Love Finds a Home (Love Comes Softly Series #8) (14 page)

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find a new place of service. It might take me a while to sort it all out--
but with God's help, I'll do it.

With her resolve firmly in place, Belinda rose to move from the garden back inside the manor. A wonderful peace had settled over her. At least now she knew what she would do next. She would go home--back to family and friends--and find some way to serve God in her own town.

Belinda said nothing of her plans to the staff. She had much to do. There would be all the sorting and packing, and she had to make train reservations and write to Luke.
Perhaps . . . just perhaps,
she thought,
he will be able to use a rather out-of-practice nurse.
She felt it would take her a while to get back into formal nursing again--to be able to put in a full day's work.
But I can do it. I'm strong and healthy. There is no reason I can't soon be a help to the medical clinic.

She certainly wouldn't need all the fancy silks and satins to go back with her to her hometown. Folks would think she was putting on airs if she were to be dressed in so fancy a manner. Belinda wanted no such distance between her and the other townspeople.
I'll have to find out what can be done with these dresses,
she thought.

But the first task was the letter. Belinda sat down at the small writing desk and pulled her stationery forward. She had just dipped her pen for the first stroke when there was a knock on the door. Ella entered when Belinda called, "Come in."

"Windsor asked me to fetch you, miss," Ella apologized. "It seems the magistrate wishes to see you in the library. Windsor is preparing tea."

Belinda frowned as she left the room and made her way to the library. She assumed that this man had something to do with the affairs of the late Mrs. Stafford-Smyth.
But what have I

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to do with that? Do they have some questions concerning the death? I was, after all, the nurse--though I was not present exactly at the time.
Still, Belinda realized, if there were questions, it was logical to ask the attending medical person.

Nervously she smoothed her gown and made her way down the stairs. She found Mrs. Stafford-Smyth's attorney seated at the big oak desk in the library. He looked quite at home there. Belinda had seen him on more than one occasion.

He rose as Belinda entered the room and motioned her to a chair before him. Then he turned to acknowledge a second gentleman who sat in a chair by the fireplace. "Mr. Brown is our witness," he explained, which made no sense at all to Belinda.

Belinda settled herself in silence and waited for Mr. Dalgardy to begin.

He cleared his throat and tapped his finger on the oak. Then he looked at Belinda over the rims of his glasses and cleared his throat again.

"We have the matter of the will," he said without emotion. "It is time for us to take some action."

Belinda nodded, again wondering what it had to do with her. And then the man began to read in a droning, monotonous voice, legal jargon and long, strange words that meant absolutely nothing to Belinda.

Why is he reading this to me?
Belinda wondered.
I don't understand a thing he is saying--and it really has nothing to do with me.

There was a pause in the reading while Windsor brought in the tea service. Belinda poured and the reading went on.

Eventually a few items began to make sense to Belinda. There was a generous amount stated for both Franz and Pierre. The attorney assured Belinda that he would care for the matter, while she watched him with wide-eyed puzzlement. There were certain items left to each member of the household staff

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and a provision made for their future. That made sense. Belinda had been sure Mrs. Stafford-Smyth would not leave her staff in need.

And then the man read on. "And to Miss Belinda Davis, my loyal nurse and dear friend, I leave the remainder of my estate in its entirety. . . ." The voice went on but Belinda heard no more. She held her breath and leaned forward in her chair, her hands turning cold.

"Why, whatever does she mean?" she managed to ask. The attorney stopped reading to look at the girl.

"She never discussed it with you?" he asked simply.

"No," said Belinda, shaking her head emphatically. "No, she never said a word."

"She means--just as it says--that to you she leaves everything that hasn't been previously disposed of."

"But . . . but . . . what is that? I don't understand. . . ." "I'm afraid it is much more than we can go into just now,"

answered the magistrate. "The house, the investments, the bank

account. We will specify all of it in detail for you in due time." "The house?" gasped Belinda. "This
house?"

The man nodded. He seemed to be rather enjoying the effect he was having on the young woman.

"This house." He looked as though he was having a difficult time keeping the composure befitting his position.

"Oh my!" said Belinda, her hands to her lips as she leaned back helplessly in her chair. "Oh my. There must be . . . there must be some mistake. Why, whatever in the world would I do with . . . with this house?"

She closed her eyes and pressed her hand to her forehead, hoping that the room would soon stop spinning.

117

THIRTEEN

Decisions

"I . . . I think I need a few minutes alone," Belinda managed, and it looked like the elder solicitor smiled in spite of himself.

"Of course," he answered in a fatherly tone. "Of course. I hadn't realized all this would be such a shock to you. We'll come back tomorrow. . . say, two o'clock?"

Belinda managed a nod in agreement.

"Windsor will show you out," she said numbly and fumbled for the doorknob.

Belinda fled to the coolness of the gardens, her head spinning, her brain dazed. She sank onto a white wrought-iron bench beneath a lilac bush and stared unseeingly ahead, trying to clear her muddled brain so she could sort through what she had just been told.

This bush was covered with blossoms this spring,
she murmured to herself. Such a strange thought under the circumstances. Belinda reached a hand to the greenery, fingering a leaf.
There's nothing here now . . . nothing. You wouldn't even know it had ever bloomed. Thomas has clipped all the seedpods.

"How time changes," she whispered. "Seasons come and go . . . life begins and stops. A person has such a short time to make any impression on the world."

It could have been a morbid thought, but to Belinda it

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began her thinking process toward a plan. It helped her to put things into proper perspective. It helped to clear her foggy brain.

