to build my practice, and the people here—” She sighed and met Samantha’s gaze directly. “I may as well say it, even though it doesn’t sound nice. If people here won’t accept him, except for his work, how can I form an attachment with him?”

  Samantha frowned. “In other words, your career comes first.”

  “I’ve sacrificed a great deal to get it, including leaving my home, my father, and other family I love. I can’t throw it away for something as frivolous as my heart.”

  “Then do tell Matthew.” Samantha’s tone was cold. “He doesn’t need to be hurt again, and I think he’s quite smitten with you.”

  “I don’t want him to be smitten.” Lucinda realized how calculating her words had sounded, and covered her face with her hands. “He’s been so kind to me. I like him a great deal. How can you not like a man who names his cat Purrcilla? And he’s been such a friend to me.”

  “Ah.” Samantha emitted a low laugh and touched Lucinda’s arm. “I think it will be all right. You keep being a friend to him, then. You’re one of the few people in Loveland who’s probably well read enough to keep up with him. He doesn’t have much formal education, but he reads everything. And with all your education, you can probably give him a run for his money in the philosophy and literature area.”

  “He is well read and has a deep understanding of what he reads.” Lucinda heaved a silent sigh of relief that the moment of crisis had passed. “I enjoy talking about something other than the law.”

  Samantha’s sigh wasn’t silent. “I wanted to go to college but couldn’t, not with Mama ill and Daddy disapproving of educated females—educated beyond the basic reading, writing, and arithmetic, of course. Not to mention deportment. I must know how to walk across a room with a book on my head.”

  Lucinda laughed. “I got that, too, then said ‘Enough’ and left for Michigan.” She rose to pour their now-cold tea down the sink and then refilled their cups from the still-warm pot before continuing. “You could go to college still.”

  “I can’t leave Mama before—” Her throat worked. “The doctors say she won’t live long. She gets weaker and weaker, and no one knows why. Maybe after she’s gone, I’ll do something special. I’d rather do that than settle for the kind of husband my father wants for me.”

  “A man who is handsome, debonair, wealthy, and dull?”

  “Precisely.” They shared a giggle. Then Samantha sobered. “Meanwhile, how do we keep Matthew from falling head over heels for you—if it’s not too late already?”

  “I don’t know. I mean, I don’t have many friends here and would miss seeing him.”

  “And not talking to him would hurt him again. Hmm.” Samantha tapped her forefinger on her lower lip. “I suppose you could be honest with him.”

  “Or offer him free legal advice. Then we couldn’t have a relationship, if I were his lawyer. He seems amenable to—” Lucinda clamped her teeth together, realizing what she was saying.

  “Ah yes, the land deal. Well, I suppose it should annoy me that he’d trade my affections for a parcel of acres, but to be honest, it’s for the best for us both. I couldn’t be poor, and my father would certainly not have given me money if I’d eloped.”

  “I suppose that’s true. We were never wealthy. Landed, yes, but poor by the old standards, since the War Bet—”

  The back steps creaked loudly enough for her to hear in her living room.

  She sprang to her feet. “I need to look into that. If those steps are going to fall down, I need to notify Mr. Shannon immediately.”

  She darted into the rear room and flung open the door.

  A bedraggled, sodden youth toppled over her threshold and into her arms.

  ten

  Lucinda gasped and leaped back. The young man staggered, caught his balance with a hand on the wall, and righted himself.

  “John Paul Daggett, what are you doing sneaking in the back door and scaring Miss Bell half to death?” Samantha cried from the doorway of the living room.

  “You. . .know him?” Lucinda asked. Her heart slowed and her breathing returned to normal.

  The youth nodded. “Yes, she knows me.” He didn’t look at either Samantha or Lucinda. “I didn’t think you’d have company on such a rainy day.”

  “I’m open for business.” Now that her fright had been shown unfounded, Lucinda’s pulse increased again, from anger this time. “You could have come through the front door and into the office.”

  “Not and risk someone seeing me.” He glanced at Samantha. “Forget you saw me here.”

