Heiress (43 page)

She cried out and Bennett leaped for her, but Lewis flung her to the floor then slammed his beefy fist into Bennett’s face.

Bennett spun, slammed onto Foster’s desk, and hit the floor.

By the time he popped back up, Lewis had her by the hair. He dragged Jinx to her feet. She clawed at his hands, pain needling through her body. “Please, Lewis—”

“I told you to shut up. You talked enough today.” He wound his arm around her neck, cutting off her breath, pressed the gun to her chest.

Bennett held up his hands, his chest rising, falling, so much in his eyes she wanted to cry. “Please,” he said. “Please don’t hurt her. I’ll do whatever you want.”

Lewis dragged her over to the desk. Pushed her into Foster’s chair. “Open the safe.”

“What safe?”

He pressed the gun to her head. “Press the lever under the desk drawer.”

She felt under the desk, found an indentation. Pressed it.

The front side panel of Foster’s desk popped open. Inside were the deeds to their home, his yacht, his motorcars, and a stack of stock certificates, T-bills, and bonds.

Foster’s net worth.

She took them out, lay them upon the desk. “I didn’t know about these.”

Lewis grabbed them all, shoved them into his suit pocket. “Get up.”

She managed to stand and he pushed her over to the fireplace, next to her mother and Rosie. Bennett, he made kneel.

“Me and Flora had a plan. We were going to go out West, start a new life. She was going to be a showgirl, maybe I’d buy a little hotel. Have people working for me for a change.” He kicked Bennett, hard, in the face, and he fell back, onto the stone hearth.

“Bennett!” Jinx made a leap for him, but Lewis grabbed her, tossed her into her mother. Phoebe locked her arms around Rosie.

Lewis’s eyes narrowed at Phoebe. “Foster wasn’t always like this, stealing other men’s women. Not until he married your daughter. Not until she turned him away—”

“That’s not true! Foster never loved me. He wanted Esme, not me.”

“And he would have had her too, if—”

Someone slammed into him, from behind, tackling him hard onto the floor. The dueling pistol skittered out of his hand. He roared and pushed his assailant off. The man tumbled back, and only then did Jinx recognize him.

Oliver.

He swung at Lewis, but the man had the girth of a bear and his punch lifted Oliver off his feet, dropped him hard.

Esme had run at Jinx, now grabbed her hand to pull her away. Jinx shook her away, lunged for Rosie.

Her daughter wore a wild-eyed look, and shrank into the corner. Slapped at Jinx’s hand.

“Rosie!”

Oliver rounded on Lewis, took another shot in the jaw, but held his ground and launched himself at Lewis, tackling him back into a Louis XVI chair. It splintered under their weight.

A shot shredded the sound of Lewis slamming Oliver to the floor.

Lilly stood at the open door, the other dueling pistol pointed at the ceiling. “Get off him.” She pointed the pistol at Lewis. “Trust me, where I come from, they taught me how to use this.” But her voice shook.

Lewis got up and a smile slid up his face, something sickly. “But they didn’t teach you how many bullets are in a dueling pistol, did they, little girl?” He took a step toward her.

Lilly glanced at her mother, all thirteen years in her eyes as Lewis closed in.

Jinx wanted to leap too, when Lewis reached her, but Esme was already there, tackling her daughter, yanking her from Lewis’s grip, even as he grabbed the useless pistol and tossed it away.

Jinx turned, searched the floor for the other one.

Bennett sprawled on the marble hearth, blood pooling under his head. No—oh, God, please—She ran to him as her mother began to cry. “Please, leave us alone!”

Rosie stayed locked in the corner.

Jinx reached Bennett and pushed her hands under his head, searching for the wound. “Bennett, wake up, please, Bennett.”

She put his head on her lap, not sure where the blood came from, and looked up.

Her heart caught in her throat. Esme stood in front of Lilly, wearing the look she’d seen the day she’d stood up to their father, the day she’d run away to be with Oliver.

Lewis had produced a knife and flicked it at her. It nicked it into her chest, near her heart. A bead of blood rose, trickled into her dress.

Oliver didn’t move, caught five feet away. Jinx couldn’t look at the agony on his face.

“You,” Esme said softly, not a hint of tremor in her voice. “I recognize you. You were there the day Oliver’s apartment burned.” Her voice lowered to a wisp that sounded less of fear and more of fury. “You—you set the fire, didn’t you? You thought Oliver was there and tried to kill him.”

