Her Deadly Inheritance

by Beth Ann Ziarnik

  The truth might be somewhere right here in front of her. If only she knew what her mother had been thinking those last days of her life, but only God, her mother, and her mother’s journals … her mother’s journals! Why hadn’t she thought of them before?

  Mother kept them for years, but where were they now? Jill had seen one a month before she left to find her father. When she burst into her mother’s room without knocking, her mother looked up, closed the leather-bound volume, and locked it in a sturdy box. Did that box still exist? Or had someone already disposed of it?

  The kitten leapt from her lap as Jill jumped up. More likely, the box was hidden somewhere in this house.

  As Jill came down the grand staircase the next morning, exquisite music floated up through the heart of the house. She followed the haunting melody into the parlor where Tia sat at the grand piano, the last notes of an intricate Rachmaninoff concerto fading.

  In spite of her weary heart, Jill managed a weak smile. “You’re feeling better today.”

  Tia closed her sheet music and rested her hands on her lap. “Why did you stay with me Sunday after … well, you know?”

  Jill studied her young cousin’s somber face. “I didn’t want you to be alone.”

  Tia closed the keyboard. “Dad used to stay with me until Mom put a stop to it. She said I had to learn to be strong, and it wouldn’t happen if they babied me.”

  Her trembling voice trampled Jill’s heart. “Uncle Drew said your mother takes excellent care of you.”

  “If you count giving me pills, talking to doctors, and studying all that clinical stuff.” Bitterness laced Tia’s words. “Dad talks to me. He listens, and sometimes he cries.”

  Jill nodded, wishing she had more to offer.

  “My teachers and a few of the kids in my classes seem to understand. Some even try to help, but …” She clenched her fists. “I’m so tired of these seizures. They make me feel like some ugly monster. Why, Jill? Why me?”

  Jill reached out to touch her cousin’s arm. What could she say to comfort her? “Everyone has some kind of problem.”

  The moment the words left her mouth, her cousin’s eyes flashed. “Problem? Do you know what a seizure is like?”

  Sorry she had failed to help Tia, Jill shook her head.

  The girl’s eyes glittered with pain. “It’s time all mixed up. Like being lost in some spooky forest where I can’t hear. My body feels like it’s coming apart, and when it’s over, I’m so exhausted I have to sleep for hours. What kind of life is that?”

  How could Jill answer her cousin’s question? All she knew of Tia’s suffering was what she had witnessed. She scrambled for the positive angle her uncle had offered. “You have fewer seizures these days, right?”

  Tia eyed puddled. “You don’t understand. I want to be like any other girl, but just when I think the seizures are under control, something happens. A little too much confusion. A little too much excitement. Too much or too little medication, and—another seizure.” She rubbed away her tears. “Anytime … any place.”

  “Tia, I …”

  The girl jumped up and fisted her hands. “You know so much about God, so tell me. Why did he let this happen? What did I ever do for him to hate me like this?” Her voice choked.

  Jill’s chest hurt. How was she supposed to answer?

  “Well?”

  “Tia, I’m so new at being a Christian. I don’t know all about God, but I know this much. He doesn’t hate you. He loves you.”

  “This is love?” The girl spat the bitter words.

  Jill could only stand and gaze at her cousin, empathizing with her. “I don’t know why you have epilepsy, any more than I know why my mother died as she did. I only know God loves you and me.”

  The anger in Tia’s brown eyes faltered. “How do you know that?”

  “From what I’ve read in my Bible. From the tender ways he answers my prayers.”

  The girl folded her arms. “You don’t really believe what an old book says, do you?”

  “Yes. This one. Because it’s God’s Word.”

  Tia huffed. “Now you sound like that girl in my class.”

  So God was already at work in Tia. Then what held her back? A notion popped into her head. “Tia, are you afraid of God?”

  “Shouldn’t I be?”

  Sadness pooled in Jill’s heart. What a terrible place for her cousin to be, feeling alone and unloved.

  Jill moved to the couch and sat down. “Would you let me tell you about the God I’ve come to know in these last few months?”

