A Daughter's Inheritance (3 page)

The girls exchanged a brief embrace before Sophie shrugged and crossed the room. “You were very rude to my guest, Amanda. And I absolutely could not believe my eyes when I saw your carriage departing without me. I should think you’d have acquired better manners while traveling abroad these past six months.”

Amanda squared her shoulders. “My manners have always been impeccable, Sophie. If either of us has disregarded proper etiquette, it is you. I arrived at the assigned time and gave you fair warning before I departed. You failed to heed my word.”

Their long-awaited reunion was quickly turning into a disastrous affair. Fanny clapped her hands together. “I have a wonderful idea. Why don’t we go out and visit in the garden? It will be just like old times, when we were little girls. Besides, I want both of you to see my lilacs.”

“No need to go to the garden for that. I saw a vase of your lilacs sitting on the pier table in the front hall when I arrived. Do you like my new dress?” Sophie cast a glance at the billowing leg-of-mutton sleeves that made her waist appear even narrower than the fashionable handspan.

Fanny assessed Sophie’s latest purchase and nodded. It certainly wasn’t a dress she would have chosen for herself, but it suited her cousin. Intricate dark brown embroidery embellished the entire length of each sleeve and decorated the pale pink yoke before flowing downward into a simple gored skirt. The deep brown embroidered stitches were a near match to Sophie’s coffee-colored tresses, and the pale pink shade of the gown emphasized her skin tone to perfection.

Amanda shifted forward and stood. “I think we should go outdoors and enjoy the garden.” She ran a finger along the embroidered sleeve of Sophie’s dress. “Only last week you were lamenting the fact that Uncle Quincy was pouring all of his funds into helping the homeless. It appears as if you’ve managed to redirect his thinking. I’m certain you paid a dear price for this dress.”

“The price was fair,” Sophie defended. “And after a bit of cajoling, Father agreed. How could he refuse? The dress had been custom made for me.”

They all three understood that Quincy Broadmoor could have refused to pay for the gown. Likely he’d been overcome by the need to please his daughter, or Sophie had simply worn him down. Fanny suspected the latter was correct. When Sophie wanted something, she wasn’t easily deterred. Fanny waved her cousins toward the entrance hall. “Come along. I promise the lilacs I want to show you are different from the ones you’ve already seen.” She tilted her head. “They are like nothing you’ve ever before observed.”

“If you had a hand in raising them, I’m certain they are absolutely gorgeous.” Dimples creased Sophie’s cheeks, and her brown eyes sparkled as she walked alongside Fanny through the conservatory and into the garden. “I used the services of the same dressmaker to design and sew my gown for the Summer’s Eve Ball.”

Amanda slowed her step. “Truly? Then you ought not complain in the least about Uncle Quincy being tightfisted with you.”

“Easy enough for you to say, Amanda. Unlike Fanny and me, you have a mother who delights in shopping and purchasing the latest fashions for you. You live in elegance and beauty, while our home has been all but stripped of such amenities in order to finance Father’s home for the friendless. He only lets us keep a housekeeper because I refuse to do the work and need someone to lace me up in the morning and help me dress.”

“Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt you to help him with his endeavors,” Amanda countered. “At least your father cares about the impoverished.”

“I’d rather he care about our place in society, like your father does. Besides, I don’t see you down there volunteering your time.”

Fanny could barely keep pace with the flying barbs. Where had all this animosity come from? The three of them had always been dear friends. Cousins who shared everything. Even their secrets—at least most of them. Now it seemed each comment was followed either by an angry rebuttal or injured feelings.

“Has your mother completed arrangements for the ball?” Fanny stepped between her cousins, hoping to ease the banter.

Before Amanda could respond, Sophie bent forward and peeked around Fanny. “Personally, I am surprised your mother is hosting the event this year, Amanda. There are other prominent families here in Rochester who could have stepped in to host the event for one year. Did she not consider Grandfather’s medical condition?”

Amanda exhaled a loud sigh. “Grandfather specifically requested that the annual ball take place here in Rochester. And he even said he expects the family to depart for Broadmoor Island as scheduled.”

“
What?
But that’s impossible.” Fanny yanked on Amanda’s arm. “Grandfather can’t possibly ride a train to Clayton and then take a boat out to the island. He’s unable to even come downstairs to eat his meals.”

“I don’t think he was implying that he would join us, Fanny. Merely that he expected the family to maintain the annual tradition. He promised Grand-mère.”

Fanny loosened her hold on Amanda’s arm. “I’m eager to return to the island, but—”

Sophie held up a hand and interrupted her cousin. “As far as I know, you’re the only one who wants to return.”

“You enjoy our summers together at Broadmoor Island.”

Fanny looked back and forth, waiting for one of her cousins to agree. “You do, don’t you?” The Broadmoor family had been summering on their private island located in the heart of the Thousand Islands in the St. Lawrence River for as long as Fanny could remember.

“Of course we do, dear girl,” Amanda said. “Now, let’s go and look at those lilacs you promised to show us.”

But instead of her earlier excitement, Fanny’s thoughts piled atop one another in a jumble of confusion. All these years she’d believed her cousins had enjoyed the endless summer hours whiled away on their grandparents’ private island.

Her grandfather had purchased the island on a whim, an anniversary gift to Grand-mère, because the land was located in close proximity to Brockville, her Canadian home—or so he said. Grand-mère’s version of the story differed. She said George Pullman had convinced Grandfather that the seaway islands and small communities of Clayton and Alexandria Bay were destined to become the summer playground of the wealthy, and Grandfather wanted a hand in the matter.

Fanny didn’t know which story was correct, but time had proved Mr. Pullman’s assessment correct. Each summer the number of vacationers flocking to the hotels and resorts that dotted the seaway increased in number. And each summer the excitement and merriment increased, also—at least that’s what Fanny had thought until today.

