by Delia Parr
He began to massage the weakened muscles in his left thigh. ‘‘Slowing down is a challenge for me. I suppose it might be for her, too. Widow Leonard doesn’t lack the energy of a woman twenty years younger, either.’’
‘‘Which is precisely why I’m worried about what sort of trouble the two of them might stir up in town,’’ Emma admitted.
‘‘I doubt either James or Andrew would be about during the week at this time of year. They’re too busy finishing the last of the harvesting and such. Besides, I’ve known both of the Leonard boys all their lives. They wouldn’t cause their mother any trouble in town.’’
Emma adjusted the poultice Mother Garrett had fixed for her. ‘‘I hadn’t thought about either of them being about town. I’m more concerned about the gossipmongers who will find plenty to chew on when they see Widow Leonard. Once they discover she’s living and working here at Hill House, they won’t be satisfied until they learn every lurid detail of why she’s no longer living with one of her sons.’’
She paused and locked her gaze with his. ‘‘You’ve spent a lot of time with her. I was wondering . . . that is, has she shared whatever it is that has caused such a rift between her sons? Not that I’m asking you to break any confidences,’’ she added quickly. ‘‘If you don’t want to discuss it, I certainly understand.’’
He blushed. ‘‘We’ve talked some about it, but mostly we’ve been talking about me, or should I say Mrs. Glenn. Letty and Frances were friends growing up, you know. Their families both left New Jersey to move here together.’’
Emma sat up straighter. ‘‘No, I didn’t know,’’ she said, although she did vaguely recall the gossip ignited by his marriage to a woman some twelve or thirteen years his senior.
‘‘I’m hopeful she’ll seek our advice, if she needs it. Until then, I’m very grateful you’ve made a place for her here. It’s almost like having Letty back with me.’’
No sooner did the front bell ring, startling both of them, than Liesel charged down the hall past the parlor to the front door. After a brief but muffled conversation, Emma heard two sets of footsteps approaching: one light, the other heavier. To her surprise, Liesel led Zachary Breckenwith into the parlor.
An uncommonly tall man, he was impeccably dressed in a dark serge suit, as usual, and carried himself with a confidence that stopped just short of arrogance. Although they were nearly the same age, he looked a good bit younger. While her own blond hair was streaked with white, there was not a single strand of gray in his dark hair, and she suspected it was because he simply did not allow it. Not wanting to appear weak, Emma sat up straight, tucked the poultice under the cushion, and carefully avoided touching the lump on her head. She was also vain enough to quickly smooth her hair and be grateful she had chosen a winter green linen gown to wear on her outing today, rather than one of her usual cotton work dresses.
‘‘Since you weren’t able to keep your appointment this morning, Mr. Breckenwith asked to see you,’’ Liesel announced.
‘‘Assuming you’re feeling well enough,’’ the lawyer said, and his dark eyes shimmered with concern. ‘‘I understand you had a fall of some sort.’’
‘‘I’m feeling much better. Thank you. But I didn’t expect you to come all the way up here,’’ Emma replied.
‘‘There’s important business we need to discuss,’’ he said curtly.
‘‘If you’ll both excuse me, I think I’ll just take myself to the kitchen for a cup of coffee,’’ the minister suggested.
When he started to edge forward in his seat, the lawyer shook his head. ‘‘Please stay here. I’d prefer to meet with Widow Garrett in her office.’’
Irritated by how adroitly her lawyer placed himself in control, considering he was in her home, Emma got to her feet. When she did not experience a wave of dizziness, she managed a genuine smile. ‘‘Liesel, bring Reverend Glenn a cup of coffee, won’t you?’’ She turned her attention to her lawyer, determined to be hospitable despite her annoyance with him. ‘‘Would you care for some refreshment? Coffee? Tea?’’
He held up his hand. ‘‘Thank you, but no. I promised Aunt Elizabeth I’d be home in an hour for dinner, which reminds me: Since I mentioned I was coming here, Widow Garrett asked me to let you know she and Widow Leonard will be having dinner in town.’’