  “Why should she—” His name finally struck Lucinda with the force of a sledge to the brow. “You’re related to the mayor, aren’t you? I think Mr. Templin mentioned you once.”

  “He’s the mayor’s stepson.” Samantha’s voice sounded cold. “And he’s been raised with better manners.”

  “So have I.” Lucinda took in the boy’s sodden blond hair hanging in his face, and his drenched coat. Likely his leather shoes had soaked through to his skin, too. “I’ll make you some tea—” She stopped. “No, you’d probably prefer hot chocolate.”

  “I drink tea if I must. And something hot would be nice. Do you have a radiator?”

  “I do.” Lucinda led him to the living room and stopped on the threshold. “Take off your shoes and coat first. This isn’t a fine rug, but I’d rather keep it clean.”

  “I don’t know if you want to let him in,” Samantha cautioned. “This doesn’t look right.”

  “You can stay and play chaperone, but I have to be alone with male clients. I don’t see what’s wrong with finding out why he sneaked in my back door.”

  “He sneaked in your back door. That’s what’s wrong.” Samantha’s mouth pursed.

  “I couldn’t come to the office. Everyone would see me.” Teeth chattering, John Paul pulled off his coat and handed it to Lucinda, as though he expected her to take it like a servant.

  She was tempted to let it drop on the floor. But she was raised better than that, so she took it and hung it on a hook over the radiator. The entire room would smell like steaming, wet wool soon, but she couldn’t stop that. She couldn’t be responsible for the boy catching a lung fever. That would be the end of her future in Loveland.

  If she had a future in Loveland. If. . .

  She retreated to the storage room to pull her small bottle of milk from the icebox. With the cold weather, she rarely needed to replenish the ice. The milk stayed fresh for days.

  Lucinda returned to her living quarters, replaced the teakettle with a small pan, and poured in a generous amount of milk. Behind her, Samantha spoke to John Paul in quiet but indignant tones. She sounded like a scolding mother.

  She should be a mother at twenty-four, as pretty and kind as she was. Of course, Lucinda thought Samantha should get the education she wanted, too, but if she couldn’t do that, being a wife and mother was still good. Lucinda wanted to be a wife and mother. Many said that was impossible if she still wanted to practice law, but other women did it. If her husband loved her and supported her work. . .

  As she stirred grated chocolate into the milk, she imagined doing the same over a real stove for a husband. It would be nice, on a cold night, to curl up before the fire with the man she loved, a warm fire, a good book. But that dream never had a face. Of all the men she’d met in school, none took her seriously enough to put a face to her daydreams.

  Except, as the chocolate began to steam, Matthew Templin’s face drifted before her mind’s eye.

  With a jerky twist she turned off the flame and poured the sweet, rich liquid into one of the sturdy mugs she used when she didn’t have company. Or when she had Matthew for company. Then she carried the drink to John Paul. “Now that your lips aren’t blue anymore,” she told him, �
��do tell me why you came to my back door—why you stood out there awhile.”

  “I was waiting for Miss Howard to leave.” He glanced at Samantha as though expecting her to disappear right then.

  She held her ground. “I’m not leaving Lucinda alone with you. It wouldn’t be right.”

  “Samantha,” Lucinda reproved, “I see clients in here. This is my place of business.”

  “That’s all right when you have the Floyd twins or other ladies, but it’s not all right when you have a male here. A young male, especially.” Samantha’s lips thinned so much she resembled a governess sucking lemon drops. “You need a secretary, a permanent chaperone.”

  “I’ll hire one as soon as I have the money. Meanwhile—” Lucinda fixed her gaze on John Paul. “What is it?”

  “Can’t.” He shook his head. “Not in front of Miss Howard. She may tell her mother, who may tell mine, who may—”

  “How old are you?” Lucinda realized she should have asked him immediately.

  He dropped his gaze. “Eighteen, as of yesterday.”

  “Hmm.” Lucinda ran through the laws she knew. “You haven’t reached your majority yet. I don’t think I can help you at all.”

