“On the other hand, I believe Mr. Morrison is her father, and I agreed she could remain in their home.” He reached for his newspaper, but Victoria slapped her hand atop his.
“Not so quick, Jonas. I want to know why you, a man who constantly questions everything, would so easily accept a letter supposedly written by Winifred years ago as substantial proof. We can’t be certain that letter is authentic. I fear you are doing Fanny a grave injustice.” She sat down in the chair opposite and clung to his hand, as though he might attempt an escape. “Even if Mr. Morrison is Fanny’s father, I believe Langley would have known before he married Winifred. Langley and Winifred were devoted to each other, and he remained devoted to Fanny after Winifred’s death. I simply cannot accept this.”
“Have you considered that the question of Fanny’s parentage is what drove him to take his own life?”
“Jonas!” Victoria withdrew her hand. “What an awful thing to say—and it makes no sense. If he was burdened by the child’s lineage, he would have refused her at birth—immediately after Winifred’s death.”
“Since he didn’t do that, I can only assume Winifred didn’t tell him. Let us remember the child was born when they had been married only eight months.”
“She was premature, Jonas. She was so tiny that she nearly died. Many babies are born early—do you not remember Amanda’s birth?”
Jonas shook his head. “But she wasn’t our first child. If she had been . . .”
“You would have accused me of impropriety?” Anger flared in his wife’s eyes.
“This conversation has nothing to do with us, Victoria. Let’s get back to the topic at hand. Winifred’s letter is substantiation enough for any court, and it’s enough for me.”
“How do you know what the court will require? And who can truly verify that Winifred wrote that letter? Even if she did write it, who can attest that Langley and your parents didn’t know?”
Jonas massaged his temples. “My father would have told me.”
“Pshaw! Your father adored Langley. If asked, he would have protected Langley’s secret. His will was drawn with specificity, and I believe he wanted Fanny to have Langley’s share of his inheritance. Even if all of this is true, Langley and your parents considered Fanny a member of this family.”
“With all due respect, my dear, you’re forgetting that Mr. Morrison is the one who stepped forward to claim Fanny as his child. We’ll let the court decide.”
Victoria folded her hands. “The court can decide whatever it wants, but Fanny is still a member of this family. Mr. and Mrs. Morrison should let Fanny decide where she wants to live, and no matter what any judge rules, you and Quincy should see that Fanny receives her inheritance.”
Jonas gulped and choked until Victoria finally clapped him on the back. Give the inheritance to Fanny? Had Victoria taken leave of her senses? He attempted to clear his throat as tears rolled down his cheeks.
His wife offered a fleeting look of concern. “Are you all right?”
He nodded. “Yes,” he croaked. “I totally disagree with your thinking. For all concerned, it’s best we follow the dictates of the court. We both know that there are members of the family who would strenuously object to your plan, particularly in regard to the inheritance.”
“And you are one of those family members, aren’t you, Jonas? You said as much at the reading of the will, before any of this business with Mr. Morrison came to light. Do the right thing, Jonas. If you’ll pray about your decision, I believe you’ll change your mind.”
Jonas squirmed under his wife’s watchful scrutiny. She’d changed her tactics. She had departed from her earlier theory of a bogus letter and was now attempting to sway him with religious conviction. It seemed there was no end to what she would attempt in order to win her argument. However, there was too much at stake for him to relent now.
“I’ll consider what you’ve said, but don’t expect me to change my mind.”
“At a minimum, I want Fanny back under our roof. I’ll not see this family abandon her.”
“We have not abandoned her. She is no more a Broadmoor than a stranger walking down the street. She is likely quite happy with her new family.”
“Father! I cannot believe what you said.” Amanda stared wide-eyed at her father as she walked into the room. “Fanny is my dear cousin and best friend. How can you cast her aside and speak of her as a stranger? Are you so heartless? Is it because you want her money?” Amanda curled her lip in disgust.
“Her money? It is not hers, Amanda. She is not a Broadmoor. This is a private conversation between your mother and me. And you’d do well to remember that you enjoy the pleasure of new gowns and jewelry—all the fine things money can buy.”