Emma’s eyes widened. ‘‘They’re not coming home for dinner?’’
He shrugged and did not hide a grin. ‘‘Apparently not.’’
‘‘Where? Where are they having dinner?’’
‘‘She didn’t say, and I didn’t ask. She did say that she expected they’d be home by late afternoon,’’ he offered as he followed her to her office.
Emma walked just a little more slowly than usual so she would not slip or fall again, most especially in front of him. By the time they had taken their respective places in her office, she was grateful to be off her feet again. ‘‘I trust you had no trouble helping Mother Garrett draw up her will?’’
He shrugged. ‘‘Young Jeremy has only been in Candlewood to study law with me for the past six months, but he could have done it just as easily. The woman owns little enough, though she did mention something about a parcel of land she had recently acquired from you. In any event, her will has been duly written, signed, and witnessed.’’
‘‘Good,’’ she murmured. From the middle drawer, she took the paper she and Mother Garrett had signed yesterday to transfer ownership of the property on Hollaway Lane and handed it to him. ‘‘I’m not sure if this is exact enough. You might need to rewrite it or do what you lawyers do.’’
He leaned forward to get the paper and sat back again to read it. When he finished, he shook his head and frowned. ‘‘I won’t bother asking why you didn’t have me draw this up for you, but you’re right. I need to better identify the land in question by using the survey data, but a simple addendum will do for that.’’
He folded the paper again. ‘‘I must admit I’m rather amazed that you sold this particular parcel of land at all. The last time we discussed the matter, which was after Mr. Langhorne asked me to intervene on his behalf, you were quite adamant that the land would not be sold under any circumstances.’’
When she started to protest, he silenced her by raising his hand. ‘‘Am I surprised you sold the land to your mother-in-law to outwit that man? In truth, not a bit. Not with the restrictions you placed on the transfer. But I am shocked at the sum you accepted. Then again, I’ve been your lawyer for five years now and should know better.’’
‘‘I’m quite certain you’re not as shocked as Mr. Langhorne will be when he finds out once the sale becomes a matter of public record, which will do little to support my reputation as a clever businesswoman. Not when the selling price of fifty cents is recorded. Anyone with a pinch of business sense will know that land is priceless.’’
Mr. Breckenwith’s frown deepened. ‘‘I wouldn’t say priceless, exactly, but since it’s the last parcel of land in Candlewood proper with direct access to the canal, I’d say the land is very, very valuable. Definitely worth a small fortune, and one you might very well need, which I would have been able to explain to you if you had consulted me first before coming up with your scheme.’’
Stung by his reprimand, she stiffened her back. ‘‘As you well know, I’m quite aware of my holdings, as well as my needs. I have fortune enough—’’
‘‘You have far less than you think,’’ he insisted. He took a packet of papers from his vest pocket and laid it on top of her desk.
‘‘You can read the correspondence I received six weeks ago, along with the documents related to the subsequent work I’ve done on your behalf, and draw your own conclusions—or I can explain them. In either case, you have much more to worry about than how Mr. Langhorne or the general public will react to the sum paid for that particular parcel of land you sold to your mother-in-law.’’
A chill inexplicably raced up her spine, and Emma let the packet of papers lay untouched. ‘‘Correspond
ence? Why would you be receiving correspondence that concerns me? Or wait six weeks to bring something to my attention when you obviously believe it’s important enough to adversely affect the extent of my fortune?’’
‘‘I have the correspondence because six weeks ago Mr. Atkins at the General Store didn’t know what to do with a letter addressed to ‘a lawyer in Candlewood.’ Fortunately, he gave it to me when I stopped to collect my mail. I didn’t bring it to your attention until I confirmed the veracity of the letter. I know you well enough by now to suspect you would not have followed my advice and fully investigated the matter but would have chosen to ignore the letter as a hoax of some sort.’’
Emma decided to overlook his complaint about her instead of arguing. She moistened her lips and glanced at the papers but still resisted the temptation to read them. Since Mr. Breckenwith was so self-confident, she decided to let him explain the contents of the correspondence to her. She could always read everything later for herself. ‘‘Perhaps you should simply tell me who sent the letter and how I’m involved. Succinctly,’’ she insisted, fearing he might prolong her unease by being overly thorough.