  “You must.” Alarm darkened his pale blue eyes. “There’s no one else.”

  “Another lawyer in town.” Samantha sounded downright hostile.

  “No.” John Paul gave his head an emphatic shake.

  “Another lawyer couldn’t help him either,” Lucinda said. “He’s too young.”

  “But you have to listen to me,” John Paul protested.

  “I don’t have to listen to a minor.” Lucinda touched his arm, damp and warming from the radiator heat. “Yet I will. But as Samantha said, she’d better stay.”

  “I’d rather—” He broke off on a sigh. “Do you have pencil and paper?”

  “Of course.”

  “Then I’ll write everything down if you’ll burn it as soon as you read it.”

  Lucinda nodded and led him into her office. She pulled out the chair from behind the desk, indicating he should sit, then found clean paper and pencils. Once he was scribbling away on the page before him, Lucinda returned to her living quarters.

  She closed the door behind her. “What do you know of this?”

  “More than you want to.” Samantha was making fresh tea. “He and his stepfather don’t get along. John Paul is a nice young man. But Mayor Woodcocks has been known to cuff him around the head, even in public.”

  Lucinda gasped. “And they still elect the man?”

  “You surely know that most people think a man has a right to treat his child that way.”

  “Not most decent people.” Lucinda frowned at the village, still shrouded behind a facade of now-misty rain. Perhaps she didn’t want a future here, if people made no noise about a lad getting his head smacked in a disagreement.

  Stomach unsettled, she strode to the window and frowned at Main Street. Two carriages trundled by, their occupants invisible behind curtains, drawn, no doubt, to keep out the damp chill. Behind them, a wagon rumbled and rattled over the brick pavement. She recognized the figure on the seat. No one else was quite so brawny. But not unattractive, far from it. Her pulse skipped a beat. She needed to turn away, talk to Samantha more about John Paul, or go see if he was coming along all right with his writing.

  She remained at the window watching Matthew drive past, until she would have to move to keep him in sight. A silly, schoolgirl thing to do.

  “What about that empty street has you so fascinated?” Samantha asked from behind Lucinda.

  She jumped then shrugged. “Nothing much of interest.”

  And she was such a liar.

  “This is a quiet place,” Samantha mused. “Not much interesting occurs here except for this time of year. We have the Christmas ball in four weeks.”

  “Is Christmas that soon?” Lucinda shivered. “No wonder it’s so cold out.”

  “Yes, we’ll get snow any day. Will you come to the ball? It’s ever so much fun. Before it, we have a festival that includes everyone in town. We have games and music in the street for two days. Lots of food.” Samantha stretched out her arms. “This street will be loud and crowded, but it’s on Friday and Saturday, so shouldn’t disturb your work.”

  If Samantha only knew that Saturdays were workdays, too.

  “It sounds like a nice way to spend a couple of days,” Lucinda murmured as she tiptoed to the office door and peeked in on John Paul.

  He sat bent over the desk, pencil rasping across the paper. His drying hair had begun to spring up in curls around his head, making him look far younger than eighteen.

  She closed the door without allowing the latch to click and faced Samantha again. “Where do they have the ball?”

  “At our house.” She grimaced. “Yes, we actually have a ballroom. Isn’t that ridiculous? My grandfather had notions of grandeur after he bought land down here and built the house. So we host the ball every year. Mama takes great delight in planning it. I, of course, do all the running around to pick flowers and order this and that. It gives me something to do between summer and Christmas.”

  “Sounds lovely.” Lucinda knew she sounded anything but interested. Her concentration lay in the other room with the boy and whatever missive he was writing to her.

  And what was she going to do with it and him if he had some legitimate legal issue? He was a minor. Surely that could be trouble for her. She needed to read more law. Good. That would give her something to do into the evening to while away her time.

  “So I’d like you to come to the ball,” Samantha announced.

  Lucinda snapped her head around to look fully at Samantha. “What? Me at the ball? I’m not in the society crowd.”

