Faithful to Laura (6 page)
“I’m leaving, señora,” Manuela called from the foyer. “Do you need anything before I go?”
“I said I didn’t.” Her tone was sharper than she’d intended.
She didn’t apologize.
Cora drank the last gulp of wine as the latch on the front door closed. She looked at her empty glass. She hated drinking alone.
Tonight, however, she didn’t seem to have much of a choice.
Her emerald ring clinked against the crystal glass. On her way to the kitchen, she passed by the maid’s room. Manuela had left the door open.
Cora stopped. She rarely gave a second thought to Manuela’s living quarters, but tonight curiosity—and boredom—drew her inside.
The room was neat and sparse. Just as Cora expected—and demanded. She couldn’t abide untidiness. A crucifix hung on one wall. A colorful wool blanket lay at the end of the bed. But those weren’t the two items that captured her attention. Cora stepped toward Manuela’s small dresser. The top of it was covered with framed pictures.
Manuela and her late husband, Juan. A cheap studio portrait of the couple and their four kids, taken more than a decade ago.
Photos of young children—Manuela’s granddaughters and grandsons. All smiling. All happy.
Next to one of the picture frames lay a crayon drawing, a bright rainbow arched over the childishly lettered words:
Happy Birthday, Abuela
. She opened the crude card.
I love you, Grandma
.
Cora closed the card and replaced it on the dresser, careful not to disturb anything.
Maybe she’d have that drink after all.
Cora poured another glass of wine and went back into the living room. Thousands of dollars worth of expensive furniture, knick-knacks, and original paintings filled the vast space.
But not a single family photo. No child’s artwork to post on her state-of-the-art refrigerator. No handmade cards tucked away in a scrapbook.
She went back to the kitchen and dumped the glass of wine down the sink. The bottle of Valium in her medicine cabinet beckoned. One pill and she wouldn’t be lonely. She wouldn’t remember the past, what it had felt like years ago, when she had a family of her own.
Two days later, Cora sat in her living room, staring at the news clipping in her hand. She looked up at the private investigator and crossed one slender leg over the other, ignoring the sharp twinge of arthritis in her hip.
“Are you sure this is authentic, and not another ruse?”
Detective Peters nodded. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Easley. The obituary is valid.”
Cora’s hand shook. She placed it on top of her leg and clutched her kneecap. The expensive linen pants wrinkled beneath her grip. “Thank you for your diligence.” She glanced at the antique silver tea service Manuela had brought out. The burly detective had refused his cup. She didn’t dare touch hers.
“My accountant will send you a check. With a bonus.”
He cleared his throat. “That won’t be necessary, ma’am.
Just doing my job.” He paused. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
“I expected it, after not hearing from her for all these years.” The lie twisted inside her. When the detective arrived a few minutes ago, she’d hoped he’d have some good news.
Instead, he brought a new nightmare, one printed on smeared, gray newspaper.
She looked at the obituary again. Her only daughter, and the man Cora had never approved of. Both dead. And she couldn’t do anything about it.
Cora Easley, one of the richest women in the country, a woman who held the elite of New York society in the palm of her hand, was at this moment completely powerless. For the first time in over two decades, all her wealth, authority, and influence could do nothing to alter her circumstances.
The pain of loss drove its spike into her. Then she gathered herself and did what she’d always done when emotions threatened to consume her: she ignored them, lifted her chin, and stood. She looked at the detective, and when she spoke, her tone was cool as the autumn wind. “I’ll have Manuela show you out.”
But the detective made no move to leave. “Ma’am that’s not all the news I have for you.”
“And what else might there be?”
He fingered his mustache. “There was a child. A son.”
Cora held in a gasp. Kerry had a son? She had a
grandson
? “Are you sure?”
“Yes, ma’am. Once I found out where your daughter lived, I did a little more digging.”
“Where is he? What’s his name?” She turned away. “I have to bring him back home as soon as possible.”
“That might be difficult, ma’am. When no relative came forward, he was placed in foster care in Ohio.”
She spun around. “How could I come forward when I didn’t even know he existed?” Anger rose inside her, but she tamped it down. “I’m coming forward now. I will claim my grandson and bring him back here. Where he should have been all along.”
The detective tilted his head. The look of sympathy he gave her felt like a slap in her face. “Like I said, that could be difficult. He’s not a child. He’s twenty-one years old, and from all accounts well settled in Ohio.”
He would be more settled in New York. She would see to it.
Cora Easley always got her way. “Where in Ohio?”
He pulled a small notepad from the pocket of his jacket.
“Middlefield.”
“Never heard of it.”
“It’s a small town southeast of Cleveland.” He flipped his notepad shut. “Amish territory, from all I can tell.”
