A Hearth in Candlewood (28 page)

Zachary Breckenwith was seated behind his desk. When she entered the room, he stopped writing, looked up, and set his pen aside before rising to greet her. ‘‘I was just penning a note for Jeremy to take to Hill House asking you to stop by. Please, have a seat.’’

After she sat down, very gingerly, he followed suit. ‘‘I take it you enjoyed your ride the other day with the Misses Mitchell,’’ he said with a very uncustomary twinkle in his eyes.

Her cheeks flushed warm. ‘‘And the news of my ride spread all the way to the county seat?’’

He chuckled. ‘‘No. I came home by packet boat on Monday and spied the three of you. It’s quite interesting how far one can see from the canal when standing on the cabin roof of a packet boat, especially when a rider is wearing something that catches the sun. The female travelers were quite intrigued and asked me if I knew the identity of the woman who was dressed in silk and went riding alone with not one but two male companions.’’

‘‘And your reply?’’ Annoyed that she had been spotted and discussed by strangers, Emma was duly unsettled that he thought the incident was humorous and that he was responding to the whole situation as if he had set aside his role as her lawyer to become something . . . more?

He laughed at her question. ‘‘Client privilege. On all accounts. I trust the sisters enjoyed their stay?’’ he asked, reminding her that he found Opal and Garnet as delightful as she did.

‘‘Completely. I just saw them off. They were disappointed you were out of town and said they hoped to see you on their next visit. I was on my way home when I thought I’d stop to see if you’d returned. May I assume you have the information I requested?’’ she asked, anxious to learn the content of Enoch Leonard’s will before telling him about her upcoming meeting with Mr. Langhorne.

He nodded. While he rifled through his papers to find the will, she described the situation between the Leonard brothers as it now stood, grateful for the confidentiality he had mentioned a moment ago. ‘‘Unfortunately, since I asked you to get a copy of the will, James and Andrew still haven’t resolved their differences.’’

‘‘And Widow Leonard is still staying with you at Hill House?’’ he asked as he found the document he had been searching for.

‘‘Yes.’’

He handed her the copy of the will and assumed a more serious demeanor as he slipped into his more formal and familiar role as her lawyer. ‘‘Unlike most people who wait until they’re on their deathbeds, he had this will drawn up some time before his death. As I recall, that was in August of 1833. I’m leaving again tomorrow with Aunt Elizabeth for a visit with relatives in Bounty, and I thought I might even go on to New York City for a spell to see some old friends. I don’t expect we’ll return for a good month, at least. Since the will isn’t very lengthy, if you have time, you might want to read it over here so I can answer any questions you might have. Unfortunately, I doubt you’ll find anything in the will that might prove helpful to you.’’

Dismayed to learn he would be leaving before her meeting with Mr. Langhorne, Emma turned all of her attention to the will she held in her hand. She felt odd about reading it, despite the fact it was now a public document. She focused on her good intentions, started reading the will, but skipped over the beginning that attested to the man’s sanity. By skimming over survey details, she was able to quickly verify that the present ownership of the land was in accordance with the dictates of the will.

The specific bequests to Aunt Frances, who had signed away her dower rights, were not unusual. She was permitted to keep her clothing and personal possessions, as well as ‘‘the bed linens, kitchen utensils, and a chair of her own choosing.’’

The part of the will that interested Emma the most was the section detailing the man’s very precise wishes for the care of his wife after his demise:

I hereby direct my sons to be responsible for the happiness, welfare,
and general well-being of their mother, said Frances Carter Leonard.
For six months of every year of her widowhood, each son shall provide
her with a separate, furnished room for sleeping, ten yards of fabric,
seven spools of thread, one cord of wood, two tins of licorice root, and
such foodstuffs as she deems desirable. Out of respect and with gratitude
for her many years of faithful devotion and care, they shall likewise
return the same tender affection she has given to them, that she
might spend her final years living in comfort, peace, and harmony
.

Struck by the obvious affection and concern he had for his wife, Emma was also moved that he had known his sons well enough to remind them, implicitly, to get along with each other. She struggled to find her voice. ‘‘He cared for his wife very deeply,’’ she murmured.

