Her father swallowed hard, his grip of her hand so tight it hurt. "Ask it,” he choked out. “Whatever you desire, ask."
A single thought would have served her well, but Sara could not contain the frantic rambling of her mind at his simple act of clutching her hand. She stared at that frantic clasp and swallowed the lump of tears and emotion which choked the words to nothing. On the day Sara came into this world, would he have been at her mother's side with this same intensity? Would he have held her mother's hand this tight, that morning she didn't wake?
Sara fought against the dazed sluggishness and brought her other hand to cover his, hoping it would gather his attention and lift his head to a deeper scrutiny. Her father--he found her! Did she care what these last few years carried with them? Did it matter, the "why's"? Did any moment but the here and now carry weight with her or with him?
A tear fled his restraint and answered the question she felt too afraid to ask, because it did matter. Too many years of her life were dedicated to the "Why?" for her not to ask. She opened her mouth to speak--
"Wait," he pleaded, voice gruff and barely recognizable as his fingers tightened momentarily upon her hand. He cleared the emotion from his throat. "You have so many questions, this I know, but, please, allow me a single question."
She nodded, unwilling to trust her own words.
"Did Ann… did she never mention me to you?"
Sara's gaze retreated from his, focusing on the comforting tightness of their mingled hands. "She told me once life treated you unfairly and that I should pray for your heart. I was ten. I did no' ask after you again." Not when she considered the answer the easiest way for her mother not to lay blame at his feet. At the age of ten, her mother taking the blame onto herself settled horribly unfair.
"I see." He released such a long and deep breath, his gaze once more shifting to their hands. His hold loosened and pulled away, the chill sending a shiver coursing through her very soul as her eyes sought his. His eyes, however, refused to meet them. Instead, he stepped back, further distancing himself from not just her, but….
"Please." She struggled to her feet, fighting back the dizziness with white-knuckled determination. Christopher was immediately there, steadying her while voicing a soft whisper of "Be gentle, Sara."
Her father shifted his position to the fireplace, only ever so slightly turning to regard her while protecting most of his own expression from her notice. "I did not intend to leave, I simply … that revelation made…." He shook his head and lowered his gaze, his chin very nearly brushing his chest. He fisted his hand at his side. "You must have hated me for the better portion of your life, which I understand, given how English society views orphans and bastards."
She stepped toward him, releasing Christopher’s hand to clutch at her father’s, so cold and trembling, as she gazed up into his dazed countenance. "I am sorry. I… I did no' know how to set aside the ridicule of the other children and parents without the hate."
"You are not to blame. I, on the other hand…." He released a long and deep breath, the slight shake of his head seeming to fend off the ghost of unwanted histories. "Even now my father is able to manipulate and contort me to his will. My dedication to family is strong, and he uses that to the best of his ability. I wish I had separated myself from him ages ago. Then you would not suffer the torture of a meeting with him.” He offered her a pained smile. “No matter how charming you are, my dear, I fear you would not win him over."
"But… but he is my grandfather," she whispered. "I have no' had one before."
"Trust me, child. Your life will be better without him."
Sara blinked up into her father's eyes, her spirit hearing a whisper. A calm settled within, caressing her face with a smile as she gazed up at him. "I told myself once, so many years ago, my life would be better without you, but it was no' the truth. My life had a hole, you were missing. I do no' wish you to have the same. He may hate me, but I will no' give him reason to do so."
Her father stared down at her for such a long moment of time. Then his lips tilted upward, a hand brushing a curl from her temple. "You are so very much like your mother."
Tears burned at her eyes as she continued to smile up at him. "Tell me."
"Art and people were her everything. It mattered little if they had a sharp word or no word at her. To me it seemed she heard naught but the words left unspoken. I loved her the moment I set eyes on her, and we married only a few short weeks after having met." He barked out a laugh. "My father labeled me an impetuous fool and, believe me, there were countless telegrams and messengers insisting I return to America immediately. Never before have I blatantly ignored my father's demands…."
