Like everyone else in her life, Mr. Morrison seemed reticent to reveal many details. Perhaps after all these years, he’d forgotten. “How long did you know my mother before she married?”
“Less than a year. She was wise to select your father over me. He loved her and provided well for both of you.”
“He was devastated by her death. It has always been difficult to think that my birth was the cause of her death. As a child, I wondered if my father would have preferred it the other way.”
“I’m sure you brought him much joy.”
She may have provided him with occasional joy, but Fanny wondered if her father might still be alive if she had died at birth. No need to dwell on the thought. She couldn’t have changed it then, and she couldn’t change it now. Life-and-death matters were beyond her control. At present the clock was ticking, and she needed to find out what Mr. Morrison expected from her and if he’d given thought to the future—specifically, to her future.
Throughout the remainder of their visit and almost against her will, Fanny discovered herself drawn to Mr. Morrison. His gentle character and honesty remained prevalent throughout their discussion. He didn’t shy away from her questions, though she wished he remembered more of the past. But after seventeen years of attempting to forget his past, she couldn’t expect him to recall the minute details.
They parted with an agreement that Mr. Morrison would return to Syracuse and give Fanny and the Broadmoors time to consider her future. Mr. Morrison didn’t want to dictate Fanny’s choices, but he did offer her a home in Syracuse with him and his wife. He explained that he owned a large lumberyard in Syracuse and his attempts to expand the business had caused him to fall upon hard times. Fanny would be required to adjust to a meager lifestyle if she moved to Syracuse. She thought that somewhat surprising, since the Morrisons had rented accommodations at the New Frontenac Hotel.
Not that she begrudged them the fine accommodations, but it seemed a man of limited means would choose a small hotel or a boardinghouse in Clayton or Alexandria Bay. Then again, perhaps he believed it was the least he could do for his wife, considering the pain he’d caused. Who could know what Mr. Morrison had been thinking. Fanny could barely manage to keep her own thoughts in order.
Mr. Atwell was patiently waiting when the two girls returned a short time later. As the boat cut through the water and headed toward Broadmoor Island, Fanny stared down into the water. Sophie had recognized her need for silent comfort and hadn’t assailed her with questions. If only Michael were here with her now. If only he’d waited just a brief time longer before departing for the Yukon. If only Mr. Morrison hadn’t made an appearance. If, if, if.
Hopeful the morning light would provide some clarity on decisions that must be made, Fanny thanked Mr. Atwell for delivering them safely home. He grasped her hand and assisted her onto the dock. “If you need to talk, we’re here, Fanny.” Had the Broadmoors already spread word among the staff? She had wanted to tell Michael’s parents herself. “I’d like that. I’ll come and talk with both of you tomorrow.”
She also wanted to be the one who would write and tell Michael of the changes in her life. But until she received word from him, she had no idea where to write. And he’d already warned her that mail could pose a problem once winter set in—and winter arrived early in the Yukon. Fanny hoped a letter would arrive before that time. She wondered how he was dealing with the changes in his life, for the thought of moving just to Syracuse was nearly more than she could bear. She could only pray the family would want her to return with them to Rochester.
26
Wednesday, September 1, 1897
Fanny hurried downstairs to the kitchen. This would be her last opportunity to have a few minutes alone with Michael’s mother before returning to Rochester. Her uncle had refused Fanny’s request to remain on the island with Mr. and Mrs. Atwell. Until everything was settled and a final determination made in regard to her future, he declared she would live with his family in Rochester. He didn’t say how long that might take, but Aunt Victoria had assured Fanny there was no need for concern. Fanny wasn’t so certain. Uncle Jonas had never offered such encouragement. Rather, he frowned whenever Aunt Victoria claimed nothing would change.
A frayed cotton apron covered Mrs. Atwell’s dress. She looked up from the mound of bread dough and greeted Fanny with a broad smile. “You’ll write to me the minute they’ve decided what’s to happen, won’t you? I don’t want to send my letters to the house in Rochester and discover you’ve moved to Syracuse.” She wiped her hands on the corner of her apron. “This is all going to work out according to God’s plan, my dear. You must keep your spirits high and not lose faith in the Almighty.”