“I’ll give up my jewelry and fine gowns if you’ll permit Fanny to return home to live with us.” Amanda sat down beside her mother. “Please say you’ll agree, Father.”
Jonas shook his head. “It isn’t my decision. Mr. Morrison has the final say in where Fanny will live. For the present, he has chosen to have her in his home.” Jonas rose from his chair. “I’m not going to discuss this any further.”
He’d not satisfied the wishes of his wife or daughter, of that he was certain. However, he had to escape or he’d soon be ensnared by the two of them. Handling Victoria’s questions was difficult enough, but when she worked in tandem with Amanda, he knew flight was the only answer. A visit to his men’s club would provide a needed respite.
With his mind set upon peace and quiet for the remainder of the evening, Jonas stepped down from his carriage and approached the front steps of the men’s club—a place where he could enjoy a good cigar, read his paper, and visit with fellow businessmen about the latest fluctuations in the business world, or at least in Rochester.
He started as a man approached from the shadows. “I hoped I might find you here. I didn’t want to come to your house.”
“Morrison! What are you doing in Rochester?” Jonas looked about, half expecting to see Fanny somewhere nearby.
“I’m by myself. We need to talk.”
“Not here,” Jonas said. There had been enough rumor–mongering since Fanny’s departure. He didn’t want to fuel the gossip by appearing inside the club with Harold Morrison at his side. They needed to be on their way. One of the members could arrive or depart at any moment. The thought caused his palms to perspire. “We can go to my office.” After giving the driver instructions, Jonas and Harold climbed into the carriage.
“I wanted to tell you . . .”
Jonas held up his hand to stave off the conversation. “Not until we are inside my office.”
“Who is going to hear? The carriage driver? You don’t trust your own driver?” he whispered.
“I trust very few people, and my hired help aren’t counted among that small number.”
Save for the creaking of the carriage and the sound of the horses’ hooves clopping down the macadam street, the remainder of the carriage ride was made in silence, which allowed Jonas time to gather his thoughts. Seeing Harold Morrison had been far from his mind when he’d arrived at the club. Pieces of his conversation with Mortimer Fillmore came to mind, and he wondered if Fanny and Mr. Morrison had already been scheming. Had Morrison arrived with a plan to bilk him out of more money? The thought alone made him edgy.
“After you,” Jonas said when the carriage came to a halt in front of his office building. Stepping down from the carriage, he instructed the driver to wait in front of the building. “We shouldn’t be long. I’ll want to return to the men’s club.”
Jonas led the way, unlocking doors and turning on lights until they were inside his office. Harold didn’t wait for an invitation to sit. “I want to discuss Fanny’s future with you.”
“I do wish you would have sent word that you wanted to speak to me. I prefer my business appointments during office hours. And I prefer they be scheduled in advance.”
Harold leaned back in the chair. “I consider Fanny’s welfare more of
a family concern than a business matter. One that shouldn’t require an appointment.”
“If you’ve come here thinking I’m going to up the ante, you’re sadly mistaken, Harold.”
“On the contrary. I’ve come here because I believe what we are doing is completely unconscionable. Fanny is a sweet young lady who deserves much better. I have come here hoping you will be of the same mind and we may come to a gentleman’s agreement.”
Jonas grunted. “When did you develop a conscience?”
“After observing the pain the two of us have caused that young girl. You with your greed and me looking for an easy way out of the mess I’ve created with my gambling.”
“I have no problem seeing you in jail for nonpayment of your debt. I think before we jump to any rash conclusions about the handling of this matter, we need to explore all of the ramifications, as well as the possibilities.” Jonas leaned across his desk. “Remember, your wife will be left to her own devices if you are in jail. Can she support herself?” Jonas didn’t wait for an answer. “Go home, Harold. You’ll hear from me by the end of the week.”
Fortunately Harold didn’t argue. The driver delivered Jonas to his men’s club. After bidding Morrison good-bye, Jonas issued his driver instructions to deliver Harold to the train station. He added whispered instructions to his driver to remain at the station to see that Harold boarded the ten-o’clock train to Syracuse. The last thing Jonas desired was another surprise visit from Harold Morrison.