The three cousins silently marched toward the far end of the garden. The profusion of pale purple, deep lavender, and milky white blooms swayed in the spring breeze and filled the air with their perfume. Unlike the sweet fragrance and silent beauty of the lilacs, their conversation had been a mishmash of fragmented comments and angry retorts. Before her cousins left this afternoon, Fanny hoped they would regain their former unity of spirit.

Moments after Amanda and Sophie had departed, Fanny raced upstairs. She slowed her pace in the upper hallway and tiptoed to the door of her grandfather’s bedroom. Hazel sat near his bedside reading from the newspaper an update on the Cuban war. From what Fanny could hear, the paper reported that Spanish officers stated they were receiving a higher rate of pay than their counterparts in Spain and had declared their willingness to indefinitely remain and fight for Spain on Cuban soil. Silly men! Why would anyone want to go and fight in another country? For that matter, why would anyone want to participate in war at all? Thoughts of dying young men clouded her mind. She was pleased when Hazel folded the paper.

Fanny quietly approached and touched her grandfather’s veined hand. “How are you feeling this afternoon?”

His color remained pale, but his eyes were clear. He motioned her toward the chair. “Sit and take Hazel’s place. You can read to me.”

Hazel handed Fanny the newspaper. “If you’re going to be here for a while, I’ll go up to the third floor and complete my chores.”

“Yes, of course. Take all the time you need.” Fanny glanced down the page, hoping to find something to read other than war reports.

“Well, are you going to read?”

Her grandfather had never been a patient man, and his illness hadn’t changed that particular trait. “Let’s see,” she murmured. Tracing her forefinger down the page, Fanny scanned the report of a body being found in the river, the description of a steamer collision, the account of a bank president who had killed himself, and a tale of destruction due to an earthquake in Montana. Was there nothing cheery or uplifting in the news these days? She snapped the pages and refolded the paper.

With an air of authority, she placed the paper on the bedside table and folded her hands in her lap. “Let’s visit instead.”

Her grandfather cast a longing glance at the paper. He did enjoy his newspaper, but he didn’t object. “What shall we talk about? The war in Cuba, perhaps?”

She giggled. “You can save that conversation for Uncle Jonas. Did Hazel tell you that Amanda and Sophie came to visit this afternoon?”

He nodded. “When I asked where you were, she mentioned your cousins were expected.”

“If I had known you were awake, we would have all come upstairs for a few minutes.”

Wisps of white hair circled his head like a lopsided halo. “I’ve been awake only a short time. You can tell me all about your visit with the girls. I’ll see them the next time they come.” A convulsive cough followed the rasping words.

Fanny jumped up and poured water from the cut-glass pitcher sitting on the table near his bedside. She offered the glass. He coughed again and then swallowed a gulp of the liquid. “Better?” She waited until he nodded and then returned the glass. Grandfather was adamant: they were not to make a fuss over his coughing spells. And though it was difficult, Fanny adhered to his wishes. “Let’s see. Where shall I begin?”

He grinned at her and winked. “At the beginning.”

She and Grandfather had exchanged those same words many times over the years. It had become their own private joke, and she was pleased he remembered. Scooting her chair closer to the side of his bed, she recounted the afternoon’s events—at least a goodly portion of them. She didn’t mention the barbs that had been exchanged early in the afternoon, for Grandfather didn’t need to be bothered with their childish discord. He appeared pleased when Fanny mentioned Sophie’s fine appearance and her beautiful gown. “She was absolutely radiant in her pink dress.”

Hamilton patted his granddaughter’s hand. “I’m pleased to hear Quincy purchased Sophie a new gown. I’d be happier if he’d devote a bit of time to her, though. From what I’ve been told, Quincy has been spending all of his time and money on the Home for the Friendless, which he’s determined to make successful.”

His response surprised Fanny. She considered her grandfather a generous man, someone who was willing to aid the less fortunate. Not with his time, of course, but certainly with his money. “You contribute to many charities, Grandfather.”

“Of course I do. But Quincy isn’t using wise judgment right now. He’s allowing his emotions to rule his good sense. Marie kept Quincy on an even keel. Since her death, he seems intent upon forging ahead with these plans for the less fortunate.”

“Perhaps it’s his way of dealing with his grief. If my father had had such a project, he might still be with us.” She frowned and looked away.

“You are right, of course. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cause you distress.”

“It’s just that losing loved ones is so very hard.”

“Your grandmother and I always tried to ease your pain.”

Fanny nodded. “And you did. I could not have asked for a better home or more love. Still. . .” She let the words trail off.

“Still, it would have been better to have grown up with a mother and father at your side. I know that full well, Fanny dear. We never hoped to replace them in your life but rather to comfort you—ourselves, as well, for we had lost a son most dear.”

“Of course. I sometimes forget that,” Fanny admitted. She forced a smile. “I’m sure that Uncle Quincy will not succumb to sadness as did my father.”

“He needs to think more objectively about the use of his time and energy. He needs to think about business and family.” Grandfather turned loose of her hand and rubbed his cheek. “Why am I discussing this with you? Tell me more about your visit with Amanda and Sophie.”

“Amanda said you insisted upon Aunt Victoria and Uncle Jonas hosting the annual Summer’s Eve Ball and that you expect the family to depart in July for Broadmoor Island in spite of your illness.” She leaned forward and pressed closer. “I won’t leave you here alone, Grandfather. You know Grand-mère insisted I return to school when she was ill.” Her forehead scrunched into a frown, and she wagged her finger. “As much as I love Broadmoor Island, I won’t leave you.”

Her grandfather brushed an auburn curl from her forehead and smiled. “Never fear. You won’t be required to leave me behind, dear Fanny.”

3

Saturday, June 12, 1897