“I’ll do my best, and I’ll write to you every week. Maybe more often. I do wish I knew what was going to happen. I’ve never before been so uncertain about where I belong.”
“You belong to God, child, and that’s what you must keep at the forefront of your mind. Mr. Broadmoor and Mr. Morrison may shift you around from pillar to post, but your Father in heaven has you in the palm of His hand.” She wrapped Fanny in a warm embrace. “Fretting will serve no purpose. When you feel insecure, talk to Him. And search your Bible for verses that will sustain you.”
For as long as Fanny had known Mrs. Atwell, the woman had been offering living proof of her faith in God. Trust in Him came so naturally to the older woman that it always found a place in their conversations. Now, however, it was more important than ever, and Fanny cherished the advice. “I’ll try, but I won’t deny that I’m frightened.”
Mrs. Atwell kissed Fanny’s cheek. “I know you are, but you’re going to be just fine. Before you know it, you and Michael will be married, and you’ll look back on this day and wonder why you ever worried.”
“I wish I would have discovered this before he left. If I’m not a Broadmoor, there is nothing to stand in the way of our marrying. Uncle Jonas would have no reason to protest.”
“But your father might,” Mrs. Atwell replied. “I wouldn’t borrow trouble, child. I’m positive you’ve nothing to worry about. The entire matter will soon be behind you.”
Fanny didn’t argue, but she wasn’t convinced Mrs. Atwell was correct. Somehow she feared the forthcoming days would be the most difficult she would ever face. She must believe God would be at her side. Otherwise, she would be completely on her own.
Forcing a brave smile, she said, “I wish we could remain until the weekend, but everyone else wants to return to Rochester for the Labor Day parade.”
“I’m sure you’ll have a good time if you just give yourself permission to forget your worries.” Mrs. Atwell squeezed Fanny’s shoulder. “I do wish I could visit longer, but I’m running behind schedule with breakfast. Mr. Jonas will be acting like a wildcat with a sore paw if he misses the train because the family didn’t have their morning meal on time.”
After a final peck on the cheek, Fanny hurried back upstairs. The entire family would depart for Rochester today, but most of the servants would remain behind to pack their belongings and help Mrs. Atwell clean and then close the main portion of the house before taking their leave. They likely enjoyed being alone in the house without members of the family ordering them around. She could picture the servants laughing and joking while they cleaned and covered the furnishings, washed the windows and removed the screens. Once the family had left, did they pretend they were the masters of the house? Did they eat their evening meal at the formal dining table with the good silver or sit on the veranda sipping lemonade? She wondered if Mrs. O’Malley would permit such behavior.
Fanny placed a few remaining items in her valise and carried it downstairs to the veranda. She wandered off toward the boathouse. In summers past she and Michael had spent much of their time fishing for bass and pike and enjoying a shore dinner over an open fire. She could picture him squatted down with a large skillet, browning slabs of buttered bread or frying perfectly browned potatoes to accompany their catch of the day. He
r heart ached at the remembrance, and she hurried back to the house for one last look. What if she never again could return to this place she so loved?
Although they’d had more than sufficient time, Uncle Jonas had hurried the family onto the DaisyBee. Once they’d arrived in Clayton, he’d marched up and down the platform, watching with obvious anticipation for the arrival of the train. They were then herded into the Pullman car that had been rented for the family’s journey. Her uncle Jonas dropped into his seat beside Aunt Victoria as though he’d performed a hard day’s labor.
“Much more pleasant traveling by myself,” he muttered.
“Excuse me?” Aunt Victoria rose to attention in apparent offense.
“Trying to maintain a proper head count of the family is enough to cause a headache. My comment was not meant as a reflection upon you, my dear. I am always pleased to have you with me.”
“Do you think she believes him?” Sophie whispered to Fanny and giggled.