His gaze fell, the quiet descending long enough to make Sara wonder if he now lived within his memory. She met Christopher’s reassuring gaze and smiled. But when she focused again on her father, the shadow of regret scarred his features, aging him far beyond what she thought possible. She reached out a hand, laying it upon his arm as her heart and soul lifted a prayer for release and healing. He can no’ bear such a burden alone, Lord.
Her father blinked, shifting himself from past to present with what must have felt to be a heart-rending pain. How could his father have betrayed him in such a fashion? How could her mother have agreed to let him go? Sara couldn’t fathom if she stood ready to receive the answer, or even what it might mean to the memory of her mother.
"For the greater part of this past year I have tried to reason out what he must have said to her—we were so very close, your mother and I—and I believe he may have told her of my previous … understanding.” His gaze flicked to hers, retreating immediately thereafter. "I was engaged before I traveled to England, a long-standing arrangement.”
Sara blinked, the utter surprise scattering her thoughts. “Engaged?” How would she herself have reacted if she discovered Christopher promised to another woman? Would she have forgiven him that secret?
Her father cleared his throat, shame staining his ears and face red. “At the time I did not care one whit about the so-called engagement, as arrangements like that are as common in America's wealthy families as they are in England. I wrote to her before proposing to your mother, so she would not be shocked at the news from my family or hers. Emily and I… we were friends, if nothing else."
He teased his peppered hair with trembling fingers. Sara's heart ached; for him, for her mother, for a happiness cut short.
"However, after the annulment became final, I convinced myself there was nothing to do but go on as if the best year of my life never existed. Emily,” Her father’s lips twisted in a wry smile. “Dear Em, she protested moving forward, doing her best to persuade me to England, but, stubborn fool that I was, allowed my pride to dictate my next steps. So, months later, she finally acquiesced, though we were unable to finalize the nuptials until after Mother passed.”
Her father shifted his focus to the fireplace, the memories dancing across his face of both regret and happiness. It made Sara eager to experience those involved in rescuing him from the despair of a love lost.
He cleared his throat and met her scrutiny with a lop-sided smile. “Mary and my youngest son, William, are looking forward to meeting you. My older sons, twins Joe and James, have long since moved on with their lives, it's all about college and business. Though they did express interest in coming over for tea at some point, likely with the sole purpose of measuring you up. Beware those two, as they consider their talent for contention a gift."
Sara stared at him, the information dancing about her head much like a swarm of butterflies. "Pardon?" He had married again, of course, but to be welcomed by those people left her mind blank of acceptable reactions. Her history spoke of suspicion and meanness in families such as his. How could they be eager in wanting to meet her? Her mother had walked away from him with no rhyme nor reason.
Her father gave her hand a gentle pressure. "I told you, Emily and I were friends. We have no secrets, though she was incensed a
t first when I discovered your existence. She felt certain I had kept you secret. When I told her the story, she helped me organize the search for more information. And do not worry. She is not expecting you to call her 'Mother'… although I do think William is rather fond of the idea of having a sister. What is he? Thirteen years old now?"
Her father retrieved a pocket watch and flipped up the front to show a photograph of a beautiful brunette woman and three strapping boys, a pair of identical twins, and a younger son standing in front of the two, their hands upon his shoulders. Sara accepted the watch into trembling fingers and simply blinked down at the faces of this other family.
She vaguely heard the rustle of fabric as Christopher rose from the settee and stood behind her. “A family,” she whispered.
Christopher chuckled. “They are a lovely bunch, Conklin. I always hoped for a boy.”
Conklin laughed. "They have their own challenges, Chris, believe me. One stand-off after another. Diplomacy, and sometimes tyranny in equal measure. Emily loves the boys with every fiber of her being, but when she discovered a young girl abandoned and lost in the shuffle. 'You cannot rest until you find her,' she told me. Not having a daughter of her own likely had something to do with her frantic intensity." His voice faded, the oddity of it drawing her focus. He met and held her gaze. "I am sorry you were left behind, Sara," he said, regret grating in his words. "If I had known…."