  Tia drew back, but she didn’t say no.

  Jill patted the place beside her and her cousin, still wary, joined her.

  “Imagine a God who loved you so much, he was willing to die so you could be his very own. Fully accepted, fully loved, and part of his family. A God who did everything possible so one day, you could be with him forever in his beautiful heaven. Does he sound like someone who wants to harm you?”

  Tia pursed her lips, and then slowly let them relax. “Even if you’re right, I’m still stuck with epilepsy and Mother’s awful party.”

  Jill had forgotten the party. “I don’t understand. Why is it such a problem?”

  A heavy sigh escaped the girl’s nostrils. She looked into her lap. “It’s not so much the party. I might even like it if it weren’t for the seizures.”

  “Do you think your mother is really out to hurt you?” Jill didn’t want to believe it.

  “I don’t think she gives me a thought one way or the other. Her life is all about this house and Carver. I never mattered and I never will.”

  “Tia, I can hardly believe—”

  “You don’t believe me? Come on!” She shot up and raced ahead, pausing at the doorway to look back.

  Jill stood and followed her up the stairs.

  In her room, Tia flung open her closet doors and snatched a long white gown from the clothing rod. “See?”

  The flowing gossamer skirt with hand-stitched lace panels had a tiny waist and a bodice intricately decorated in a style reminiscent of the early 1900s. Jill touched the soft skirt. “It’s old-fashioned but lovely.”

  “Look again. Does this look like my size?” Tia threw the dress in a heap on the bed. “It’s way too small, but Mother insists I wear it.”

  “Why would she do that?”

  “Family tradition.” The girl grimaced.

  “What tradition?”

  “I don’t know. She had costumes made for all four of us. Old-fashioned stuff, copies from some old photo she found.”

  Jill retrieved the dress and held its delicate fabric against Tia. “I still don’t understand why she would insist you wear a dress too small for you.”

  “Get a clue, Jill!” Tia bit out the words. “The party isn’t about me. It’s about Mom. If she were sixteen, she’d wear the thing herself. Instead, she’s forcing me to live her crazy fantasy. It’s the one thing Carver can’t do for her.” She pushed the dress away. “Mother’s using me to get what she wants. Welcome to life in what’s left of the Bradwell family.”

  If Tia was right, how pitiful this whole family was. Jill shook out the dress and hung it in the closet.

  “Someone has to stop her,” the girl said. “Do you really want to be my friend? Then stop this party!”

  “I can’t do that.”

  “Why not? You own the house. She can’t do anything here unless you let her, and I know she won’t hold the party anywhere else.”

  “I’m sorry, Tia, I wish I hadn’t, but I’ve already given your mother permission.”

  “Tell her you’ve changed your mind.”

  “Breaking a promise wouldn’t be right.”

  “Can you at least talk to her?”

  Jill sighed. Such hope lit her cousin’s eyes she didn’t have the heart to quash it. “I can try.”

  “Right now?”

  A sudden dryness seized Jill’s throat. “Uh … as soon as possible.”

  Fat chance she
had of success. When Lenore made up her mind, even Uncle Drew couldn’t change it.

  In the flower bed below the porch railing, Clay stretched to relieve his cramped muscles just as Jill walked from the house. Her forehead puckered in an adorable way, stopping him mid-motion. Something was bothering her. “Good morning.”

  She blinked, her fine-boned features softening into a smile that ramped his heartbeat. She leaned on the railing. “What are you doing?”

  He stooped to toss another clump of weeds and a handful of stones in an old metal bucket. “Giving these new plants a chance to grow.”

  “But isn’t … I mean, doesn’t Sam do that?”

  He lifted up his hands encased in dirt-smudged gloves and grinned. “You’ve discovered my deep dark secret. I can’t resist any part of the restoration process and don’t even mind getting my hands dirty, when necessary.” He tossed another couple of rocks in the bucket. “By the way, your mother did a first-rate job caring for this rosebush.”

  Jill cupped a newly opened crimson blossom and breathed in its fragrance, her expression suddenly wistful.