"And now I have this . . . this to contend with," she said, speaking aloud in the quiet garden. "I was going home. Had my mind all made up, and now. . . now I'm trapped. . . there's no other way to say it." Belinda paused to stare mournfully at the lilac bush.

"She . . . she didn't intend for it to be a burden," she continued. "Aunt Virgie didn't mean to force me into a difficult circumstance. She thought she was doing me a favor. . . giving me an honor. But it isn't so. I don't want her house . . . or her money. I never wanted it. I stayed because she was here and needed me. And now. . . now I am still not free to go."

Belinda lowered her head into her hands and began to weep. "Oh, dear," she cried. "Oh, dear Lord. What do I do now? What do I do now?"

With heavy steps and a heavier heart, Belinda found her way to her room. She sat numbly by the window with her Bible. A favorite psalm helped to quiet her heart, and then she prayed. When she arose she washed her face, made sure her hair was in place, and went to the north parlor, where she rang the bell and waited for Windsor. She felt a bit shaky inside, but her lips were firm in determination.

"Windsor, summon the staff, please," she ordered.

It was only a matter of minutes before they all stood before her. Belinda hardly knew where to begin.

"I suppose you know that an attorney paid us a visit today," she began. There was no reaction, and Belinda knew that the household had been well aware of the fact.

"Well, he brought some startling news," Belinda went on. "He read a portion of. . . of Madam's will."

Silence.

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"In it she made provision for each of you. I'm sure that the matter will be presented to each of you at the proper time and circumstance. The will also said that . . . that she left the house and. . . and other things . . . to me."

No one in the room seemed surprised. There were a few murmurs of acceptance, even approval.

"Well, I have no idea--none whatsoever--of how to run a house such as this. But together we'll manage somehow. I just felt that . . . that each of you deserved to know how things stand. You all will have your positions . . . as in the past. There will be no dismissals or rearranging of duties . . . unless any of you prefer to find something else."

Belinda looked nervously around the circle. Heads nodded, and she saw relief on some faces.

"Well . . . that's all I have to say . . . for the moment," she concluded. "You may . . . may. . ." Belinda floundered. How did one excuse the staff?

"Thank you," she finally said. "That is all."

The staff understood they could now leave and moved toward the door. All but Windsor. He stood at stiff attention until the others had left and then approached Belinda. With a slight bow he addressed her. "Would you care for tea now. . . m'lady?"

Belinda had never been so addressed before. She understood immediately what Windsor intended. She was now the mistress of the manor. He and the staff would treat her accordingly. Her word was now rule.

The idea made her flustered. It was hard for her to find her tongue. "Why . . . why . . . yes, please. That would be fine," she managed to answer.

Belinda accepted the tea from the hand of the butler a few moments later. She didn't feel like sipping tea. She felt even less

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like tasting the tea biscuits that accompanied it, but she went through the motions.

Am I to sit each day, pretending to be something I'm not?
she thought, sorrow and frustration churning through her. I
will go stark mad. No company. No duties. Nothing of worth accomplished. How will I ever bear such a life?

Belinda shook her head sadly, set aside her teacup, and slowly went back to her room.

The two attorneys returned the next day as promised. After time with Belinda, during which more details of the will were explained, the entire staff was called so that the portion of the will outlining their future provisions could be read to them. Belinda noticed some tears and heard such comments as, "She was so thoughtful," "Such a dear thing," and "My, how we will miss her."

Belinda had gone into a new kind of shock. On her young and inexperienced shoulders fell the task of running a large estate. An estate she had not asked for--one she did not wish to have. Yet she knew she could not walk out on the new responsibility after having been entrusted with it in good faith. To do so would be an offense to the memory of the deceased and to the staff Mrs. Stafford-Smyth implicitly assigned to her care.
But what am I to do?
Belinda asked herself over and over.
Grow old in this big house . . . all by myself?

A few mornings later Sarah came to her hesitantly. "Mlady," she said somewhat warily, "I was sent by Pottah to clean Mlady's--Madam's rooms--and I picked up her Bible and this fell out. It's addressed to you. I . . . I thought you should see it . . . m'lady."

Belinda reached for the envelope. It did bear her name. She stood staring down at the handwriting of Mrs. Stafford

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Smyth, fearful to open it, yet knowing she must. She reached for a letter opener from her desk and carefully slit the envelope, lifting from it a sheet of paper. Belinda's hands were trembling as she held the carefully penned note.

My dear Belinda:

I have no idea when you might be reading this, for at the moment of writing I feel just fine. However, I am reminded that at my age, one must always be prepared.

I have talked with my barrister again today, and I believe that we have all things in order. I realize that parts of my will might be a shock to you.

Had things been different, I would have left more of the responsibilities to my grandsons, but never mind that.

I am leaving most of what has been accumulated in my name to you, dear. This is not to be an "albatross" but a means for ministering. I know that you will, with your good sense: find a way to use it wisely. I leave all of the decisions to you. I trust you completely.

And, my dear, feel no grief or sorrow for me. I have gone to a much better place--thanks to your constant prompting that caused me to recognize the truth.

I have loved you as a daughter. I thank you for your love for me. You have filled the lonely days of an old woman with meaning
and a reason for living. I could never, never repay you.

All my love,

Virginia Stafford-Smyth

Belinda's eyes were so tear filled she could hardly decipher the last few paragraphs. She could hear the writer's beloved voice in the words on the page. As she grasped the letter, a terrible loneliness for Aunt Virgie besieged her.

She turned back to the penned lines again and reread the letter.

"This is not to be an 'albatross' but a means for ministering,"