Sara imperceptibly nodded, tears stinging her eyes and throat.
He gathered her hands into his, the hard metal of the pocket watch proving this her new reality. “Will you tell me of your life? Of my Ann?”
A collection of possible histories glimmered in her father’s eyes, and she tried to soothe them away with the best smile she could muster. “Yes.”
Twenty-One
A Waiting Tomorrow
I found him! Sara’s entire body tingled the next morning as she dressed and hurried down stairs to the breakfast nook. She fairly flew from room to room, elation winging her through the hallway and down the modest staircase of the Brownstone. He found me! In the breakfast nook entry, she wrapped Christopher up in a tight embrace, pressing herself tight against his back as she whispered “Good morning, dear Christopher.”
“Good morning, Sweet Sara.” He laughed, taking hold of her hand to guide her around the table to her seat beside him. “You look more than ready for our journey back across the oceans deep.”
“It’s because we’re a family now, Papa,” Gwyn chimed, hands clapping as her little body rocked back and forth in her seat.
Sara gathered the girl up into her arms from her chair, tickling her neck with kisses until Gwyn fairly cried from laughter. “Good morning, Poppet.”
“Mama, mama, mama!” She squirmed her arms free from the tight embrace and cradled Sara’s flushed cheeks in her hands, emerald eyes glimmering with delight. “I can call you that all I want now.”
“Yes, Poppet. Yes, you can. What would you like me to call you?” She adjusted the girl with a slight bounce onto one hip. “Is ‘poppet’ fine for now?”
Seriousness sweetened the girl’s features as she nodded, and Sara could feel the love for her swell. “I love that best,” Gwyn admitted, tone hushed.
Sara heard Christopher’s velvety chuckle. “And I love you best.” She pressed a kiss upon the girl’s button nose. “Would you want to meet my father before we head to the ship today?”
Gwyn blinked up at her, darling bow mouth slightly parted. “Your papa? Truly?”
“He found me. It was such a long adventure. Maybe we can draw the story on our way back home? It was dark and terribly hard, so he might very much like a happier tale to remember. Do you think you might like to do that?” Sara’s words tumbled free, and she felt as if her smile exploded from the center of her soul.
“Oh yes! Hurrah!” Gwyn clapped, legs and body bouncing within Sara’s supportive hold. “Can we go after breakfast? Please, Papa?”
Christopher motioned to the untouched food upon her plate. “Forgetting something, Angel Girl?”
“Oops.” Gwyn’s smile blossomed as she squirmed within Sara’s arms. “I’m sorry, Papa.”
Sara and Gwyn hurried to their seats, the laughter echoing through the house and feeding the comfort and love which began to soothe Sara’s sore spirit. She could hardly manage a few bites, so eager to meet her father in the park at the bench where he first fell for her mother. Then they would be off to the port and back home.
Christopher gathered her hand in his and pressed a kiss upon her cheek, his countenance so handsome with his relieved smile. “You are radiant this morning,” he whispered. Then he focused on his daughter. “While I would love to go with you on your adventure, alas, Uncle Rob and I need to finalize some boring business items before we venture home. But you will be fine with just yourself and Aunt Rachel I imagine.”
“What have I been volunteered for?” Rachel entered the breakfast nook with silent grace, resplendent in emerald and sporting a jaunty bonnet of doves and lace. She sat across from Sara and spread her napkin across her lap.
“Aunt Rachel! We’re going to see Sara’s Papa after breakfast.” Gwyn’s fingers trembled with eager excitement as she desperately pulled at her toast. “She found him,” she revealed, mouth full.
Christopher cast his daughter a warning glance, which she caught just in time to swallow and then apologize.
“Indeed? A miracle to the deserving.” A smile caressed Rachel’s lips as she focused on Sara with that all-seeing gaze. “What is the next challenge you are determined to overcome, dear heart?”