  He combed the soil with his gloved fingers, checking for any rocks he might have missed. “Can I ask what’s bothering you?”

  She released the blossom and sat on the top porch step. “So little of the reminders of my mother remain here anymore. I guess it’s just as well I’m donating some of her things to charity. They’ll do a lot more good than gathering dust in the attic.”

  Her deep sigh tugged at his heart. “Maybe you should give yourself more time before you let them go.”

  “No, the time is right. I just didn’t realize I’d feel this overwhelmed, especially since I only have a couple of days to inventory them.”

  “Would you like some help?”

  She shook her head, sunlight dancing among the loose curls cascading to her slender shoulders. “You have enough to do.”

  “I could spare a few hours.”

  Her wan smile nestled against his heart. “You’re sure?”

  He shooed a fly away from his forehead. “When would you like to start?”

  A soft blush stole across her face. “Would this afternoon be too soon?”

  “See you after lunch.” As he crouched and tossed a few more rocks into the bucket, she reentered the house. He sat back on his heels. No doubt about it. Jill had the power to steal a man’s heart. Sadly enough, it couldn’t be his heart.

  With one dilemma solved, Jill headed for the library to confront Lenore on Tia’s behalf. Not that it would do any good. Yet Tia’s stormy melody at the piano in the parlor pushed her across the entrance hall. She stopped within the library’s doorway.

  “Look at all these responses to our invitations, Drew,” her aunt gushed, holding up the list. “Nearly everyone is coming.”

  Uncle Drew peered over the collapsed corner of his newspaper. “How nice, dear.” He went back to reading.

  Lenore waved an envelope. “And Kitty Wentworth arrives next Thursday. Thank goodness, as soon as today’s historical society luncheon is over, I can turn my full attention to the final details of Tia’s party.”

  Her aunt stopped, suddenly aware of Jill’s presence. “What do you want?”

  A dark piano arpeggio pushed Jill forward. She might as well get it over with. “Tia asked me to talk to you. She’s really unhappy about the party and doesn’t feel ready.”

  Lenore’s eyes narrowed. “Are you suggesting we cancel?”

  “Not cancel, but perhaps postpone.” Did the woman have no pity?

  “Two hundred guests will arrive in less than two weeks.” Her aunt’s eyes smoldered. “Months of planning and thousands of dollars invested, and you want us to postpone?”

  “For Tia’s sake.” Surely the woman’s daughter meant more to her than any party.

  “You feel you know what is best for our daughter.” Lenore stomped her foot. “Have you cared for her all these years? Have you coped with her disorder?”

  “It’s only that—”

  The crashing chords and crescendos of Tia’s music escalated. Her uncle cringed.

  “Lenore, dear,” he ventured, “maybe we should postpone.”

  Her aunt’s face reddened. “Absolutely not! We cannot allow her to hide in this house and crawl into some corner. She must get out and make the right friends.”

  Jill sucked a surprised breath. Were right friends what the party was all about?

  “But she’s so upset,” Jill said. “Can’t this stress bring on another seizure?”

  Lenore smirked. “Don’t be so easily duped, Jill. Our daughter is quite the little actress. She’s using you to get her way.”

  Jill gaped at her aunt. If true, Tia had learned at the knees of the best.

  The woman lifted her chin and lowered her voice. “Tia needs to believe epilepsy is only part of her life. Not who she is.”

  Tia didn’t already know that?

  “She needs to feel good about herself,” Lenore went on. “We urge her to leave the house, volunteer, develop friendships, but what does she do? Plays piano until my nerves fray.” Lenore squeezed her eyes shut and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Drew, please tell her to stop that racket. I’m getting a headache.”

  Uncle Drew put his newspaper aside and left the room.

  “You don’t know our daughter, Jill. Drew offered her a part-time job in his office at the mill. Would she take it? No! We talked to her about going to college after high school. Will she consider it? No!” Lenore retreated behind the library’s desk. “Tia is far from easy to handle, leaving us with no choice but to force her do what is best for her. If we make her participate in life, it is because we want her to enjoy a full life. Do you understand?”