“I doubt it, but at least she put him on notice that she’ll not tolerate such comments. Aunt Victoria is about the only one who can put him in his place.”
“What are you two whispering about?” Amanda asked. She moved from her seat across the aisle and joined them.
“Just commenting that your father had better watch his step or he’ll be sleeping in the guest room tonight,” Sophie replied.
“Sophie Broadmoor! I can’t believe you said that. Where my father sleeps isn’t a proper topic of discussion for young ladies.” One by one Amanda tugged on the fingers of her gloves. “You should be thankful Mother didn’t hear you.”
“That much is certainly true.” Mischief danced in Sophie’s eyes. “She’d likely swoon at the mention of sleeping with your father, don’t you think?”
All three girls glanced across the aisle and were met by Victoria’s questioning gaze. “Is something amiss?”
“No, Mother, nothing at all,” Amanda replied.
“I’ve been thinking that since you did so well in finishing school, you might enjoy a year or two of higher education while Michael is away, Fanny. There’s no telling how long he may be in the Yukon, and education is never wasted. What do you think? Does the idea hold appeal?”
Jonas cleared his throat. “Higher education is expensive, my dear. You’re forgetting that until we unravel Fanny’s situation with the lawyers, we don’t know if Fanny will have the finances available to attend school.”
Victoria clasped a hand to the frilly collar of her blouse. “Jonas! We can’t wait around for lawyers and judges. They are prone to dragging things on for insufferable periods of time. I made application for Fanny at several schools before we departed for Broadmoor Island. If we’ve received an affirmative response, and if Fanny wants to attend, I’m quite sure you can afford to pay the fees.”
“I don’t believe this is a discussion we should be having at the moment.”
Fanny didn’t miss the warning in her uncle’s eyes. The look successfully quelled any further discussion of her future but didn’t dampen Sophie’s spirited disposition.
“What about new gowns for the Labor Day festivities, Uncle Jonas? Do you think there’s enough in the coffers to purchase a new gown or two?” She pursed her lips and shook her head. “Then again, such an expenditure might cause the Broadmoor fortune to teeter on the brink of financial disaster.”
Her uncle leaned forward and glared across the aisle. “Your father needs to have a conversation with you about your impudent behavior, Sophie. You are a disrespectful young lady. Your lack of regard for your elders is most unbecoming. It seems my brother should be concentrating his efforts on your manners rather than worrying over the homeless and poverty stricken.”
“Perhaps it is a good thing my father continues to maintain the charity. If you continue in your efforts to cast Fanny aside, she may need a place to live.”
It wasn’t difficult to assess the impact of Sophie’s comment. Aunt Victoria paled, Uncle Jonas’s complexion turned the shade of a boiled beet, Amanda remained bug-eyed, and Fanny’s stomach roiled. She gave thanks that she hadn’t eaten any breakfast. The grain of truth in Sophie’s remark had been sufficient to create a stark reaction. If nothing else, Sophie had become an expert at causing a stir.
Beatrice leaned over the back of the train seat. “She has a father she can go and live with, Sophie.” Cruelty shone in her eyes. “I heard Grayson tell Andrew that Mr. Morrison is an extremely poor businessman who may lose the family business if he doesn’t cease his—”
“That’s entirely enough, Beatrice.” Her uncle pointed toward the rear of the car. “I believe I hear one of your youngsters calling you.”
Beatrice remained firmly planted and glared at her uncle. “You agreed heartily enough that she shouldn’t inherit a full third of Grandfather’s estate. I don’t know why you think it improper for me to discuss the topic now.”
Her aunt Victoria scooted to the edge of her seat. “Your behavior nearly matches that of your sister, Beatrice. This is neither the time nor the place for your comments. If your mother were alive, she’d be quite disappointed. Your greedy attitude is most unbecoming.”