He captured her gaze and held it. ‘‘In a nutshell, Widow Garrett, you don’t own Hill House.’’
8
IDON’T OWN HILL HOUSE,’’ Emma said quietly, as if repeating her lawyer’s words might help her to make sense of them.
The very idea she did not own Hill House was so ludicrous she might have laughed out loud, but Mr. Breckenwith’s expression was too grim and his gaze too intense. Gooseflesh dimpled her arms, and her heart began to race. ‘‘Perhaps you might explain what you mean. Less succinctly, if you please.’’
He nodded but held his back ramrod straight and his gaze steady. ‘‘Four years ago you barged into my office with Michael Spencer, the lawyer who represented the estate of the late Richard Hughes, who had built Hill House for his wife, then abandoned it after she died in childbirth, along with her babe.’’
She blinked hard. ‘‘I wouldn’t say ‘barged.’ I simply arrived without making an appointment with you beforehand.’’
He ignored her protest and continued. ‘‘Against my very specific advice, and without any prior indication you were even considering the idea, you bought Hill House that very day and paid quite an extraordinary sum for a property that had been abandoned for nearly a decade.’’
‘‘You reviewed the paper work,’’ Emma countered, as frustrated by him now as she had been on that occasion four years ago when she indeed purchased the property.
‘‘That’s true. Unfortunately, as you know, I’ve been trying unsuccessfully to get the deed properly recorded with the courts ever since.’’ His gaze hardened. ‘‘As you also might recall, I specifically cautioned you against buying Hill House and, more particularly, against selling the General Store, moving into the house, and starting any renovations until we had a deed in hand.’’
Her cheeks burned. ‘‘Go on. I suppose you’re going to tell me now that Mr. Spencer was some sort of an imposter.’’
He let out a sigh. ‘‘On the contrary. As far as I’ve been able to determine, Spencer was the lawful executor for the Hughes estate. Unfortunately, he absconded with your funds, along with the rest of the proceeds of the estate, before filing anything with the courts, and he’s disappeared, no doubt enjoying his ill-gotten gains at your expense, as well as several others.’’
Denial and disbelief overwhelmed Emma’s sense of outrage, and she blinked back tears of frustration. ‘‘But I acted in good faith! And it’s been four years. Four years! If . . . if what you’re saying is true, why did it take so long for anyone to . . . to discover what he had done?’’
He sighed again. ‘‘A combination of factors. From all I’ve been able to learn, the heir is a rather distant relative who was completely unaware of his relative’s death, as well as the inheritance. The only reason this has come to light is because one of the other of Spencer’s victims, if you will, hired a lawyer to investigate and try to track down the man, and here we are. The court has appointed a new lawyer to serve as executor, one Jonathan Meyer of Philadelphia, which is where the late Mr. Hughes had his primary residence. Here . . . let me find his letter for you.’’
While Mr. Breckenwith sorted through the papers, Emma struggled for control, but she was unable to keep her heart from pounding hard against the wall of her chest. Without Hill House, she had no home, no purpose in her life. She had sold her General Store to come here, certain that this was where God wanted her to be, certain that the answer to the loneliness that filled her heart lay in doing His will and serving others at Hill House.
She had lost her Jonas. One by one, each of her sons had married and moved away. First Warren. Then Benjamin. And finally Mark. When he had married four and a half years ago, she had felt so alone and so empty . . . and so anxious to find new meaning to her life. She had prayed for God to show her how to fill her life with new meaning.
When Mr. Spencer arrived in Candlewood and offered to sell Hill House to her, she was convinced this was the answer she had been praying to receive. Despite Mr. Breckenwith’s advice, she had pushed ahead, only to discover now that he had been right.
‘‘Here it is,’’ he said as he skimmed the letter again.