30
Thursday, September 16, 1897
Syracuse, New York
Fanny wiped her hands on an old towel and leaned back on her haunches. She’d spent the morning planting tulip bulbs that would add early color to Mrs. Morrison’s flower garden come spring. In spite of all the changes forced upon her, Fanny was thankful for the kindness of Mr. and Mrs. Morrison and for this flower garden. Mrs. Morrison had given her free rein to garden in both the front yard and the back. Working in the dirt provided a connection between her former life in Rochester and the present, although she remained uncertain what this new life held in store for her. She patted the dirt that covered the bulbs. The cold earth would hold them snug until spring, when they would force their green sprouts through the hardened ground and eventually bloom into a low-lying canopy of yellow, red, pink, and white.
And what of herself come spring? she wondered. Would she remain dormant through the winter months and burst forth with a life of promise, or would she be one of the bulbs that didn’t have the strength to survive the harsh winter? Maybe her life would resemble those occasional blooms that made the effort to push through the ground but failed to ever bloom. That’s how she felt right now—as though she’d never have the energy to bloom again.
A tear trickled down her cheek and surprised her. She swiped it away with her sleeve, annoyed that she’d permitted her feelings to erupt into tears. The back door slammed, and she glanced over her shoulder.
Mrs. Morrison waved a letter overhead. “Mail for you, Fanny.”
The sadness disappeared, and her heart pounded in quick time. Michael! Please let it be from Michael, she silently prayed while pushing up from the ground. If she knew that he was safe and that he continued to keep her in his thoughts, she could withstand the changes that swirled around her. She ran to Mrs. Morrison’s side. One glance at the flourishing script on the envelope was enough to send her spirits plummeting back to the depths of despair.
Mrs. Morrison smiled as she handed her the missive. “Mr. Morrison and I received one, too.”
Fanny opened the seal and removed the piece of thick stationery. An invitation. She perused the printed words and shoved it back into the envelope. A ball would be held at the home of Jonas and Victoria Broadmoor on the second of October, and she was cordially invited to attend. She nearly laughed at the paradox. For seventeen years she’d been a Broadmoor; she still carried the name. But now she received an engraved invitation, as if she were any other social acquaintance. Not even an additional word of greeting. The gesture stung.
“We’ll need to send our acceptance or regrets,” Mrs. Morrison said.
Fanny heard the question in her statement. “I would enjoy seeing my cousins, but I will leave the decision to you and Mr. Morrison. There is, of course, expense involved if we should attend.”
Mrs. Morrison glanced at the frayed sleeve of her gown. “I have nothing appropriate to wear to a formal ball, but you could go.”
Surely the Morrisons had attended formal functions in the past—before they had fallen on such difficult circumstances. Though they’d never attained the same social standing as the Broadmoors, they would have been invited to balls and parties in Syracuse. “Perhaps we could update one of your old gowns?”
A faint smile traced Mrs. Morrison’s lips. “I was fortunate enough to sell all of my gowns when we were in desperate need of money. The funds helped for a short time.”
Fanny thought they were still in desperate need of money, but she refrained from saying so. Since her arrival, Mrs. Morrison had been nothing but kind. Such a comment would sting. “What about the dresses you wore when you and Mr. Morrison were in the Islands earlier this summer?”
“My last two. I sold them so we would have the funds—” She stopped short. “We needed the money. Let’s wait and see what my husband has to say about the invitation.”
Fanny wondered if the funds had been used to furnish her bedroom or cover the expenses of the additional food she consumed each day. The thought saddened her. She returned to her gardening. She pushed the small spade into the ground and turned the dirt. If the Morrisons wanted to attend, she would find a way to pay their expenses.