Lewis stiffened. “He was supposed to be there. I saw him go in. Saw his light flicker on.”

“People died.” Her breath seemed to be leaking out.

Lewis advanced, and Esme cried out. “Shut up.”

“No.” She choked out. “It was you. You killed Foster too. You learned it from him—eliminate the man in the way. Oliver. Foster—”

“Shut up!” He grasped her throat, his fingers digging into her flesh.

Esme clawed at his fingers. “But what you don’t know is that Flora would have never married you. You weren’t good enough for her.”

Her mother had crept behind him, and Jinx wanted to shout when she saw that she’d scavenged a leg from the destroyed chair. No, Mother—

“The police are probably wringing the truth out of Flora right now. She’s probably singing your name all over the tombs—”

“Shut up!”

Phoebe slammed the leg into Lewis’s head. He howled and rounded on her, but she launched herself at Esme, her arms around her.

Lewis roared and tackled the both of them.

Lilly screamed as Oliver dove at the mass.

“Under me, Jinx—” Bennett came to life beneath her. He pulled out the pistol he’d fallen on, still loaded, and shoved it into her hands.

Jinx hit her feet just as Lewis straddled Oliver, both hands at his neck. Oliver clawed at him, fighting for his breath.

Thank you, Foster, for the one good thing he’d forced upon her.

Skeet shooting lessons.

Jinx aimed and hit Lewis square in the chest. He tumbled back, off Oliver, and hit the parquet floor with a thud.

Blood blossomed out of his chest.

Esme was weeping. Jinx stared at her in horror as Esme bent over Phoebe, rocking back and forth, her hands covered in blood. “No, please, Mother…”

Jinx dropped the gun. Stumbled over to her mother. Esme’s hand clutched her mother’s neck, blood pouring between her fingers, as Phoebe turned pale.

Lewis’s knife had slashed through her bare skin—skin that would have been covered, even boned with a high collar if not for the new styles.

Jinx fell to her knees. “Mother, why did you do that?”

Behind her, she heard Amelia yelling, heard Lilly weeping. Rosie had stumbled over, now cupped her hands over her mouth, shaking. Bennett pressed a hand to the cut on the back of his head, knelt behind her.

Phoebe took Jinx’s hand, touched her other to Esme’s. She looked at her daughters. “I love you. Both.” She nodded then, a whisper of a smile upon her face. “I love you both.”

“Mother, don’t you die on me. Not yet,” Esme said, her voice tight. “Hold on.”

Oliver had taken off his shirt, now pressed it against Phoebe’s wound, but she’d started to fade. Her gaze becamedistant, her breaths shallow.

Oh, God, please, no…

But as Esme wept into her bosom, Phoebe’s blood stained the parquet floor, and as Jinx gripped her cold hand…she slipped away.

Jinx finally leaned down and pressed a kiss to her mother’s pale cheek.

“I know, Mother. I know.”

“Jinx, it’s too cold for you to be standing out here like this.”

She expected his admonitions, of course, but didn’t move as Bennett came up behind her andput his hands on her shoulders.

“You can’t see every ship off. You don’t even know if Jack’s on it.”

She refused to let his words sting. He didn’t mean them to be cruel, but—

“What if he is? What if he’s one of those doughboys climbing the gangplank, looking back to see if there’s a familiar face in the crowd, loving him, praying for him as he goes into battle? I need to be here, Ben, just in case.”

His hands tightened on her shoulders. “You’re shivering.”

“I’m fine. They’re nearly finished anyway, the last have already boarded.” She’d gotten as close as she could to Pier 88 and the four-stack troop ship as the three thousand-plus soldiers filed on. She hadn’t really expected to see their son. But perhaps he’d see her.

Know that she missed him so desperately she could hardly breathe with the sorrow.

The November wind had long ago slipped under her mink coat, turned her legs to ice. Still, the baby in her womb kept her warm, flopping around even at five months so that he had the ability to turn her seasick.

“I’m sorry I didn’t find him.” Bennett said it every time, so often that she knew misery burned through him also. He’d never helped his son grow up.

Maybe never would.

Jinx squeezed his hand, unable to find the words.

So much they’d lost that day. Jack. Mother.

So much she’d also gained. Bennett. Esme and Lilly.