  “It’s not a society crowd.” Samantha’s lips tightened with a sign of exasperation. “It’s for everyone who can afford the ticket, and the prices are low, so more people can afford tickets. The proceeds go to support whatever good cause Mrs. Woodcocks wants us to support. This year it’s the orphanage. The mayor’s wife has a great fondness for helping children without parents.”

  “It sounds worthy.” Lucinda could be sincere in this.

  “Then you’ll come?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?” Samantha tilted her head and gave Lucinda a sidelong glance. “Matthew always comes.”

  “And I’m certain he must be quite popular with the young women.” Lucinda smiled, wondering how he looked in a suit. Fine, she expected. “But I have nothing suitable to wear.”

  “Are you telling me that Lucinda Bell of Sweet Magnolia Plantation doesn’t have a ball gown?”

  “Of—” Lucinda stared at Samantha. “How do you know the name of my father’s home?”

  “Do you think we wouldn’t have looked into your background, Miss Bell?” Samantha smiled. “We needed to make sure you are the proper sort, so the Floyd twins had someone look into your family history.”

  “Good heavens!” Lucinda’s face felt hot. “Then why is Mrs. Woodcocks so against me? I mean, it’s not the War Between the St—the Civil War, that is.”

  “No, and that’s the odd thing about it.” Samantha tapped her finger on her lower lip and paced around the tiny room. “It puzzles me. But perhaps he”—she gestured to the outer office—“will shed some light on this. If he doesn’t make things worse for you.”

  “I know. That concerns me.” Lucinda slipped to the door and looked out. John Paul was writing slowly, laboriously, as though writing didn’t come easily to him. She closed the door and shook her head to Samantha’s raised eyebrows.

  “So about a gown. Are you certain you don’t have a ball gown?”

  “I have a few, yes, but not here.”

  “Ah, I knew it couldn’t be true that you didn’t have one.” Samantha sat on the sofa and propped her chin in her hand. “Could you telegraph your father and ask him to send one up?”

  “All right, I will.”

  Floorboards creaked
in the adjacent room. Lucinda strode to the office door and opened it. “Mr. Daggett?”

  “Yes.” He handed her a sheaf of papers, a sheepish smile on his face. “My spelling and handwriting aren’t very good. But I think it’s legible.”

  “It is.” Lucinda stared at his first few lines of large, schoolboy-like handwriting. Her mouth went dry, and her stomach dropped to the pit of her middle with a nauseat-ing speed that should have thumped aloud in the silent room.

  I am writing this letter to Miss Bell, attorney, because I need to do something about my stepfather, Mayor Woodcocks. He is robbing me of my inheritance.

  She folded the papers in the event Samantha could read upside down and then looked at the young man. “Come back at ten o’clock.”

  “Lucinda,” Samantha protested, “you cannot see male clients that late at night. He can come back in the morning.”

  “I can see them when I need to.” She looked sternly at Samantha. “And don’t go telling anyone. Mr. Daggett is only eighteen, for goodness’ sake.”

  John Paul finished his hot chocolate in one long pull then set the cup on the table. He headed to the door. “I’ll be back, Miss Bell.”

  Lucinda and Samantha remained silent while he pulled on his shoes and crept down the back steps. When locking the door, Lucinda spotted the muddy footprints and knew where the others came from. This wasn’t the first time Mr. Daggett had come to see her.

  “Why do you do this?” Samantha asked, not sounding critical, just curious.

  Lucinda smiled. “I love the law. It’s my calling, my service to God and people. The law is what keeps people from settling disputes with their fists, or worse.”

  “But to go to court? That seems so. . .vulgar.”

  “A good lawyer doesn’t go to court, really. We settle things before they go that far. At least, we try. It’s rather more difficult with criminal matters, and I don’t intend to take criminal cases if I can avoid it. It’s one reason why I settled on an abandoned practice here.”

  “Still, you’re so pretty and have a good family. Why would you give all that up for. . .this?” Samantha swept her arm in a semicircle, taking in the shabby rooms.