Mr. Morrison mentioned the cost of train tickets during the evening meal but added he would find some method to cover the expense if the two ladies wished to be present at the ball. The thought of a reunion with Amanda and Sophie outweighed Fanny’s trepidation at having to face the local gossips. Mr. Morrison hadn’t mentioned the cost of a hotel room, although he surely realized they’d not be able to return to Syracuse after the ball. Though Fanny was sure she would be welcome to stay with Amanda, there was still the cost of a room for the Morrisons.
She penned a letter to Amanda setting forth her concerns. There was little doubt Uncle Jonas would be of no assistance, but perhaps Aunt Victoria would help with a solution. Fanny would post the letter and the two acceptance cards the following day. There had been no further mention of attire for the ball, but Fanny had come upon the perfect solution.
On Friday morning, after Mr. Morrison departed the house, she located his wife in the parlor working on her embroidery. “I have an idea for your gown. To wear to the ball,” she quickly added.
Mrs. Morrison looked up from her sewing. “Then you are much more innovative than I, for although I gave the matter great thought last night, I’ve been unable to reach an appropriate solution. I shouldn’t have agreed to attend.”
“On the contrary, I should have thought of my solution earlier. You and I are approximately the same height, although you are considerably thinner. There is no reason we cannot alter one of my gowns to fit you. There is sufficient time, and you are adept with a needle.” Fanny’s enthusiasm mounted. “My rose-colored gown would be the perfect shade for you.” She grasped Mrs. Morrison’s hand. “Come upstairs and let’s take a look at what would be best.”
Mrs. Morrison didn’t budge. “I wouldn’t consider such an idea. Your gown would be ruined.” She patted Fanny’s hand. “And you have no idea if and when you will ever have sufficient funds to purchase new dresses. You must take good care of what you have in your wardrobe.”
“I will not accept your refusal. I insist. Otherwise I will be forced to remain here in Syracuse, for I won’t attend the ball without the two of you. I know you wouldn’t want me to miss this opportunity for a visit with my cousins. I’ve longed to see them again.” Fanny hoped her added comment would be enough to sway the woman.
For a brief time Mrs. Morr
ison appeared lost in her own thoughts, but finally she gave an affirmative nod. “I won’t be responsible for spoiling your chance to visit Rochester. I know it is important.” She tucked her sewing into the basket and held Fanny’s hand. “Let’s go upstairs and look at your gowns.”
Fanny had been correct. The rose color was perfect against Mrs. Morrison’s pale complexion. It added color to her cheeks, and though the dress hung on her, she now appeared years younger. With the gown turned inside out, Fanny pinned the sides to conform with Mrs. Morrison’s form.
Mrs. Morrison removed the dress, careful not to stick herself with the pins. “If we leave the extra fabric in the seam allowance, I can remove the stitching once we return home. After the gown is pressed, no one will suspect it was ever altered.”
Fanny giggled as she held the bunched up fabric in her hand. “If you leave this inside the dress, you’ll look as though you have some sort of deformity. You must trim away the extra fabric. Otherwise the dress will fit improperly. I insist.” Fanny waved toward her wardrobe. “As you can see, I have plenty of others, and there are more in my trunks. In fact, I didn’t bring all of my clothing because I didn’t know how long I would be staying here.”
“If you insist, then I shall do as you’ve asked. You are a very kind young lady, Fanny, and I’m thankful you’ve come into my life.” She gathered up the dress and hung it across her arm. “I only wish all of this hadn’t caused you so much pain.”
Fanny wished the same. Beside the fact that she’d been yanked from her home and from every person she’d ever considered family, she’d said good-bye to Michael. If she had received this news of her parentage before Michael’s departure for the Yukon, there would have been no reason for him to leave. Jonas Broadmoor would have had no reason to object to the marriage of Harold Morrison’s daughter to his boatswain on Broadmoor Island.
And though they’d not yet received any final determination from the court, Fanny was convinced she would be disinherited. Uncle Jonas would make certain she was stripped of both the family name and her inheritance. Likely that would please many of the greedy family members who had objected to the bequest. But she refused to dwell on the thought. If she continued to reflect upon such matters, she would become as bitter and unkind as Sophie’s sister Beatrice.
A Daughter's Inheritance Page 29