Freedom.

She hadn’t even cared about the scandal, her plummet from society’s register. She let her seat at the opera go, put her home up for sale. She and Rosie and Bennett moved into an apartment at 927 Fifth Ave, at the new Warren and Wetmore building.

Bennett managed to maneuver Foster’s stocks into Jinx’s name, despite the suspicion surrounding his death.

Flora St. John headlined at the
Follies
all summer long.

And Oliver and Esme finally married in a ceremony that Jinx attended as the matron of honor. She waited at the altar of Trinity Episcopal Church and smiled at her sister as she wheeled their father up the aisle.

He’d looked up twice during the service, and once, even smiled.

The gangplank began to draw in, the soldiers standing at the rail. Jinx scanned their too-young faces, most of them too far away for her to make out.

“Did you see him?” Esme joined her at the rail, her hands gloved, her long hair cut short now. “I’m sorry I’m late—we had a problem with one of the presses.”

“Did you get the paper out?”

“On time.” She pressed her hand upon Jinx’s. “I hope you don’t mind. Lilly and Rosie wanted to come.”

Jinx nodded, turned and watched as the girls exited Oliver’s Studebaker. Rosie had cut her hair even shorter since Jack’s disappearance. Lilly, however, still wore hers long, in two dark brown braids, the Crow in her. Still, they looked like sisters, in their sable coats down past their knees, their cloche hats. Behind them, the New York skyline caught the morning sun in the windows. A thousand shiny eyes watching their boys leave for war.

Oliver exited behind them, his face grim as he watched them walk toward the rail. “Oliver should forgive himself for Mother’s death,” Jinx said. “It wasn’t his fault.”

Esme tightened her hold on Jinx’s hand. “He has a servant’s heart. He can’t get past the fact that his father spent his life taking care of us and yet he failed.”

“He’s a good man, Esme.”

Lilly and Rosie joined them. Rosie stood beside Jinx, not looking at her. Someday, perhaps, Rosie would forgive her mother.

Maybe when Jinx forgave herself. Maybe it was enough, for now, knowing that God had forgiven her. In fact, only that held her together, convinced her that someday, yes, she’d see Jack again.

No one spoke as the lines were cast off, the departure horn sounding, a sad wail reverberating through the harbor, right down to her bones. Her eyes filled. “It’s the not knowing that’s the hardest.” She leaned back against Bennett’s chest. “All I do is pray that the war will end, that he’ll come home.”

“‘O taste and see that the Lord is good: blessed is the man that trusteth in Him,’ ” Esme said.

Jinx drew in her words, relished them, allowed them to nurture her.
Blessed is the man that trusteth in Him.

She watched as the troop ship slipped away from the pier. “Come back to me, Jack. I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be waiting right here for you.”

What if you could buy anything you wanted, at any time? What if you had servants to wait on your every desire…had numerous glorious homes, clothing, and jewelry…and could take extended vacations on a whim? Would you be happy? Or is there something deeper about life that money cannot buy?

In our pursuit of happiness here in America, sometimes I wonder if we’ve forgotten what true happiness is. Could it be something simpler? What would we give to attain it?

This question drove me as I researched the extravagance of the Gilded Age of America. During a time when most workers averaged five hundred dollars a year in salary, there thrived a portion of society—the elite Mrs. Astor’s 400—who had such breathtaking wealth that they would have dinner parties costing in excess of $250,000 (and employ half the city doing so.) This elite set—the Carnegies and Astors and Vanderbilts and Rockerfellers and Roosevelts and JP Morgans—ran our economy and adhered to a set of society rules that rivaled that of the royal courts of England.

But under all the glitter and gold simmered stories of adultery, murder, embezzlement and unrest. People who weren’t satisfied. People who thirsted for more out of a life that had already given them “everything.”

I believe it’s because they—like all of us—were searching for love. They simply didn’t realize they couldn’t buy it.

Into this backdrop, to explore this world, I set Jinx and Esme. Patterned after the story of Jacob and Esau, I wanted to create two daughters of wealth and power and portray the way each handled the deep longings of her heart. I also wanted to explore what it meant to be truly blessed. It is possible to be blessed in poverty? In wealth?

I believe it is. It’s just a matter of stepping back and understanding the security, the belonging, the richness of being a child of God. Of being an Heiress of the Kingdom.