Emma struggled to find her voice. ‘‘Is it possible to simply buy Hill House again? I . . . I could manage to do that if I sold off some of my land.’’ She was all too aware that she might have to rescind the sale of that parcel of land to Mother Garrett and actually sell it to someone else, although her mouth soured at the prospect of letting Mr. Langhorne acquire it.
Her lawyer set the letter aside. ‘‘Apparently that’s not an option—at least not right now.’’
A band of terror tightened around her chest, making it difficult for her to draw a breath. For modesty’s sake, she resisted loosening the collar on her bodice and took slow, measured breaths instead. She had never before encountered a problem she could not fix with either her wits or her fortune. Never.
Losing Hill House affected more than just Emma. Mother Garrett would be forced to move out, and so would Reverend Glenn, not to mention Widow Leonard. To make matters worse— if that were possible—even if Emma did buy another home for all of them to share, everyone in town would know what had happened, destroying the reputation as a good businesswoman she had worked so hard to establish and maintain.
Imagining someone else moving into Hill House made her tremble. She laced her fingers together, laid her hands on her lap, and kept her gaze downcast to avoid seeing the smug look on her lawyer’s face now that he had been proven right.
‘‘Widow Garrett?’’
When she finally looked up at him, his gaze was gentle and understanding. ‘‘I know how much Hill House means to you. Let’s not give up hope. Not quite yet.’’
She swallowed hard and blinked back tears. ‘‘Why not? You just said buying Hill House again wasn’t an option.’’
‘‘I believe I said not right now,’’ he countered. ‘‘Mr. Meyer indicated in his letter that the heir would like to see Hill House first before he decides whether or not he wants to sell it.’’
Her heart skipped a beat and filled with hope. ‘‘He’s coming here? To Candlewood?’’
‘‘Yes, but I’m not certain when that will be. Meyer didn’t offer any explanation or any specific time to expect the heir. Perhaps he’s traveling or abroad. In any event, Meyer assured me you could stay at Hill House and continue to operate it until the heir arrives.’’
She bolted forward in her seat and braced the palms of her hands on the top of her desk. Disbelief pounded through her veins. ‘‘Just sit and wait? That’s what he expects? I’m supposed to live here, literally in limbo, until the heir decides it’s convenient to schedule a visit? I can’t do that. I need an answer now. I deserve an answer.’’
Breckenwith’s gaze hardened. ‘‘I’m afraid you don’t have a choice in the matter. He could have had you evicted fro
m the property,’’ he warned. ‘‘Instead, he’s graciously allowing you to stay. Between now and whenever he chooses to visit—which I presume will be no longer than a matter of months—you should be considering all of your options.’’
She tilted up her chin. ‘‘The only option I find acceptable is to remain at Hill House.’’
‘‘As your lawyer, as well as your financial advisor, I’d strongly suggest that you carefully consider what you’ll do if you can’t stay at Hill House. Think about opening a business of some sort, if you like, or simply purchasing another home. You might want to think about building a home on one of the parcels of land you own. In other words, hope for the best but be prepared for the worst by having something in mind in the event you’re forced to leave Hill House.’’
She rejected his suggestions outright. ‘‘I’d rather be more direct. What if I fight this in court?’’ she asked, despite her reluctance to have her situation made public, which a court battle would do.
‘‘You’ll lose.’’
‘‘You’re that positive?’’ she snapped.
‘‘Absolutely.’’
She swallowed what was left of her pride and finally admitted defeat. ‘‘Fine. I’ll consider other options. Soon. But no one, I mean no one, can know about this . . . this problem. I won’t have Mother Garrett or Reverend Glenn upset on my account, and I won’t have gossipmongers gloating over the mistake I’ve made.’’
He flinched. ‘‘I know my ethical responsibilities.’’
‘‘You’re right; I’m sorry. I’m just a little bit undone by your news,’’ Emma said and handed him back the packet of papers as a show of good faith.
‘‘Understandably so, which is why I thought it best to discuss this matter privately in your office, instead of the parlor. Despite the fact you found my suggestion to do so a bit, shall we say, arrogant?’’ he said with a slight twinkle in his eyes.