Amish? What did Amish people have to do with her grandson? She waved her hand. “I must go to Middlefield as soon as possible. He has a right to know his family.”
And she had the right to know her grandson. He was the only heir to a vast fortune that over the years meant less and less to her. But now that she had someone she could groom to take over the family business and secure his place in New York society, that money suddenly became the upmost of importance.
She would use whatever resources necessary to bring this young man back home. “What did you say his name was?”
“Sawyer.” The detective put his notebook away. “Sawyer Thompson.”
The detective left, and Cora went straight to her bedroom.
“Manuela,” she called. “Pack my bags. I’m going to Ohio.”
Manuela appeared in the doorway. “Should you be traveling, Señora Easely? You have a doctor’s appointment tomorrow.”
Cora spun around and glared at her. “Why are you questioning me? Besides, that quack doesn’t know anything. I’m getting a second opinion.” She stared unseeing at the walk-in closet, nearly the size of the bedroom itself. “Pack only the essentials. No more than three bags. I don’t plan to be gone long.”
“Sí.”
Manuela went inside the closet and pulled down a large suitcase.
As her maid packed, Cora called her travel agent to book a flight. An hour later she sat on the edge of the bed, her travel arrangements made, her suitcases packed and ready for her driver to load into the car first thing in the morning.
She glanced at her watch. Nine o’clock. She’d just missed the last flight to Cleveland, the closest airport to Middlefield. It figured that some small-town Amish backwater wouldn’t have an airport.
She stood and paced the length of her bed, trying not to think about Kerry. About how she died. About all the lost years.
Instead, she focused on her grandson. The detective said it might be difficult for her to convince him to come back to New York.
But Cora had no choice.
Sawyer Thompson had to leave Ohio with her. He had to come home. His future—and what was left of hers— depended on it.
“Looks like we’re gonna need another office assistant.”
Sawyer set the rocking horse Tobias had made on top of the worktable and looked at his father, who was working at the opposite end of the table. “What happened to Hannah?”
“Getting married in a couple of weeks.” Lukas adjusted the lathe and began sculpting a spindle for the back of an oak rocking chair. “I’m starting to think I need to hire a Yankee
maedel
if I want to keep help around here. We’re so busy right now, with the Christmas season coming up, I can’t wait much longer to hire someone.” Lukas looked at Sawyer. “Do you know of anyone? Maybe someone you went to school with?”
“Do you definitely want a Yankee?” Sawyer tried to think about some of the girls he knew from high school. But he hadn’t kept up with his friends after graduation.
Lukas stroked his beard. “At this point it doesn’t matter, Yankee or Amish. I’ll put an ad in the paper if I have to.”
“I’ll try to come up with someone.” Sawyer knew his father liked to hire within the community if possible. He really must be getting desperate if he was thinking about paying for a want ad.
The man was pretty tight with a dollar. But that was one reason the family business was so successful.
Sawyer went back to work fine-tuning and smoothing out the head of the rocking horse. Later he would varnish and paint the child’s toy. They only sold these around Christmas time, and they were one of the most popular items in the shop.
Sawyer did all the detail work, while his father and uncle constructed the basic horse shape and added the rockers at the bottom.
For the next several minutes he focused on his task, but in the back of his mind he was thinking about single women who would be good for the job. “Emma,” he said at last. He looked at Lukas. “Emma Shetler.”
Lukas tilted back his straw hat. Flecks of sawdust speckled his dark brown beard. “Isn’t she the one who had that fire at her
haus
?”
“
Ya
. Her grandfather’s workshop burned to the ground.”
“And so soon after her
mudder
died.” He shook his head.
“That
familye
has been through a lot the past few years.”
“What
familye
?” Tobias joined them.
“The Shetlers.” Sawyer moved toward the brothers.
Tobias’s usual jovial expression turned grim. “
Ya
. That they have.”
“I think Emma might be interested in the job. As far as I know, she’s not working anywhere. I could stop by her house after work and ask.”
“It can’t hurt.”
After work Sawyer got in his pickup and drove to the Shetlers’ house. He had bought the truck from Adam Otto before Adam joined the church. It was in good shape and handled well. Best of all, he could get around fast. Ten minutes and he was at the Shetlers’ front door. It would have taken him three times as long in a horse and buggy.
He parked the vehicle on the gravel driveway. When he stepped outside, the overpowering smell of cattle reached him.
He heard the lowing of a cow coming from the Ottos’ pasture, where the herd grazed in the fading sunlight.
The early November air was cool and crisp as a ripe apple.
Sawyer knocked, and as he waited for someone to answer, he surveyed the empty space next to the house where the shop used to be, now nothing but ashes and soot.
He remembered the day he heard about the fire. Although he didn’t know the Shetlers well, when tragedy affected the community, it affected everyone.