‘‘And provided for her accordingly,’’ the lawyer noted. ‘‘Most men, however, are very precise in terms of assigning specific obligations to the grown children who are left to care for the surviving widow, assuming they don’t wait until their last dying moments to dictate a will and have the time to give the matter some thought.’’

Troubled by the difficulties Aunt Frances was experiencing, Emma ran her fingertips across the document. ‘‘When it comes to caring for their widowed mothers, grown children should know what their obligations are,’’ she offered, ever grateful she did not have to face a similar problem with her own sons. ‘‘They shouldn’t need a will to tell them what they should or should not do.’’

‘‘It’s been my experience that with few exceptions, adult children generally honor all of their obligations to an aging parent, especially if it happens to be their mother.’’

‘‘Perhaps,’’ she said. Unfortunately, both James and Andrew were clearly following the letter of their father’s will. The foodstuffs they had delivered to Hill House were proof of that. Aunt Frances’s final years, however, were proving to be neither peaceful nor harmonious, and she wondered if that might be something to be pursued legally so that James and Andrew had no alternative but to compromise and reconcile.

‘‘What if they don’t?’’ Emma asked. ‘‘What if the children do some things but not everything the will calls for them to do?’’

He frowned. ‘‘If they don’t, I daresay few widows have the wherewithal to force their children to abide by the terms of a will. I’ve never had such a case.’’

Startled by his words, she stilled her fingers and held the will firmly in her hand. ‘‘Never? Even if the will clearly states one thing and the grown children ignore it? Let me see . . .’’ She studied the document carefully. ‘‘Here. It says the two sons should make sure their mother spends her ‘final years in comfort, peace, and harmony.’ What if they don’t?’’

She did not wait for him to respond. ‘‘To my mind, by continuing their disagreement, James and Andrew are filling their mother’s life with discord and disappointment. Her life is neither peaceful nor harmonious,’’ she charged, giving voice to the private thoughts she had had only moments ago. ‘‘If it were, she never would have run off to Hill House.’’

He let out a deep breath. ‘‘While all that you say about Widow Leonard’s situation may be true, as deplorable and disagreeable as it may be, the prospect of winning a lawsuit on that basis would be next to nil, in my opinion,’’ he added. ‘‘Are you suggesting perhaps Widow Leonard is considering filing such a lawsuit? If so, let me caution you most sincerely, her suit will not prevail. You’ll have to rely on some other method to get her sons to solve their disagreement, particularly in light of your own legal difficulties,’’ he added without further comment.

Emma’s heart sank. Despite her hopes, she respected and trusted his opinion enough to face the harsh reality that the will would be of no help to her at all. She folded up the will and sighed. ‘‘No, I’m not suggesting a lawsuit. I’m just surprised. It seems to me that if a widow’s children were not providing for her as they were required to do according to their father’s will, she should find remedy under the law, if need be, and the law should respond favorably to her needs.’’

‘‘I’m not suggesting she can’t,’’ he said. ‘‘For the sake of argument, let’s put aside concerns about her happiness or her general well-being. Let’s say her sons were not providing some of the items that were listed, the wood and the fabric, for example. The court would force them to do so, but that’s assuming she’d even entertain the notion of a lawsuit in the first place. Most widows in that situation don’t, and there are several reasons why they don’t.’’

‘‘Why? What reasons?’’ Emma asked.

He shrugged. ‘‘Shame, for one,’’ he replied. ‘‘Most widows wouldn’t want it known that their own children weren’t providing for them, if the children were capable of doing so. Lawsuits are in the public domain, and there’s no greater fodder for gossipmongers than a lawsuit of this nature.’’

She frowned. If Aunt Frances had been feisty enough to run away, Emma was fairly certain she would not have let the shame of a lawsuit stop her from filing it to force her sons to reconcile.

‘‘Shame aside, why else wouldn’t a widow pursue her rights under the law?’’ she asked, then realized the answer almost the moment she posed the question. ‘‘Funds, I suppose.’’

‘‘Exactly. Depending on the people and the obligations involved, a lawsuit of that nature could be quite lengthy and very expensive, far beyond the means of widows like Widow Leonard.’’