  Warmth crept up Jill’s neck as she nodded. Perhaps her aunt did care about Tia. More than Jill thought.

  “In the future,” Lenore said as Uncle Drew reentered the room, “let us handle our daughter.”

  Her uncle put his warm hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry Tia dragged you into this, Jill. We appreciate your concern, but Lenore really does know what’s best for her.”

  “We are not heartless,” her aunt said. “I consulted her doctor, and he encouraged us to hold this party.”

  “I didn’t know.” Jill backed away, suddenly aware her cousin had duped her.

  Lenore smiled sweetly, her eyes as cold as ever. “Don’t forget the luncheon this noon. You are coming, aren’t you?”

  Jill nodded and escaped to the carriage house, grateful she had promised to help Amelia with the quilts this morning. Windtop was becoming less and less a place she cared to be.

  Now, she couldn’t even trust her teenage cousin.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Seated at Amelia’s quilting frame, Jill poked the needle with a short length of yellow yarn through the layers of a fall leaf-patterned quilt. She could barely keep her hand steady.

  “You’re so quiet,” her friend said. “Is something wrong?”

  Jill knotted the yarn. “I was thinking about my mother.”

  “She’s all right, I hope.”

  Shaking her head, Jill busied herself threading another length of yarn through the eye of her needle. “She died two years ago.”

  “I’m so sorry.” Amelia’s voice grew soft with sympathy. “Was she a Christian?”

  Jill nibbled at her lower lip. “I wish I knew. I could accept her death so much easier if I knew she was safe in heaven.”

  Tilting her head, Amelia paused mid-stitch. “If only my grandson felt as you do. We know Janice is in heaven, but he can’t seem to let go.”

  Weighty matters troubled her friend’s heart too. “Would it help if we prayed for him?”

  Amelia bowed her head. “Please.”

  Following Amelia’s lead, Jill bowed her head too. “Father in heaven,” she said, groping for the right words, “please help Sonny accept Janice’s death. Help him place his hurt in your healing hands and go on with his life according to your will.”


  “Amen, Lord!” Amelia said.

  Jill went on, “And, Lord, please give Amelia the assurance you are working in her grandson’s life. Thank you. Amen.”

  Amelia rummaged in her apron pocket, pulled out a tissue, and blew her nose. “Thank you, Jill.” She bowed her head again. “And, Lord, thank you for Jill. Please give her the peace she needs about her mother’s death.”

  Raising her chin, Jill gazed at the ceiling, blinking rapidly. With so many unanswered questions at Windtop, would she ever know peace?

  “Jill.” Amelia picked up a spool of scarlet thread and prepared to hand-stitch the edge of the quilt. “Sonny is coming for dinner tonight. Could you join us? I would like you to meet him.”

  Quickly ducking her head, Jill tried to look as if she were concentrating on the quilt. Meet Sonny? Her life was complicated enough.

  “Thank you for asking.” She stopped to swallow the ache in her throat. “But I … uh … I don’t think so.” She glanced up to make sure she hadn’t hurt the dear woman’s feelings.

  Her friend bent her silver-haired head not quite fast enough to hide her disappointment.

  How she hated to see Amelia so sad but, no matter how much hope loomed in the dear woman’s eyes, she doubted Sonny would appreciate an obvious attempt at matchmaking any more than she did. Still, she had hurt her new friend. “Maybe some other time,” she hedged.

  Amelia’s eyes brightened.

  Before the morning disappeared, they had finished the quilt. Amelia leaned on her walker near the front door. “If you change your mind about tonight, you don’t have to let me know. Just come.”

  “Sure.” As much as Jill appreciated Amelia’s friendship, she would not change her mind.

  Jill hardly reached the sidewalk when Helen McGee hailed her from across the street. She came running. “I’m so glad I caught you. Have you decided what to do about your furnishings?”

  “Can your auctioneer accept them at this late date?”

  Helen grinned. “Yes, but he needs to see what you have, and soon.”

  “Is tomorrow afternoon convenient?”