“My greedy attitude? There isn’t a person in this family who doesn’t long for the power and influence associated with wealth. Your children can well afford to appear pious and appalled by the mention of receiving a fair share of Grandfather’s inheritance.” Beatrice’s lips tightened into an unattractive snarl. “They know you will protect their position and they will be cared for. Our father, however, is more interested in giving his money to the homeless. He doesn’t consider the fact that his philanthropy will likely force a life of destitution upon his own family.”
Jonas appeared to regain his composure. “You are off on a tangent that makes little sense, Beatrice. What happens to Fanny’s inheritance will have no impact upon what your father chooses to do with his share of the estate. That is something best discussed with him in private.” With a dismissive wave, Jonas snapped open his newspaper.
“You can’t hide behind your newspaper forever, Uncle Jonas. This matter will be settled, and I see no difference whether it’s on a railcar or in the parlor of your East Avenue mansion.” Beatrice turned and tromped back down the aisle.
Sophie grinned. “Beatrice is in rare form today, don’t you think?”
“You’d think Andrew would attempt to control her,” Amanda whispered.
“She’d snap his head off if he tried. He ignores her because it makes his life easier. No different from the way my father ignores me. Neither one of us is able to gain the attention of the men in our lives.”
Fanny rested against the seat and closed her eyes. She had hoped to enjoy the journey home with her cousins. Instead, her joy had been replaced by a feeling of gloom and foreboding. Even if she remained in Rochester, her life would never be the same. Obviously Beatrice and the like-minded society dowagers of East Avenue would make certain of that. Though she could easily live without the fancy dresses and parties, there was much of her old life Fanny would sorely miss.
Jonas studied the paper work. During a visit to Broadmoor Island by Mr. and Mrs. William Comstock, Jonas had agreed to further invest in Comstock’s patent medicine company. He didn’t mention, however, that he was in the process of planning an even larger investment in George Fulford’s expanding patent medicine company. For that, Jonas planned to use a large portion of the money his father had bequeathed to Fanny. If by some fluke the court found her entitled to receive a share of the estate, he could allege he’d merely been acting as guardian of her estate. If the investment turned sour, he would make every attempt to force that portion of the estate upon his brother Quincy. Of course, should it prove to be as sound an investment as Fulford projected, Jonas would claim it as his own. Either way, he would protect himself—or his lawyers would.
He placed the papers on Mortimer’s desk and picked up a pen. “You’re recommending I move forward, are you not?”
“Indeed. As
a matter of fact, I’m investing some of my own money in Fulford’s Pink Pills for Pale People. Business has soared, and I think we’ll see a fine return.”
Jonas nodded and scribbled his signature on the designated line. He returned the pen to its holder and pushed the paper across the desk. “Now, let’s discuss my niece and the demise of her bequest from my father.”
Mortimer rubbed his arthritic hands together and shuffled to the office door. “We had better have Vincent join us for this conversation. As you’re well aware, my days of standing in a courtroom have come to an end. With my supervision and assistance, Vincent will be in charge of any conflict arising from the estate.”
Moments later Vincent entered the room with his pencil and notebook. No clerk would be included in these meetings. Jonas wanted to be certain no one else knew what was discussed among the three of them. “No memos or notes, Vincent. I want nothing committed to paper regarding our meetings.” He leaned forward and arched his brows. “Do I make myself clear?”
“Very clear, Mr. Broadmoor.” He placed the paper and pencil on his father’s desk. “Why don’t you tell us what has transpired since we last met.”
Without need of further encouragement, Jonas launched into the details. Mortimer appeared mesmerized by the tale, but there was little doubt Vincent was much less than enthusiastic. “This is, quite frankly, beyond anything I’d bargained for, Mr. Broadmoor. Although preparation of Miss Broadmoor’s will was improper, I was relieved when you told me you’d been unable to gain her signature. As for this latest scheme, I am at a loss.” Vincent sighed. “Do you realize both the legal and moral implications of what you’ve done? You are denying this girl more than her inheritance: you are denying her the memory of a father she loved, and you’ve besmirched the reputation of her mother.”
A Daughter's Inheritance Page 26