‘‘Very sad, but very true.’’ Although Aunt Frances had no funds to pursue a lawsuit, Emma would have easily provided them. Unfortunately, given Mr. Breckenwith’s opinion that the lawsuit would not prevail, that mattered little.

She held up the will. ‘‘May I keep this?’’ she asked, although it probably had no value to her now at all.

‘‘It’s yours. In all truth, I wish I could have been more helpful,’’ he admitted.

‘‘No, you’ve been very helpful,’’ she countered, impressed by both his knowledge and his eagerness to share it with her.

‘‘May I ask if you’ve decided to proceed with the sale of that parcel of land to your mother-in-law or given any thought at all to pursuing other options, should the owner of Hill House decide not to sell it to you?’’

‘‘No, not yet. But soon. I just need to square away a few other matters first,’’ Emma assured him. She hesitated, half tempted to tell him about her upcoming meeting with Mr. Langhorne and her suspicions that the man had learned about her not having legal title to Hill House. But ultimately she decided against it. Given the subtle shift in their relationship—which was all too tangible today—she was not prepared to deal with the prospect that he might postpone his trip for personal, rather than professional, reasons.

In all truth, she had struggled long and hard against the fact that there was nothing she could do to convince the owner of Hill House to sell the property to her. She had also struggled with her decision not to tell any of the others about the possibility she might lose Hill House, forcing all of them to leave. Whether or not that decision was right or fair also continued to trouble her.

If indeed she did lose Hill House, however, she had to cling to the fervent belief that His will for her and those she loved would unfold, all in His time, and all for His purpose.

Not hers.

And only if she learned how to truly submit her will to His.

30

T
IME PASSED BY QUICKLY AT
H
ILL
H
OUSE
over the next several days, but not routinely or easily.

In less than a week, James and Andrew Leonard would arrive to air their differences. In precisely one hour, Mr. Langhorne would appear to keep his ten-o’clock appointment.

Emma was ill-prepared for both events, preoccupied by more pressing but mundane matters. Seated behind the desk in her office, she rested her elbows on the desktop and pressed her fingertips to her temples. If she had any hope of appearing calm and being competent during her meeting with Mr. Langhorne, she needed to clear her mind.

The renegade chicken was proving to be the winner in a frustrating but oddly comical game of hide-and-seek that made her plans for having this particular chicken for dinner seem unlikely, at least anytime soon. For the moment, she set that problem on a back burner.

The injury to Ditty’s mother’s hand was not healing as quickly as they had hoped, and the young woman’s return to her job had been delayed indefinitely. Emma turned that concern over to prayer.

The arrival of two unexpected guests over the weekend had kept Emma working morning to night. Though still aching and sore from the extra work, she had reason to rejoice: the guests had left this morning after breakfast.

With her mind now free from those worries, she steepled her hands and rested her chin on her fingertips. Breathing slowly, she whispered no words of praise or made any requests; instead, she quietly welcomed the gentle peace of His presence and love into her spirit.

She opened her eyes when the grandfather clock struck the quarter hour and quickly surveyed the top of her desk. The guest register lay on the right side at the base of an oil lamp. On the left, where she normally kept a small vase of roses behind her box of writing supplies, a sampler no larger than the palm of her hand displayed a grand message: God is love.

Once she was satisfied there was no speck of dust anywhere and no smudge on the wooden desk, she smoothed the fresh paper on the blotter in front of her. She had no doubt Mr. Langhorne was coming to berate her for deliberately lying to him about selling the parcel of land he had been after. In turn, she would have to tell him again that she would not sell him that land. Not today. Not ever.

Assuming that he knew she did not hold legal title to Hill House, she suspected that his true purpose for coming here was to force her to do exactly that by using the knowledge of it as leverage. Giving in to blackmail of any kind, however, was abhorrent to her very nature.

She was also determined not to waste the little time she had before the man arrived on fear of what he might know or do today. Convinced her map held clues to Mr. Langhorne’s purpose for investing in the surrounding area, which now involved at least Andrew Leonard, if not his brother, she retrieved the map from a side drawer and unfolded it. She spread the map out on her desk and made sure north was at the top so the map was oriented correctly in hopes she might discover his purpose for wanting the Leonard land, too.