Sara’s cheeks burned as her gaze retreated, fingers fumbling with her silverware.
“The villainous grandfather, perhaps?”
Sara blinked up at the woman. “How did you…?”
“You simply cannot help yourself. When you know there is a soul in pain, or suffering some struggle, you venture forth as a crusader. It matters little at the time whether or not the task is plausible or not.”
Christopher’s chuckle drew both ladies’ attention. “Rachel, that is Sara to the very core, and a blessing to fools like me.”
“La! Of that I have no doubt.” Rachel’s loveliness smoothed with amusement as she focused on the duty of her breakfast. “I would be honored to accompany you, dear little heart, and I thank you for the invitation.”
Gwyn clapped her hands in delight, but Sara could not turn from the villainous grandfather, as the words echoed in her mind and heart. Even Mr. Brockle, the personification of a storybook villain, had been deserving of patience and understanding. Yes, that had done nothing but encourage more acts of discipline from his mother, but….
Sara’s gaze shifted to the gleam of the silver fork balanced within her fingers. Bellows and snide whispers echoed in the shadows of her mind before she could close the window to that part of her past. In a blink, she stood there yet again. Surrounded by the echelon of society, a maid with dirty hands and only two frocks to her name.
Is that all he would see? Would she, again, be measured by a pedigree she did not have rather than the heart and spirit her Lord had molded? Was she truly prepared to step into that room of her own free will?
Sara listened to the question again, wondering. Weighing. Sifting through her history and the promise of her future to see if she could hear the answer. But she only heard laughter. She felt the warmth and comfort of acceptance. She experienced belonging, family… love.
Her lips tilted upward as she lifted her gaze, knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt that Christopher’s clear hazel eyes would be there to meet hers, and that he would smile. The comfortable truth resonated throughout the Brownstone, echoing on the laughter of his daughter and in the serene voice of Rachel Trent.
Sara met Christopher’s gaze and returned his smile. Whether or not there was a promise of welcome or disdain with her father’s extended family, her own waited with open arms and hearts. The least she could do is offer forward a hand of peace. All else would
be between him and the Lord.
“And the path is set.” Rachel’s simple statement drew Sara’s attention. Her green eyes, serene and certain, did not strike fear in Sara’s heart this time. “I hope you will allow Robert and myself to accompany you to your newly found pedigree, dear heart. I have a suspicion that one of our companies have been in direct contact with the Conklins or Kreysslers at some point.”
“I do believe she is plotting a strategy.” Robert Trent rounded the corner of hall into nook, stepping immediately toward Rachel to bestow a kiss upon her cheek. “Good morning, Ange.”
“Robert.” Rachel readied a cup of coffee for him with deft actions of grace and quickness. “Life is a myriad of strategies,” she reminded, “and I am simply making those known to myself before stepping toward a nest of vipers.”
“Vipers?” Robert chuckled as he accepted the coffee. “Thank you. But vipers?” he asked again. “You seem to be in a mood most contrary this morning, Rachel.”
Sara regarded the older woman with hesitation, the growing concern keeping back any voicing of questions or statements. Rachel’s green eyes shifted to her, an eyebrow arching upward for a brief confession of intrigue before she focused again to her husband.
“The unknown is best regarded as a nest of vipers in order to encourage caution,” she said, her tone matter-of-fact.
“Hm.” Christopher set aside his napkin. “That seems a bit more cynical than necessary.”
“Perhaps, perhaps not. Let us say it may be more stark than necessary, but, as I said, the stance encourages caution. One must tread carefully when in the midst of those who view all actions as a threat to that which they hold most dear, be it fortune, family, or prosperity for their own future.”
“Speaking from personal experience, of course.”
“Hush, you.”
Robert finished his coffee. He bestowed another kiss upon Rachel’s cheek. “Chris, we should leave now. This is apt to take a bit of time. You had Sara sign those documents?”
Releasing Yesterday Page 22
